《Double Mirror》 A blank page The distorted sounds of a gushing river filled Amrite''s ears as a powerful current haphazardly pushed its way through a small opening. A grey haze surrounded the torrent racing through dead trees and wet dirt. Water launched into the air in thick spurts, as if gasping for air and dragging it back down into its depths. Thousands of droplets from the cascade appeared like pixels on a screen, each vanishing as quickly as they formed. A loud, ragged rasping noise in the background dwindled in volume. The sounds continued to fade while the memory flickered in and out of focus. Amrite couldn¡¯t remember where it came from or why it held such significance; but one thing was certain - a pregnant terror oozed its way through to the forefront of his mind. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, trying to ease the pain threatening to overtake. Amrite blinked a few times, attempting to regain his bearings. When he opened his eyes fully, the life-like memory he could have sworn he had just seen seconds ago completely vanished. The sounds, the smells, the wetness - even his physical sensations were entirely altered. A familiar immobilising rigidity took over his body, stiffness latching onto his joints like an iron vice constricting him from all sides. He found himself laying down on a small single bed with a metal frame. The mattress was thin and grey. The natural, serene light from the life-like memory was now replaced by a blinding artificial light that seemed to come from every side of the room at once. The fake light only served to exacerbate the blinding headache cascading through his skull. Amrite forced himself to keep his eyes open, pushing through the strain as his eyes adjusted to the blazing illumination. Out of nowhere, a sharp, biting pain shot through his shoulders and neck, accompanied by a relentless stiffness that gripped his body - a familiar torment that clung to him like a second skin. With his now-adjusted eyesight, Amrite quickly realised something was terribly wrong. He didn''t recognise where he was, when it was. ¡°W-What the¡­ what the fuck¡­¡± Amrite stuttered, his raspy voice catching him off guard as the words stumbled out. He attempted to push himself onto his feet, but that¡¯s when his muddled mind finally cleared enough to allow the scrambled sensations to flood through - sensations that had been prodding at the edges of his mind but were refused entry due to an inability to place them. He couldn¡¯t move his arms. They were definitely still there, and he could wiggle his tight fingers, but when he tried to move them, a tangible force held them down. It was only then that another realisation struck him, sharp and jarring. His phone. He couldn¡¯t feel the familiar weight of it in his pocket, couldn¡¯t remember when he last had it. Panic sharpened its claws. The thought of being unreachable, cut off, added another layer to the suffocating unease wrapping itself around him. Amrite forced himself to crane his neck to see what was happening. His arms were bound together inside some type of white jumper, except this jumper had long straps running down and across the centre of his body. He strained against them chaotically, the effort igniting a familiar fire in his shoulders and wrists-a cruel reminder of the pain that never truly left him. To his dismay, there was not an ounce of give. Anxiety welled up in his throat, again threatening to take over once more. He couldn¡¯t tell if it was morning or night-there were no windows to offer a clue, just the harsh, artificial glare of overhead lights. The room he had woken to was an empty void of white, sterile and unyielding, save for a single mirror-a sheet of polished metal embedded in the wall next to the door. Every fibre of his being screamed for action, his fight-or-flight response twisting his instincts into chaos. He jerked his arms against the straitjacket, his body contorting in a futile attempt to free himself. The straps dug into his skin, and the raw pressure sent his shoulders into a new crescendo of pain, a fire he could neither extinguish nor ignore. His breathing quickened, shallow and erratic, as he shifted on the cold floor, his legs scuffing uselessly against it in a desperate rhythm. Stay calm. Stay calm. The words looped in his mind, hollow and powerless, drowned out by the rising tide of panic clawing at his chest. The headache pulsed behind his eyes, sharp and relentless, sapping the energy he needed to think clearly. He froze for a moment, his body trembling as he stared at the straitjacket clamped tightly around him, holding even his shallow breaths tight within his chest. Was he in an asylum? Amrite found himself dumbfounded by the realisation, his thoughts spiralling in frantic, fragmented bursts. "When¡­ Where¡­ What the hell happened?" The question ricocheted through his mind, its edges sharp and unrelenting. No matter how hard he tried to grasp at the threads of his memory, they slipped away, leaving only an oppressive fog where clarity should have been. "What was I doing before?" The words stumbled out of his dry mouth, his voice a cracked whisper as if speaking them aloud might force his mind to cooperate. But it didn¡¯t. His thoughts churned violently, drilling into his skull with the force of his growing panic. "Have I gone mad?" The idea erupted unbidden, raw and terrifying, clawing at his sanity. