The living world is a dream—fleeting, intangible, purposefully lacking sense. However, beyond that curtain of absence, horrors dance in the dark to the silence of a vacant universe.
To pull back the curtain is to stand before your own insignificance—our fears, hopes, and dreams reduced to a drop of blood in a sea of nameless bodies.
Like every other, existence stands alone—each different, each untethered. Webbed together by inevitability—a twisted logic in itself.
One then wonders as to the context of everything and everyone born of this order. Questioning whether logic or concept put us here.
Even so, the hands of time move in cold pursuit—chasing, yet never catching. Eternally bound, locked in a rut unending.
Tik, Tik, Tiking away. Reminding us we are mortals dancing to the dictates of fate—a hell never far enough behind us.
-N.A.V
The full moon loomed over the city, its cold light a silent witness to the world below—a work of brilliance.
A lone figure walked through the streets, a feminine silhouette whose shadow flickered and vanished with each step beneath the dim streetlights.
No wind stirred, no distant murmur of life echoed between the buildings.
She moved with a hurried pace, her body here, yet her mind elsewhere, caught in the space between reality and something far more uncertain.
Her right eye, pale as snow, drifted to the edges of her vision, scanning the darkness. She saw nothing—nothing tangible—but unease tightened around her chest like unseen fingers closing around her heart. It was irrational, inexplicable, yet undeniable.
Her breathing, though controlled, was heavy, each inhale and exhale shaping the night into something darker and the stars barely a dot of interest.
It should have been an ordinary night. But something in the air—something in her own blood—felt wrong. A fire burned in her veins, an instinctual command urging her forward. Her pace quickened, and her misty breaths grew thicker.
She wasn't sure what she was running from. But she knew she couldn't stop.
She glanced over her shoulder, past the fractured pavement and the suffocating darkness between buildings. Even in the deepest void, her eye could see—darkness could not hide from her.
Yet what lay beyond the veil of shadows was shifting, wrong.
The streets bent, twisting in ways they shouldn't, warping as if caught in the hands of some unseen force. The sky itself seemed to descend, pressing down upon the world. Thunder cracked, shattering the night, and for a fleeting moment, the entire city seemed to splinter like glass.
And then she saw it.
Through the distortion, through the madness swallowing the streets, one building stood untouched.
A house, plain and unremarkable—save for its door.
A deep, bleeding red. A cold pulse of recognition struck her chest.
Desperation overtook reason. She pushed forward, ignoring the fire in her limbs, the thunder in her chest. The night roared around her, buildings collapsing inward, the air thick with the scent of iron and something sharper, more acrid—something wrong.
Closer. She just had to get closer.
She reached out, fingers trembling, grasping at the space between her and the door as though sheer will alone could bridge the distance.
But then—The ground vanished beneath her feet.
She stumbled. Her body betrayed her. The world spun as soft skin dragged across concrete.
Paralyzed, she could do nothing but lie there, breath hitching, staring at the door she so desperately sought. It was so close—so painfully close.
Her vision blurred. The shadows at the edge of her sight thickened, pressing inward.
And then, the red began to bleed. Not paint. Not illusion. The color itself melted, dripping from the wood, pooling at the doorstep, slithering toward her like liquid life force.
Seeing it, a chill seeped into her bones, a primal, gut-wrenching terror twisting in her stomach.
She tried to move but willing it was far too heavy. Right then, a whisper curled through the silence. Sof, Sweet, Wrong.
"Dear sweet child, you are broken."
The voice echoed, breathy and melodic, each syllable coiling around her like a lover's touch—gentle, promising, utterly inhuman.
"I can help you. I can save you. I can fulfill you."
A violent shiver wracked her body. She tried to resist, tried to shake the words from her mind, but they burrowed deep, deeper than memory, deeper than thought.
"There are cracks in your soul, child, and I can hear it trembling, quivering, stirring inside you."
The blood-red pool reached her fingertips, cold as the void.
"It is close at hand now. Please, dear sweet mirror, let me mend you."
The voice was familiar. Unbearably, intimately familiar.
Her breath came in short gasps as she fought the pull of unconsciousness. But her body—her mind—crumpled under the voice's allure.
And soon darkness pressed over, swallowing her whole.
And she fell into the depths of her own mind, sinking into a sea of missing memories.
Shadows whispered to her as she drifted, their voices a chorus of forgotten things—work, love, dread, despair, desire. And then, beneath it all, a voice.
Hers.
"I remember it all so well... I ate all the smiles and lies you fed to me... then came the poison, as the word 'Father' rotted in my mouth..."
The confession was bitter, yet it carried no heat, no anger. Only emptiness.
"It's long passed now, but in silent corners of my mind, I still repeat the things you said to me... The rest is quiet."
