The feeling of suffocation, the suffocating darkness, the mysterious figure... everything seemed so real, so vivid. Maxine remained sitting on the bed, hugging her knees, as she tried to decipher the meaning of the dream. The disturbing images still danced in her mind, like stubborn ghosts that refused to disappear.

She remembered a book she had recently read, "The Uses of Enchantment" by Bruno Bettelheim, and wondered if the dream wasn't a kind of message from her unconscious, a metaphor for her deepest fears and desires. The black ink, the hooded figure, the claustrophobic corridor... everything seemed so symbolic, so loaded with meaning.

But, at the same time, Maxine felt a certain reluctance to delve too deeply into the analysis of the dream. Perhaps it was just a random nightmare, a product of her fertile imagination. Maybe she was giving too much importance to something that had no real meaning.

She tried to go back to sleep, but sleep didn't come. Her mind continued to work, weaving theories and interpretations, seeking answers that might not exist.

Giving up fighting insomnia, Maxine got out of bed and went to the kitchen. She made a cup of chamomile tea, hoping the soft scent and warmth of the drink would soothe her. Sitting at the table, she watched the sleeping city through the window, the streetlights creating a mosaic of colors in the darkness.

The cup of tea grew cold in her hands as Maxine lost herself in thought. The night, once her ally in creating dark worlds, now seemed to conspire against her, revealing her own fears and insecurities. She felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice, ready to plunge into an unknown abyss.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she rose from the table, seeking refuge in the familiarity of her bookshelf. Her fingers traced the worn spines, searching for a title that would comfort her, that would take her away from the darkness that surrounded her.

Her eyes landed on an old book, with a leather cover and pages yellowed by time. It was a book of poems by Emily Dickinson, a poet who, like her, explored the depths of the human soul with unique sensitivity. Maxine opened the book randomly and read the first verse she found:

"The Soul selects her own Society - Then - shuts the Door -"

Dickinson's words echoed in her mind, like a call to introspection and solitude. Maxine closed the book, feeling a strange sense of peace. Perhaps the night was not an enemy, but an opportunity to get to know herself better, to explore the darkest corners of her soul.

With a new purpose in mind, Maxine returned to her room, determined to face her fears and discover what the night had in store for her. After all, as Sartre would say, "life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced." And Maxine was ready to experience everything life had to offer, no matter how scary or uncomfortable it might be.