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to sift through the chaos in his mind for even a hint of an answer. Instead, the emptiness pressed down harder, suffocating him with its weight. The uncertainty bulged in his throat until his thoughts were too difficult to slow down. Without anything left to do he pushed through the discomfort and moved himself onto his unsteady feet, walking towards the door haphazardly, his left knee lighting up with pain that he ignored. His eyes were laser-focused on the handle, which he hoped wasn''t locked. Instinctively, he tried to grip the handle with his hand but belatedly realised again that his hands were completely restricted. Instead, he used his elbow to push it down. Amrite''s heart began to thump faster as he realised the door was locked, a claustrophobic sense of being trapped consuming him. "FUCK!" he yelled at the door and kicked it hard. The slipper on his foot did nothing to shield his toes. The pain shot through his foot, sharp and unforgiving, like needles piercing bone. As he doubled over, a thin sheen of sweat pricked his forehead, dripping salty reminders of his own stupidity into his stinging eyes. The life-like memory that had seemed so tangible in his mind''s eye just a few minutes ago was driven out as quickly as it appeared as the shock of discovering he was in an asylum settled in, making Amrite''s ragged breathing only become more erratic. "Is there anyone out there?" Amrite yelled at the door, hoping his voice could carry through the thick barrier that separated him from the world. When no one answered, he started smashing the door with his shoulder, doing his best to ignore the thumping pain in his shoulder so that someone, anyone, would hear and let him out. "Is there anyone there?" Amrite yelled again and again, his voice cracking as he slammed his body into the door. Each impact jarred him, the reverberations shooting through his muscles like electric shocks. Minutes passed in a haze of ragged breaths and mounting desperation, his skin clammy and slick with cold sweat. The sweat dripped down his temple and soaked the back of his neck, the sudden exertion leaving him trembling. Just as his strength began to wane, a sound shattered the oppressive silence-a loud click and clack from the other side of the door. Then, it opened. A tall figure wearing a white T-shirt that tightly clung to his large frame stood on the other side. Thick blue, colourless veins branched outwards across his tree trunk-like arms. His gleaming bald head reflected the artificial light as if it were another mirror. "Calm down and sit" the burly figure said authoritatively. Those words failed to subdue Amrite as he shrieked, "I just want to know how I got here, why I''m in a fucking straitjacket. Does anyone even know I¡¯m here?" Amrite said, realising that his voice was much more high-strung than what he had intended. The tall man just stared into Amrite''s eyes intensely before responding. "Sit down and wait," before closing the door and leaving him alone. Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours as Amrite waited for the man to come back. His heart was pounding in his chest, and each moment only served to spark new questions that pushed him further and further on edge. The door, without any warning, opened again, and the same bald head gleaned through. "Come with me," the man said without offering any explanation. Amrite, eager to escape the suffocating confines of the isolated room, forced himself to suppress his limp as he stepped out of the sterile, white prison. The brightly lit hallway beyond greeted him with a harsh glare, a jarring shift that made his eyes ache as he took in the new scenery. Amrite struggled to suppress the rising tide of panic that threatened to overtake him. The harsh, fluorescent lights bore down on him, stabbing into his eyes and casting sharp reflections off the polished floor. The narrow hallway stretched endlessly ahead, a corridor of blinding white that seemed to constrict around him with every step. His gaze darted frantically, searching for any hint of escape - a door left ajar, a crack in the uniform walls; but found only sealed metal doors, each radiating an unsettling stillness. The sterile silence was deafening, interrupted only by the rhythmic scuff of their footsteps echoing in the hollow space. The eeriness of the situation gnawed at his insides, tying knots in his stomach that tightened with each passing moment. The man walking ahead of him, stocky and bald, didn¡¯t glance back or offer a single word. He moved with a mechanical purpose, his broad shoulders swaying slightly as he led Amrite deeper into the blinding expanse.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Can you tell me why I¡¯m here?¡± Amrite blurted out, his voice cracking under the weight of his anxiety. He hated how weak he sounded, but the words spilled out before he could stop them. The man paused for the briefest moment, turning his head just enough for Amrite to catch the glint of an emotionless gaze. His face was as blank and unapologetic as the walls around them. He didn¡¯t speak-didn¡¯t even acknowledge the question-before turning back and resuming his deliberate pace down the hallway. Amrite¡¯s chest tightened as frustration and fear warred inside him. He swallowed hard and forced his trembling legs to keep up, each step feeling like it was leading him further into the unknown. Finally, after climbing two sets of stairs and walking down another narrow corridor, they reached a room with a silver sign on the door reading, Dr. Mendez. The man stopped and gestured silently for Amrite to enter. Amrite hesitated, his pulse quickening as his eyes flicked to the door and back to the man. He still hadn¡¯t said a word - not one - and now that they¡¯d