She exhaled softly. And then, just as she surrendered to the abyss—
A door appeared— Red, Waiting. The world shifted and wth a gasp, she awoke.
Thunder cracked overhead. The scent of rain filled her lungs. And above her—A familiar ceiling.
Strong winds blew outside and grey shrouded the skies, veiling the light of day
The familiar scent of aged wood and lingering incense greeted her. She blinked, adjusting to the dim lighting.
Her home. It was just a house. Nothing more, nothing less.
And yet… she hesitated.
Her breath slowed as she took in her surroundings. The furniture, the walls, the easel propped against the window—everything was exactly as she had left it. Not a single object disturbed. Not a pen out of place.
A sense of unease curled in her stomach.
She moved swiftly through the house, checking each room with the precision of someone who expected something to be wrong. But there was nothing. No shattered windows. No misplaced objects. No hints of an intruder.
By all accounts, she had simply gone to bed after work, fell asleep, dreamed the night away, and imagined—
No, that wasn't it.
Yesterday flashed through her mind, fragmented, but whole. She remembered the darkness. The red door. The whispering voice.
Her recollection disrupted by a sharp gust of wind that rattled the windows. She turned toward the front door, frowning.
Steeling herself, she approached and pulled it open.
A howling wind rushed inside, immediately catching a pile of loose papers from the shelf near the wall and sending them spiraling across the floor. She barely reacted, instead stepping forward, poking her head outside.
The street stretched ahead, empty. She looked left to right—
Nothing.
Slowly, she exhaled and shut the door, locking it behind her. She leaned against the red wood, letting her head rest against it for a moment. A tired sigh escaped her lips.
"At least… I made it back."
The thought brought little comfort.
Her gaze dropped to her clothing—her coat, still buttoned tight, and beneath it, the uniform from the day before.
She huffed, pressing a hand over her face.
"Well, at least this uniform proves something. I went to work yesterday. Which means…"
She frowned.
"It wasn't a dream."
A headache pulsed behind her eyes. She shook her head, rubbing her temples before muttering to herself.
"Man, I hate this crappy job. 'Be an Astral,' they said. 'It'll be fine,' they said. Liars, every single one of them. At least I'm not contracted to the government… Not that they'd care either way."
She pushed herself off the door, carefully gathering the scattered papers and stacking them neatly back on the shelf—this time, weighing them down with a paperweight.
She paced up the stairs, her movements mechanical yet graceful, like a sleepwalker drifting through nightly routine. She barely registered passing the hallway, her fingers trailing over the wall as she walked—until they brushed against something warm.
A faint, pulsing light glowed from the strange door near her bathroom. Ancient runes shimmered across its surface, whispering softly, flickering like embers in the dim light.
She didn't pause. She didn't react. She never did. It had been there for as long as she could remember. By now, it was just another part of the house.
Instead, she entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The warm lighting greeted her, illuminating her face as she reached for her toothbrush.
Her reflection stared back.
Her skin, pale and unblemished, was as flawless as carved marble, smooth and cool-toned beneath the dim lighting. Silken waves of ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders, a stark contrast against her porcelain complexion. A streak of white cut through the front, blending into the dark strands.
Her eyes were the most striking of all.
One—a deep, mesmerizing grey, like storm clouds rolling over the horizon.
The other—inky black, endless and unfathomable, its depths glistening like oil under candlelight. At the very bottom of her grey iris, a stain of color had begun to seep through—a rich shade of wine, dark and deep, like blood dried against parchment.
She arched a brow at her own reflection, testing her expression. When she smiled, her lips parted slightly, revealing teeth just a little too perfect—two canines slightly elongated, almost playful in their sharpness.
Everything was in place. No bruises. No cuts. No visible remnants of what had happened.
She sighed, putting away the toothbrush before stepping toward the bathtub.
The room had begun to fill with steam, the mirrors fogging up as hot water ran steadily into the tub. She dipped a finger into the surface, watching the ripples distort her reflection.
Then, slowly, she stepped in. The warmth enveloped her immediately, soothing the tension in her muscles as she sank beneath the surface, letting the water swallow her whole.
For the first time since waking, she allowed herself a breath of relief as silence wrapped around her.
And yet, her thoughts did not quiet.
"So we survived. But how? Why?"
She stared at the ceiling through the steam, her mind circling the last fragments of memory she could grasp.
"The last thing I remember was darkness… then the door to my house."
Her fingers traced along the rim of the tub.
"Did the house's arcane barrier protect me? Extend its reach somehow?"
A more likely explanation crept into her mind.
"Maybe Solace or Cassie found me unconscious and carried me inside?"
