2 Start

Stepping out into the rain, I was immediately enveloped by the chilling embrace of the falling droplets. They pelted against my skin, each one a cold reminder of the somber task ahead. My gaze remained firmly on the ground, a silent refusal to acknowledge the world around me as I embarked on my solemn journey towards the grave.

In my hand, I held a single flower, its petals delicate and soft against the rough callouses of my fingers. It was a stark contrast to the harsh reality of my surroundings, a symbol of life amidst a sea of sorrow.

My pace was slow and measured, each step echoing with the weight of my emotions. The journey seemed to stretch on endlessly, a testament to the heavy burden that lay upon my heart.

As I stood before the grave, a sense of profound sadness washed over me. With a trembling hand, I placed the flowers gently on the cold, hard ground. Their vibrant hues seemed almost out of place in this somber setting. I allowed myself a moment to take in the sight, a poignant reminder of the sister I had lost.

But as I turned to leave, a voice echoed within me, its words cutting through the silence like a knife. "Isn't this all your fault?" it whispered, its tone laced with accusation and regret. "Isn't it your fault that she's no longer here? Are you going to turn your back on the past? Wasn't she your sister?"

Each question was like a dagger to my heart, reopening old wounds that had never truly healed. The guilt, the regret, the sheer weight of my actions - they all came crashing down on me in that moment. The voice was relentless, its words a haunting echo of my own guilt and self-reproach. It was a painful reminder of the sister I had lost and the role I had played in her demise.

The shadows began to stir, coiling around me like spectral serpents, their faces obscured by the darkness. But as swiftly as they had materialized, they uncoiled and retreated into the obscurity from whence they came.

Visions surged through my mind, echoes of a past I had strived to suppress. I clenched my eyes shut, attempting to silence the intrusive voice within. Amidst this internal turmoil, Yohan's voice emerged, a soothing balm against the chaos. "You'll weather this storm," he assured me. "Remember, we're in this together."

"I'm at a loss," I confessed, spinning around to embrace Yohan. I nestled my head into the crook of his shoulder, seeking solace in his comforting presence. Gathering my courage, I dared to lift my gaze once more, only to be confronted by a series of hallucinations.

A face emerged from the gloom, its eyes a void of pure blackness that bore into me. The face contorted grotesquely as it spoke, its words a chilling symphony that sent tremors down my spine. "Do you intend to dismiss us?" it taunted. "Fleeing is futile now. We will torment you with our voices, our visages, our shadowy specters."

The hallucination dissipated as abruptly as it had materialized, leaving behind only wisps of smoke. But then a searing pain lanced through me and the world plunged into darkness.

…

In a desperate bid for escape, I sprinted with all the strength I could muster, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. The shadows were relentless pursuers, their ominous presence casting a chilling pall over me. They chased, and I fled until, without warning, my body betrayed me. My legs refused to obey my commands, rooted to the spot as if bound by unseen chains. A wave of dizziness washed over me, plunging me into an abyss of unconsciousness.

When consciousness returned, it brought with it a torrent of searing pain that coursed through every fiber of my being. "At last, you awaken," Iseul's voice pierced the fog of my disorientation as she settled beside me, her hand enveloping mine in a comforting grip. "How could you collapse in such a manner? The mourners at the funeral were convinced you had joined the realm of the departed, given your two-day slumber." Her words hung in the air, a grim reminder of the horrifying ordeal that had transpired.

With considerable effort, I hoisted myself into a sitting position, attempting to dispel the residual disorientation that clung to me like a shroud. But then, they materialized once more - the faces. They swirled around the room in a spectral waltz, their unblinking eyes locked onto me.

These phantom visages had seemingly always been a part of my existence. The haunting began when I was on the cusp of adulthood, around 18 years old. One night of profound terror marked the genesis of this spectral torment. Roused from a dream, I found myself ensnared in sleep paralysis. Faces, distorted and grotesque, emerged from the inky darkness, their presence amplified by the chaotic dance of shadows around me. Panic surged within me like a tidal wave as I grappled with this horrifying spectacle.

Exhaustion must have reclaimed me because when consciousness returned, normality had been restored. However, that night marked the end of tranquility for me. From then on, sleep became a portal to a realm of relentless nightmares, each more terrifying than the last.