reached the end of their journey, Amrite¡¯s nerves were fraying. The man¡¯s expression remained as blank as ever, his bulky frame and stiff posture only adding to the oppressive unease. ¡°Eggman¡± Amrite thought, naming him after the round, bald villain from sonic. The comparison offered no comfort; if anything, it made the situation feel more absurd. He swallowed hard, unsure of what awaited him beyond that door, but with "Eggman" standing there like an immovable statue, there was no turning back. The bald man, impatience plastered on his face, sternly repeated his gesture, and Amrite with no other options shuffled into the room. The sudden warmth of the space caught him off guard. It was a stark departure from the sterile brightness of the corridors - a cosy office with bookshelves lining the walls, their spines forming a mosaic of colour. A large wooden desk dominated the centre, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow of a lamp. In front of it sat a comfortable-looking armchair, its plush cushions inviting him to sink into them. Behind the desk sat a petite woman, her small frame almost swallowed by the high-backed chair. For a moment, Amrite had to lean forward to be sure someone was even there. Her greying hair framed a face that was both weathered and sharp, the wrinkles around her eyes doing little to dull the piercing intelligence that sparkled within them. Despite her diminutive stature, she exuded an air of quiet authority, her presence filling the room as effortlessly as the books that lined its walls. With a slight smile, she gestured for Amrite to sit down in the armchair, her movements deliberate and calm, a stark contrast to the tension he¡¯d carried with him all the way here. "Hello, Amrite. I''m Dr. Mendez," she said in a calm voice. ¡°It¡¯s good to see that you are looking well, how are you feeling¡±? Amrite awkwardly sat in his seat, the straitjacket making it difficult to find a comfortable position. ¡°I¡­, I¡­ just want to know why I¡¯m here, why I¡¯m in a straitjacket. I can¡¯t remember how I got here, when I got here-nothing at all,¡± Amrite stammered, his voice trembling. Dr. Mendez sighed softly and removed her glasses, her gaze locking onto his. She didn¡¯t speak immediately, letting the silence stretch long enough for Amrite¡¯s nerves to fray further. ¡°Amrite, I¡¯m sorry to have to tell you this, but you were brought here due to a severe episode you had about three months ago.¡± Amrite froze, her words landing like a physical blow. His chest tightened as panic clawed its way up his throat. ¡°No, I can¡¯t have been here that long¡± he blurted out, shaking his head as if trying to physically dislodge her statement. ¡°Three months ago? I don¡¯t remember anything - I don¡¯t even remember coming here!¡± His voice cracking under his nerves, each word louder and more frantic than the last. Dr. Mendez nodded with a measured sympathy, her calmness only making his disbelief burn hotter. ¡°Memory loss is not uncommon with the type of episodes you¡¯ve been experiencing,¡± she said gently. ¡°It¡¯s possible that you may not remember everything that led up to your arrival here. Our primary goal is to help you understand what¡¯s happening to you and help you recover.¡± Amrite felt a mixture of disbelief and terror as he tried to process the information. His mind raced with questions, but one in particular stood out. "What happened in this episode?¡± Amrite asked. Dr. Mendez studied Amrite for a few further seconds before responding. ¡°When responders found you, you were in a hospital harming yourself.¡± Mendez stated bluntly. ¡°When you lost consciousness you were taken under care here, and since then you haven¡¯t been responsive to any treatment so you¡¯ve been brought here for observation.¡± Amrite took in this information unsure of what to make of it. ¡°But why¡­ I mean, how did this even happen?¡± Amrite asked, his voice unsteady. ¡°That¡¯s something we were hoping to discuss with you,¡± Dr. Mendez replied, her tone steady and measured. ¡°This is the first time you¡¯ve been willing to talk with us, which is a really positive sign. If you continue to work with us, I believe we¡¯ll have you out of here before long.¡± Amrite stared at her, words catching in his throat as he tried to process what she was saying. His mind swirled with questions, none of which seemed to fit together. Mendez held his gaze, her expression patient but expectant, as though waiting for him to decide what came next. ¡°It¡¯s just that¡­ I don¡¯t¡­ remember¡­ anything,¡± Amrite said finally, each word dragging its way out of his mouth. ¡°What have I even been doing for the last three months? And¡­ why am I still in a straitjacket?¡± Mendez leaned forward slightly, her calm expression remaining steady as she spoke. ¡°From what we¡¯ve observed, you¡¯ve mostly kept to yourself. You haven¡¯t spoken to anyone until now, but there were moments-incidents, really-where you¡¯d pull at your own hair or scratch yourself. That¡¯s why we had to put you in the straitjacket.¡± She let her words settle for a moment before asking gently, ¡°How are you feeling right now?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just¡­¡± Amrite hesitated, his voice trembling as he tried to form the words. ¡°Scared. I don¡¯t know what to do next or how this even happened. What does it mean? Does anyone¡­ does anyone know why I lost¡­¡± His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard before finishing. ¡°¡­why I lost my mind?