Chapter 4: The Voice of the Abyss

The air in the mansion had changed. It felt heavier now, dense with a sense of foreboding. Caelum stood in the circular room, surrounded by shards of their fractured reflection. The mask on the desk seemed to draw every shadow in the room toward it, pulsing faintly as though it were alive.

"You’re stalling," the voice whispered, its tone edged with irritation. "Do you think you can escape by doing nothing? It doesn’t work that way."

Caelum didn’t respond. They had learned by now that arguing with the voice only gave it more power. But their silence wasn’t without weight; their thoughts churned, caught between fear and defiance.

They moved cautiously to the desk. The mask seemed almost mundane up close—smooth porcelain, the crack running across it like a scar. Yet the longer they stared, the more alive it seemed. It exuded a presence, something that reached into their chest and gripped their heart.

"It’s calling to you," the voice cooed, softer now, almost tender. "It knows who you are, even if you don’t."

“I don’t need it,” Caelum muttered, their voice thin. “I don’t need you.”

The voice laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "You keep saying that, but here you are. Do you really think this place will let you leave without taking it?"

They clenched their fists. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust this.”

"Of course you don’t. You don’t even trust yourself."

The room shifted again. It wasn’t abrupt this time—no violent twisting or sudden darkness. Instead, the change was gradual, like a dream dissolving into another. The bookshelves blurred, the shards of glass on the floor shimmering like water before vanishing altogether.

When the transformation stopped, Caelum found themselves standing in a forest.

It was eerily quiet. The trees were tall and skeletal, their twisted branches reaching skyward like desperate hands. The ground beneath Caelum’s feet was soft and uneven, littered with decaying leaves. The air smelled of earth and rot.

For a moment, they thought they were alone.

Then they saw her.

A woman stood in the clearing ahead, her back to them. Her silhouette was delicate, almost fragile, but there was a stillness about her that felt unnerving. She wore a tattered dress that seemed out of place, its fabric shifting unnaturally in the faint breeze.

“Hello?” Caelum called out hesitantly.

The woman turned slowly, and Caelum felt their breath catch. Her face was blank—smooth and featureless, like a mannequin’s. Yet somehow, she saw them. They could feel her gaze, sharp and piercing, as if it were slicing through their very soul.

"Ah, her," the voice murmured. "She’s been waiting for you."

“Who is she?” Caelum whispered, their chest tightening.

"She’s everything you’ve tried to forget."

The woman began to move toward them, her steps slow and deliberate. Caelum wanted to run, but their legs refused to obey.

As she drew closer, they felt something strange: a pull, as if she were unraveling some invisible thread within them. Memories bubbled to the surface, unbidden and jagged.

A flash of a hospital room, sterile and cold. Machines beeping in the background. A younger Caelum sitting by a bed, their hands clenched tightly in their lap.

“Please,” they had whispered. “Please don’t leave me.”

But the person in the bed had been unresponsive, their face pale and sunken.

The memory dissolved as the woman reached out, her hand brushing against Caelum’s cheek. The touch was cold, and with it came a flood of emotions: grief, guilt, and a bone-deep loneliness that threatened to consume them.

“No,” Caelum said, shaking their head violently. “That’s not real. You’re not real!”

The woman tilted her head, her blank face eerily expressive despite its lack of features.

"Why do you fight it?" the voice asked, almost bemused. "You can’t change the past, Caelum. You can only accept it."

The forest began to distort, the trees twisting into impossible shapes. The ground beneath Caelum’s feet cracked, revealing a yawning void below.

The woman stepped back, her form dissolving into the shadows. Caelum fell to their knees, clutching their head as the voice grew louder, insistent.

"You don’t have to carry it alone. Let me in, Caelum. I can take the pain away."

“I don’t want you,” Caelum said through gritted teeth.

"You already have me," the voice replied, its tone shifting to something darker.

When Caelum opened their eyes, they were back in the mansion. The circular room was gone, replaced by a narrow corridor lined with doors.

Each door was slightly ajar, revealing glimpses of scenes within: a classroom filled with empty desks; a kitchen bathed in flickering fluorescent light; a darkened bedroom with shadows that seemed to breathe.

Caelum’s chest heaved as they staggered to their feet. The mask was gone, but its absence felt like a weight of its own.

They turned to the nearest door and peered inside.

What they saw made them freeze.

It was their own apartment, every detail meticulously replicated. But something was wrong—everything was bathed in a faint red light, and the shadows in the corners seemed to writhe.

On the couch sat someone familiar.

Themselves.

The other Caelum looked up, their face gaunt and hollow. Their eyes glowed faintly, the same sickly light they had seen in the child’s reflection.

“Hello,” the other Caelum said, their voice soft but chilling. “I’ve been waiting for you.”