That moment when you're uncertain of if you're dreaming or blinking, when your eyes have just barely slouched to a seal; that is the moment her dream begins.
Her dream is a feeling, a sensation, a sight- a sound- an oppressive jubilation. Her dream is that of flight, and wind, but not as naturally as you would expect. There are no wings, nor sky.
It begins in blackness, the intangible kind that humans describe space as having. As such, there is a swimming sensation, as opposed to some flat backdrop for our tale-- if it were a tale.
Following blackness is a puckering of space, collapsing in on itself as if to suggest a form, which soon emerges. As a stereotypical martian may have been imagined in the 30's, this figure to emerge is stark in tone, shrouded in darkness in such a way that it eclipses the darkness around it. As if by contrast, this image takes on the sense of severe contrast, like negatives of film.
The image pops forward, but passively. After a moment, she finally realizes why such sensations of suffocation, falling, compacting, oppression, why they all seem so near to her-- because she has taken on the role of this figure in the darkness. A pinched humanoid, like a ball-bearing landed on a downy, plush duvet.
The scene takes a stark turn from uncanny, to humorous, laughable even in a waking state. She has inflated, broadened, and engulfed the matter about herself, fluctuating from light to dark still. She has transmuted into a sort of Stay-Puft figure. The dream ends dynamically, and she floats, fluctuating from one to another endlessly, eternally. Laughing.
This would be when she wakes up with a start, finding the clock a minute past the hour that she had previously encountered. This would be where she wakes up.
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