¡± Mendez¡¯s gaze softened, though her tone remained professional. ¡°We¡¯re not sure yet,¡± she admitted. ¡°These episodes can happen for a number of reasons. But the fact that you¡¯ve regained your senses is a very encouraging sign. Let¡¯s start there-what¡¯s the very last thing you remember?¡± Amrite tried to piece together the last thing he could remember, but his thoughts were a chaotic jumble, fragments flashing without rhyme or reason. He recalled trying to call his dad and hearing no answer, the frustration of leaving work-and then¡­ nothing. It was as if someone had reached into his mind and scooped out his memories, leaving behind an empty void that felt cold. ¡°Maybe calling my dad.¡± Amrite said, looking back up at Mendez. Does he know I¡¯m here?¡± Mendez gave Amrite a sympathetic look, changing her expression for the first time since he entered. ¡°We¡¯ve tried contacting him at his last known number, but there hasn¡¯t been any response.¡± For the first time since waking up, Amrite felt a flicker of relief. His dad never answered unknown numbers - that much he was certain of - and he kept that to himself. If his dad ever found out he was here¡­ no, that would only make things worse. It was better this way, better that his dad remained in the dark. Right now, Amrite could only manage the weight of his own chaos. ¡°Yeah I can reach him, I just need my phone¡±. ¡°Sure, we¡¯ll be able to get your phone back soon. Also, how are your joints feeling?¡± Mendez asked. Our tests show you have rheumatism,¡± Mendez said, reviewing his report. ¡°Everything else looks normal, but we want to make sure you¡¯re not in any discomfort.¡± ¡°I¡¯m in a lot of pain,¡± Amrite replied. The long trek up the staircase and through the hallways had taken its toll, aggravating the constant ache in his joints. His fingers, clenched and twisted from strain, felt stiff and unyielding, while each step of his limp sent sharp, radiating pain through his legs-a cruel reminder of his fight against his body¡¯s rebellion. ¡°Could I get some painkillers?¡± he asked, shifting uncomfortably. ¡°My shoulders are throbbing from being locked in place in this straitjacket as well, so I badly need to get out of it.¡± ¡°Sure, we can get you the painkillers, and take off the jacket now that you''ve calmed down.¡± Mendez said. I think it will do you good and we can start chatting first thing tomorrow morning after you get some rest, how does that sound? As if on cue, eggman opened the door and strutted towards them. ¡°Please take the jacket off Amrite and escort him back to his bed Hue¡± Mendez said. He quickly took off Amrite¡¯s restraints and Amrite finally was able to stretch out his stiff arms.. ¡°Come on, let''s go¡± Eggman Hue said as Amrite got back onto his feet. He didn''t fully understand what was happening to him, but he knew that for now he had to trust Dr. Mendez and stay composted if he wanted to get out of here. With a final deep breath to steady his nerves, he thanked Mendez and left, quickly finding himself back in his cell. "Cell," Amrite muttered under his breath, the word bitter and heavy as it settled in his mind. This wasn¡¯t a room-it was a prison, plain and simple. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the metal mirror embedded in the wall, trying to make sense of everything he¡¯d heard that day. The reflection staring back at him felt like a stranger¡¯s: bloodshot eyes framed by dark circles, wild, tangled hair, and a scruff of facial hair that seemed to have grown out of rebellion rather than neglect. ¡°As long as I try my best to get better, I will get better,¡± he said, his voice steadier than he felt. He met his own gaze in the mirror, the weight of his resolve pushing back against the doubt threatening to creep in. For now, it was enough. It had to be. ¡°Whatever happened, can be fixed, I have people here to help me and now I just need to calm down, I¡¯m not crazy¡± Amrite said to himself trying to reassure himself, taking some slow deep breaths until he felt his anxiety somewhat lessen. Would you like to begin a new voyage? A robotic emotionless voice suddenly blurted out in his mind tinged with an icy coldness. Amrite jumped to his feet in fright. Looking around the room he wasn¡¯t able to locate where the voice came from. ¡°Who said that?¡± Amrite said with a trembling voice. Would you like to begin a new voyage? ¡°Oh fuck¡± Amrite glowered, as he realised that he wasn¡¯t able to find the voice, because it was coming from inside his head. Would you like to begin a new voyage? The voice resonated out again. "This can¡¯t be real, what¡¯s the fuck is a voyage. And why the fuck would I want to start a voyage¡± Amrite said, his heart thumping faster and faster. Acknowledged. Voyage Initiated¡­ Barely registering the words, Amrite¡¯s body fell to the floor as the world around him went blank. Voyage No. 7: Maya Shoemaker Nothingness. Blackness. A void. Amrite floated, or perhaps fell, through an endless chasm that seemed to stretch beyond time itself. His consciousness, fractured and scattered, began reassembling itself into fragile pieces, like shards of glass hesitantly returning to form. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound was stolen before it could exist - a silence so profound it devoured even the thought of noise. ¡°Is this a dream? Or am I dead?