Chapter 1:
The Mind’s Reality
Caelum Varian stood before the mirror, their breath fogging the glass in short, uneven bursts. The reflection was wrong. It always was. Their eyes—those familiar hazel irises—shifted like restless pools of water, never quite settling. Today, their face seemed alien, their features stretched in ways they couldn’t explain. A crack splintered through the mirror, though the glass was intact. They blinked. The crack was gone.
Still, the unease remained.
The mirror stood tall and freestanding in their dim apartment, an unassuming thing. But it was the only place where the boundaries of Caelum's world began to blur. They touched the glass with trembling fingers, watching the surface ripple as if it were water.
“Not again,” they murmured.
A whisper stirred from somewhere unseen, low and dripping with malice:
"Does it scare you? Seeing yourself unravel?"
The voice carried an oily smoothness that slithered into Caelum’s mind and refused to leave. It wasn’t loud, but its presence was suffocating.
“Shut up,” Caelum hissed, their reflection flickering as though responding to the command.
The voice laughed softly, mockingly.
"Why fight? You know it’s easier to let go. To let me in."
They clenched their fists, their nails digging into their palms hard enough to sting. The pressure grounded them, but the echo of the voice persisted, weaving itself into the silence like a parasite.
The weight in Caelum’s chest felt unbearable. The longer they stayed in the apartment, the harder it became to breathe. Every corner of the room seemed to harbor a shadow that didn’t belong, and the clock on the wall ticked in an irregular rhythm, mocking their attempts to find calm.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The pills were supposed to help. That’s what Dr. Lorne had said. But no amount of medication could silence the voice completely, nor could it erase the images that flickered at the edges of their vision like ghosts.
Caelum grabbed their coat, an impulse they barely registered. Staying here would mean succumbing to the pressure of the silence. The voice would grow louder. The cracks in the mirror would spread.
They stepped into the cold city streets.
The air outside was sharp, biting at their skin as they pulled their coat tighter around them. The city was alive in its usual cacophony—honking cars, shouting vendors, the low hum of machinery—but none of it felt real to Caelum.
They moved quickly, their footsteps echoing on the pavement. The world around them warped subtly, as it often did. Streetlights flickered unnaturally. Faces in the crowd blurred, their features shifting as if drawn in sand.
“Focus,” Caelum muttered under their breath.
The voice whispered again, its tone taunting but almost… amused.
"They can’t see you falling apart, can they? Poor Caelum, drowning while the world watches and does nothing."
Their jaw tightened, but they didn’t respond. Responding always made it worse.
Their feet carried them to the outskirts of the city, where buildings stood as forgotten monuments to a past no one cared to remember. The streets grew quieter, the air heavier. The shadows here felt deeper, darker, clinging to the edges of their vision like ink spreading through water.
And then, they saw it.
The mansion loomed at the end of the road, its silhouette jagged against the overcast sky. It was an architectural anomaly—a grotesque blending of eras, with spires that clawed toward the heavens and arches that sagged under the weight of time.
Caelum’s heart raced. They had never been here before, yet the sight of the mansion ignited a deep, visceral unease.
"You’ve found it," the voice purred, almost reverent. "Go on. It’s what you wanted."
The mansion felt alive. Its windows—dark and opaque—seemed to watch them as they approached, and its ornate doors were slightly ajar, as if beckoning.
Caelum hesitated, their hand hovering over the doorknob. The voice grew louder, insistent.
"Go inside. You don’t have a choice."
The air around them grew colder. Caelum shivered, their breath visible now in the chill. With a trembling hand, they pushed the door open.
Inside, the mansion was impossibly vast.
The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, its walls lined with ornate mirrors that reflected nothing but darkness. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystals catching a faint, flickering light from an unseen source.
Caelum stepped forward, their footsteps muffled by a carpet that stretched into infinity. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and something sweeter, something cloying that they couldn’t place.
And then they saw her.
A woman stood at the far end of the hallway, her figure draped in shadows. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes gleamed with an unsettling brightness.
Caelum froze.
“You came,” the woman said, her voice soft yet resonant, as if it carried through the walls themselves.
“Who are you?” Caelum’s voice cracked, the question tumbling out before they could think.
The woman smiled, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”
The floor beneath Caelum’s feet seemed to shift, tilting ever so slightly. The mirrors lining the walls began to ripple, their surfaces warping like disturbed water.
“I don’t understand,” Caelum said, their voice trembling.
The woman tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “You will.”
As she spoke, the hallway around them began to dissolve. The mirrors shattered silently, their shards hovering in the air like frozen raindrops. The walls melted away, revealing a void of endless black.
Caelum stumbled backward, their chest tightening. “What is this?”
“The truth,” the woman replied. Her smile widened, and for a moment, her face flickered—warped and distorted, as if viewed through cracked glass.
The voice slithered into their mind again, its tone triumphant:
"This is where you belong, Caelum. Where we belong."
Before Caelum could respond, the void surged forward, swallowing the remnants of the hallway.
And then, there was nothing.
Nothing except the sound of their own heartbeat, pounding like a drum in the darkness.
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