You’re falling—no, sinking—into something thick, like tar pulling you down, wrapping around your limbs, swallowing you whole. You try to scream, but the sound is stolen from your throat before it can escape.
Then—A whisper.
Not from around you.
From inside you.
"Now you remember."
Your mind fractures with memories you don’t recall making.
A forest. A burial. Your own hands gripping a shovel, dirt flying through the air.
The box.
The thing inside it.
You did take something. You tried to get rid of it. You thought you buried it forever.
But it never left.
You’re not in the darkness. The darkness is in you.
Your heartbeat thunders in your ears. You claw against the nothingness, fighting for something—anything—to hold onto. But there’s no ground. No walls. No sky.
Just a voice.
Unknown
You locked me away. But you forgot one thing.
Terror grips your chest. Your body feels wrong, like it’s no longer fully yours.
You
Who are you?!
The voice laughs. It’s cold. Familiar.
Then, in the blackness, a shape begins to form. A silhouette. Your silhouette.
It steps closer. You can see its eyes now—empty, hollow, yours.
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