¡± The questions circled his mind like shadows chasing one another, as an unseen, undeniable force dragged him deeper into the abyss. His thoughts were sluggish, wading through a thick, impenetrable fog that dulled his senses and stifled clarity. Yet, through the haze, memories began to surface, faint and fragmented, like echoes of a distant life: the bitter taste of his first stolen puff of a cigarette; his mother¡¯s hand, warm and steady, as they walked to school together; the triumphant leap over a crack in the pavement during a childhood game. And then his father¡¯s voice, sharp and thunderous, roared his name in panic as a car screeched to a halt just a cold breath away before it could reach him. An overwhelming sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu glued itself to him, making him feel he had been here before. Overlaying his vision of this vast expanse of darkness some writing appeared directly in the centre of his sight. Voyage number 7 has been initiated. Please choose a location to be deployed. As Amrite struggled to make sense of the strange words before him, an abrupt, almost imperceptible shift occurred. The atmosphere around him changed, though he couldn¡¯t tell how or why. In an instant, his body - or what he thought was his body, for there was no sensation or sight where it should have been was hurled downward at an incomprehensible speed. Panic surged within him, but when he again tried to scream, an eerie silence swallowed the sound before it could escape. The void consumed all. How long had he been falling? Minutes? Hours? Days? Time had lost all meaning. With no sense of touch, no physical anchor to grasp onto, Amrite could rely only on his mind - a mind he was beginning to realise was unravelling under the weight of this alien experience. Far below - or was it far above? The darkness was interrupted with a kaleidoscope of lights that began to flicker into view. They danced in the distance, appearing as mere pinpricks at first, but as he plummeted toward them, they grew more distinct, more vivid. Blues and purples, whites and pinks, shades he could not name - they shimmered in myriad sizes and shapes. At first, they seemed simple, like child¡¯s playthings, basic geometric figures, but the closer he fell, the more complex they became, twisting into forms he had never seen, things his mind struggled to comprehend. A wild purple cloud pulsed before him, expanding and contracting as though it had breath. A jagged green line flitted across its surface like a darting snake. Nearby, a red spiral spun on multiple axes, each revolution chaotic, shifting in rhythm and speed. Then came more bizarre forms: a silver pyramid with an impossibly sharp point hovered motionless for a second before it fractured into a thousand splintering triangles, scattering like broken glass. A giant golden orb, its surface rippling like liquid mercury, warped and stretched as if it was alive, pulsating with a strange energy. A twisting helix of molten orange coiled through the air, weaving between shapes, its ends forever elusive, never meeting. And then, more bizarre still; if that was possible - a figure, half-formed, half-transparent, moving backward through space, its limbs bending and moving in ways that defied logic, trailing long streams of fluorescent pink moving forwards and backwards at the same time. Behind it, or perhaps in front of it, a swarm of rotating hexagons buzzed like a hive, their edges lined with electric blues that flickered and died in rapid succession. Amrite felt something stir deep within him as he passed these radiant shapes. Emotions, raw and unfiltered, began seeping into his psyche. Anger radiated from some, happiness from others, sadness from most. The emotions bled into his thoughts, but offered no clues as to their origin, leaving him helpless to untangle their meanings, unable to settle on any of them as they passed through him. His gaze landed on a small, glowing white light, trembling with an overwhelming sadness. A sadness that felt familiar, intimate. As he stared into it, the light began to shift, pulsing faster until - without warning - it shot toward him. Fresh terror claimed him too late. The light engulfed him in a single, blinding instant, erasing all thought, all resistance. And then, just as suddenly, he was there. A body. Breath. The sharp, visceral sensation of lungs filling with air seized him, and his gasp cut through the silence like a blade. Air, pungent and alive, rushed in to assault his senses. Scents; earthy, acrid, with a sharp tang of alcohol, and unfamiliar smells still - flooded his nose. Sounds crackled around him, vibrant and cacophonous, as if the world itself were exhaling. Warm, golden light kissed his skin, wrapping him in its brilliance, as a soft, warm rain fell around him, each droplet blurring the line between sensation and shock. The two collided - light and rain, heat and wetness; enveloping him in a world that hadn¡¯t existed just moments before. The sudden deluge of sensation was unbearable, stabbing into his newly-formed self with merciless precision. His stomach churned violently, rejecting the shock of existence itself. He staggered forward, convulsing, and expelled whatever remnants of this stranger¡¯s life still lingered within him.