But even that didn't sit right.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. Unconvinced, she let out a slow exhale and sank lower into the water, until only the very top of her head remained above the surface. The seconds stretched into minutes. The minutes stretched into silence.
Until—
A sound. Faint. Deliberate.
Two hands pressed against the edges of the tub.
She rose from the water, silent and slow, as if emerging from another world. Water trailed from her hair, clinging to her skin in rivulets, shimmering under the dim light.
In her grasp, she held nothing but a simple washcloth as a deep, steady breath left her lips.And then, as if nothing had happened, she continued her routine.
Steam curled in the air as she scrubbed herself clean, the soap lathering against her skin like a burial shroud for every speck of dirt. Her fingers traced the curves and hollows of her body, ensuring nothing remained.
Only after she had rinsed away the remnants of the night did she step out, wrapping a towel around herself. The wet tiles were cool beneath her feet as she gathered her clothes from the floor.
She left the bathroom in silence.
Her footsteps distorted, carrying a weight beyond sound, as if the storm outside had woven itself into the fabric of her movement. Thunder rumbled—a deep, poetic symphony carried on the breath of the wind.
Inside her room, she tossed her clothes onto the bed before sitting at its ottoman.
Her face fell into her hands.
Her body, slow and heavy, slid onto the floor, knees drawn up, hands pressing into her forehead as if trying to hold something together.
The headache had returned.
"Persistently and reliably, like a fly. Or some kind of parasite. Why won't it just leave me alone?"
"These headaches are such a bother. Persistently and reliably like a... Fly or perhaps some sort of parasite. Why won't they just leave me alone?"
Her fingers kneaded at her temples, searching for relief. But then—
"Be gentle, won't you? We wouldn't want a repeat of last time now, would we?"
The croaky voice slithered from somewhere. Nowhere. Everywhere.
Her fingers tensed.
"I said leave me, you pest. Can't you see I don't have time for you?"
The pressure increased. Fingertips dug deeper, as though she might reach inside and pull the pain out by force.
"Stop... Stop it now. Don't you see what you're doing?"
Her fingers found the pulse of her pain, the root of its tension, and pressed harder, almost trying to plunge her fingers into her skull. Then—
"Self, that's enough."
The voice was her own.
Her hands fell away, spreading to either side. A sigh escaped her lips, long and heavy, as the headache faded.
For a moment, she simply sat there, head resting against the bedframe, the sound of rain filling the space where pain had been. The storm outside grew, but she welcomed it.
"Rain… lovely rain."
She gazed at the ceiling, expression unreadable.
"Nature's tears. And a tear for all the little boys and girls, chasing away the tragedy of their birth—if only for a moment."
Her arms fell limp at her sides. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips, followed by a quiet, almost manic giggle.
Her laughter played against the rhythm of the rain, discordant yet strangely fitting. Then—
A pulse.
Something unseen tugged at her senses as her breath hitched and her grin faded.
She listened, scanning the silence beneath the storm's song.
There, a whisper, too faint to catch, threading through the wind like a needle pulling silk. Her gaze flickered across the room, her pulse slowing.
Like the night prior, nothing was there but the feeling remained. It led her to the sliding door of her bedroom balcony.
"Good grief. Her voice came out flat, distant. "I can never catch a break around here. It's always something."
She rose, stepping toward the glass. A shadow fell across her features as she peered out. Nothing moved beyond the rain-drenched world.
Her fingers hesitated over the handle, then—With a slow, silent motion, she slid the door open.
The wind struck instantly, howling past her, curling around her bare skin like spectral hands. Her hair whipped against her face, and the towel clinging to her body threatened to slip away.
She held it tight.
"Who's out here?" Her voice, raw and unsettled, barely carried over the storm. "I know someone's out here. Show yourself."
The wind swallowed her words, replaced by stretching silence. And yet, she felt it. A shift in the air. A distortion just beyond the veil of rain.
Her eye flickered. The grey iris flaring gold. And there, in the middle of the street, she saw it. A figure, wreathed in fractured reality. Its form wavered like a reflection on rippling water, yet it remained still. Featureless. Hollow. Watching.
Her chest tightened. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She turned sharply, heading straight for her dresser. Clothes—she needed clothes. Her fingers moved on instinct, pulling on black shorts, an oversized white t-shirt, sandals lined with the words Verdant Weave.
Rushing back she nearly tripped on the ottoman. The wind howled as she leapt over the balcony railing, descending effortlessly from the second floor. The ground met her feet in perfect balance.
The cold rain soaked through her clothes instantly. It clung to her, but she barely noticed. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Hidden only by the crackle of thunder in the distance whicle the rain raged all around them.And yet—
Her eyes never wavered from the figure in the street. Her breath steadied.
Her heart, though racing, did not falter. She was ready.