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Laughter morphed into raucous cheers, a chorus of congratulatory yells echoing through the air as cups were raised in mock tribute to his fresh disgrace. His retching became their rallying cry, a perfect excuse to tilt back their drinks and drown themselves in revelry. Amrite ran. It was pure instinct, blind and unreasoned. His legs propelled him forward, his feet striking the ground with a rhythm as frantic as his beating heart. He stumbled, tripped, and scraped against the unforgiving earth, but each time, he got back up and ran again. The confused faces of passersby blurred past him, meaningless phantoms in his periphery. All that mattered was running. His stomach clenched violently, another wave of nausea threatening to cripple him. He fell once more, hard and graceless, but even then, his legs found strength. He pushed off the ground, surging forward, faster and farther than he had ever thought his body capable. He fled the bustling streets and into lush greenery surrounded by trees, careening through bushes that tore at his skin, until at last his legs betrayed him. They buckled, and he collapsed, spent, onto the wet green grass. With the desperate run behind him and nothing left but silence, the weight of everything crashed down on Amrite. At first, the tears came slowly, slipping from the corners of his eyes like reluctant raindrops. But then the sobs deepened, gathering force until they erupted into the kind of cry that twists in your gut, choking the air from your lungs. All those moments in the void when he¡¯d wanted to scream, to weep, to be heard, came rushing back, each one another shard of unspent agony driving through him. The silence that had swallowed his voice, the nothingness that had held him captive, finally split apart. Now, in this moment, his overdue cries poured forth, raw and unrelenting, filling the emptiness with the sound of his breaking. Amrite blubbered his loss of sanity. The raw emotions he felt when falling through that abyss that felt far too real, and now where even was he? Was this a dream? A joke? Death? It didn¡¯t feel real, but at the same time, these experiences weren¡¯t without substance. The things he saw he couldn¡¯t even recreate in his imagination, far too complex for his mind. And now what? He was in the middle of nowhere, alone and shockingly out of place. By the time Amrite¡¯s tears dried, dusk had begun to settle, and as if the sky sought to mourn in his place, the rain gathered strength, falling with renewed force. His plea of desperation now dried up, Amrite finally acknowledged a new detail he was forcefully ignoring up until that point. The slender fingers that looked so alien to him, yet were undoubtedly the hands he was controlling. The brown tattered dress that he had ripped and punished from his run. Hair far longer than his and far too dark. A puddle had formed from the rain not far from Amrite. Amrite looked into the water, and finally noticed the feminine eyes staring at him from underneath the water. His heart started pounding faster, but he didn¡¯t break eye contact with the woman in the water, not daring to look away. Amrite studied the woman reflected in the puddle before him. Her face bore a stark black blotch over one eye and it was only now, as the tempest of his emotions began to ebb, that the sting seeped through, quiet and insistent. Long, tangled brown hair framed delicate features, her bare feet sinking slightly into the mud. She couldn¡¯t have been older than twenty, yet her eyes, shadowed and weary, seemed to hold a weight far beyond her years. As his gaze lingered on the reflection, something strange caught his attention. In the periphery of his vision, a faint, almost imperceptible mark hovered - a shape not unlike a question mark. It stood out sharply against the backdrop of reality, intrusive yet oddly compelling. Amrite focused on it, and as he did, the mark swelled, unfurling itself into a cascade of information that overlaid his sight. ¡°What the actual fuck¡­ Maya Shoemaker?¡± Amrite stared at the words in disbelief, surprising himself with the feminine voice that rang true in his ears. Amrite stared at all the information, overwhelmed by all of the details that appeared. ¡° This... This can¡¯t be real.¡± Before letting the agitation spiral out of control once again, Amrite closed his eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths, trying with every ounce of his spirit to find some reason, some sense and some control in this situation. When Amrite opened his eyes again, it had become darker and the cold was beginning to set in. ¡°Is this a game? A¡­ a status sheet?¡± Amrite said out loud, questioning himself and seeing if his words were even real. He pinched himself hard, wincing as the sharp sting shot through his skin. The pain was real, but not the only reminder of his reality. His arms and legs throbbed with soreness. When he inspected them, he discovered a patchwork of bruises, angry and purple, mirroring the one he knew marred his face. Each bruise was a sign - whatever this place was, it was no dream. Amrite¡¯s gaze drifted upward. Not far off, a group of figures emerged, their silhouettes shifting like shadows between the trees. The sight sent a surge of desperation clawing at his throat, threatening to unravel the fragile calm he had fought to reclaim. He swallowed it down; steadying himself against the panic that loomed like a rising tide. ¡°I need answers,¡± he muttered, his voice low and resolute, the words barely more than an exhale. His eyes stayed locked on the approaching figures as he drew a slow, deliberate breath. I won¡¯t let myself unravel without answers. I won¡¯t. Straightening, he rose from the wet greenery, each movement surprisingly fluid - almost unnatural. A flicker of confusion crossed his mind. Where was the familiar stiffness, the dull ache he¡¯d carried for years? The thought slipped away as quickly as it came, overtaken by the weight of what lay ahead. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he clung to the faint hope that this was all a fabrication - a lucid dream or the haze of some drug he couldn¡¯t recall taking. But even as he grasped at these explanations, he knew they were lies, thin veils over a truth he couldn¡¯t yet face. The puzzle pieces refused to fit, and the logic that should have bound them had dissolved into something vast, incomprehensible. He didn¡¯t care if the truth shattered him; he would find the answers or be consumed trying. The answers would be his, no matter the cost. Chords of Exorcism Amrite¡¯s pulse quickened and his throat dried as the figures drew closer, their forms solidifying into sharp relief against the backdrop of shadowed trees. These were no phantoms or figments of his mind. They were real; solid, breathing, and moving with the deliberate confidence of people who knew exactly where they belonged. The group of six was a mix of ages but shared a ruggedness that seemed carved from the land itself. Broad shoulders, calloused hands, and thick, unkempt beards framed the men¡¯s faces. Their clothes, simple and earthy, bore signs of wear with many patches sewn over old tears. One of the men, his face lined with age and worry, stepped forward, his eyes scanning Amrite with concern. ¡°Maya, are you alright? Why did you run off like that?¡± His voice was deep but kind, carrying a weight of familiarity that Amrite did not share. Amrite froze, caught between his mounting desperation for answers and the realisation that he had none of the tools to ask the questions. The man¡¯s words made sense, each syllable ringing clear and distinct in his mind, but they came wrapped in an alien cadence, a language he knew he had never heard. ¡°I¡­¡± he began, his voice trembling. The single sound that escaped him was wrong - alien in his own ears. He tried again, stringing together syllables in what he hoped would form coherence, but the result was garbled and broken, a mockery of communication. ¡°Maya?¡± The man¡¯s concern deepened, his brows knitting together. ¡°She looks as if she¡¯s possessed by a follower of Ra,¡± one of the younger men sneered, his tone dripping with derision. He was leaner than the others, his sharp features and unkind eyes suggesting a penchant for cruelty. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± the elder snapped, though his voice lacked the steel to cut through the tension. ¡°She¡¯s had too much to drink. That¡¯s all.¡± The others murmured in agreement, their voices a low rumble of speculation and dismissal. Amrite¡¯s mind raced, grasping at the implications. They think I¡¯m drunk? Possessed? The absurdity of it might have been laughable if it weren¡¯t for the deeper unease that crept in with their assumptions. He opened his mouth again, desperate to explain, to plead for understanding, but the words refused to come. They stuck in his throat like jagged stones, splintering under the weight of his frustration. Why can I understand them but not speak? The question echoed in his mind, gnawing at the edges of his sanity. The language was there, as though etched into the corners of his consciousness, yet every attempt to wield it felt like trying to hold a handful of sand with a clenched fist, the more that he tried, the more that it slipped away from him. Amrite stumbled back a step, his hands clenching and unclenching as if searching for something tangible to anchor himself. Was this some fragment of Maya¡¯s memory, bleeding into his mind? Or was this world warping him, forcing its language into his thoughts while denying him the means to use it? The younger man sneered again, his voice cutting through Amrite¡¯s. ¡°All that running, the erratic behaviour... She¡¯s been acting strange for weeks.¡± The young man¡¯s voice oozed derision, each syllable honed to a blade¡¯s edge, cutting deeper with the sneer etched into his face. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she started speaking in tongues, judging by that wild, unhinged look of hers.¡± He spat, the dark fleck sinking into the dirt like a poisoned seed, his cold, unyielding gaze locking onto Amrite¡¯s. A bead of sweat traced its way down Amrite¡¯s spine, an icy line of unease. The venom in the man¡¯s stare made his skin crawl, his throat tightening with discomfort so foreign it was almost paralyzing, Amrite¡¯s vulnerability came to the forefront as he realised that he had no way to protect himself if these men wanted to attack him. ¡°Enough.¡± the elder barked, his tone firm now. ¡°She¡¯s coming with us. She¡¯ll be fine once she¡¯s had some time to rest. The upcoming cleansing dance has been hard on the girl and she¡¯s not the only one who has too much to drink¡± the man said while eyeballing the younger man, daring him to say another word with his own pressing stare. After a long, tense moment, the younger man¡¯s gaze faltered, his stare breaking from Maya as his eyes shifted to the ground. ¡°Come.¡± the elder said at last, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of inevitability. ¡°The cleansing dance is about to begin.¡± Amrite hesitated, his mind a storm of fractured thoughts. How am I supposed to get them to answer my questions when I can¡¯t even speak? He looked down at his trembling hands¡ªhands that didn¡¯t feel like his own. I¡¯m trapped in this body, in this strange village¡­ and these people, who even are they? Fear clawed at his chest, sharp and unrelenting. I¡¯m so fucking scared, but what can I do? Run? Run where? But hesitation wasn¡¯t an option. The strangers were already turning, their backs receding into the dim light as they began to walk away. The thought of being left alone in the suffocating darkness, stranded with only his spiralling confusion, filled him with dread. Whatever waits ahead, he told himself, it has to be better than staying here. He swallowed hard, forcing his feet to move, and followed them into the unknown. His legs moved again, seemingly without his permission, each step clumsy and laden with reluctant acceptance. The air was cooling rapidly now as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, shivering shadows across the path. A faint wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the earthy scent of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. The mournful calls of birds echoed in the quiet, and for a fleeting moment, they tugged him back to childhood hikes with his father. He could almost feel the sturdy grip of his father¡¯s hand and the comforting rustle of the forest around them, the light filtering through the trees like shards of gold. The memory stirred a flicker of warmth in his chest, a temporary balm against the relentless churn of fear and disorientation. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger there, in that simpler, safer time, before the weight of the present pulled him back. The group¡¯s voices drifted around him, muffled and distant, as though he were submerged in water. Words floated in and out of focus, fragments that refused to piece together. Eadric¡¯s troops¡­ tithes¡­ The unfamiliar names and concepts twisted in his mind, meaningless yet strangely weighted, like relics of a life he¡¯d never known. Amrite thought back to when one of them called him Possessed. The word lingered in his mind, a dark thread weaving through his scattered thoughts. If they truly believed he was possessed, what would they do to him? Ahead, the older man glanced back, his expression softening as their eyes met. He motioned for Amrite to keep pace, the gesture of familiarity although warm did nothing to ease the gnawing of dread that coiled in Amrite¡¯s chest and dried his throat. He wondered who this man was to this girl, the questions continuing to pile up, one on top of the other without any sign of stopping. The path wound through the forest, the trees pressing close on either side like silent sentinels. Amrite focused on the sound of his footsteps, the soft crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his borrowed feet. His mind churned with questions he couldn¡¯t ask, answers he couldn¡¯t fathom. What was this world? Why was he here? And how much of Maya was still in this world? Had she disappeared, had they swapped places? Nothing made sense. More fragments of their conversation reached his ears, slipping past like stray arrows. ¡°Aelira¡¯s only fourteen. She won¡¯t survive the pain of the cleanse,¡± one of the men exclaimed, his long braided beard trembling as he spoke. The words landed like a stone plunged into still water, sending ripples of unease through the group. ¡°She¡¯s strong,¡± another man replied, though the edge in his voice dulled under the weight of his own doubt. ¡°But at that age¡­ to have their claws buried so deep in her soul, not even these Cantaor¡¯s can pull her free. They¡¯ll try, but it won¡¯t be enough. Maybe it¡¯s kinder to give her an easy death before the demon tears her apart.¡± ¡°Enough,¡± the elder snapped, his voice sharp and cutting through the rising tension like a blade. ¡°It¡¯s not strength that matters,¡± he continued, his tone measured yet unyielding. ¡°It¡¯s survival. And you all know that.¡± No one answered. The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, and laden with the weight of things no one dared say aloud. Amrite clenched his fists at his sides, the conversation swirling around him like smoke, thick and choking. The cleansing dance. Possession. Survival. The words pieced together fragments of a puzzle he couldn¡¯t fully see, jagged edges tearing at his thoughts. Who was Aelira? Why did her name carve through the air with such weight, what was going to happen to this girl? His mind churned with darker questions: Did I somehow do this? Was I the one who possessed Maya, just like someone possessed Aelira? The thought made his stomach twist. Am I seriously entertaining the idea that demons are real? The elder¡¯s voice cut through the fog of his spiralling thoughts, quieter this time as if speaking more to himself than to the others. ¡°Let¡¯s pray we don¡¯t need more than the bards this time.¡± It wasn¡¯t long before they reached their destination, a small, unassuming entrance that led into a dark room. The air shifted the moment Amrite stepped inside, growing heavier, almost suffocating, as though it carried a weight that pressed down on his chest. It was thick with the metallic tang of candle smoke, sharp and intrusive, mingling with something else - something unfamiliar, something foul, like the rancid stench of food long past its time. The room was cramped, barely large enough for the fifty or so chairs arranged in tight rows, all facing a narrow stage at the far end. The only light came from candles scattered across the walls, their flames flickering in unnatural hues. Reds melted into blues, purples swirled into deep greens, the colours shifting and twisting like something alive. Shadows played along the faces of the gathered crowd, distorting their features into strange, unrecognisable shapes. At the centre of it all, at the very end of the stage, stood a young woman. Her head was bowed, her long, black, curly hair cascading over her face like a veil, obscuring her features. She looked young, her figure small, almost frail, but there was quiet defiance in the way she stood, her bare feet gripping the worn wooden floor as though she were rooted to it. She sat motionless, still as a statue, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room as they entered. Even in her stillness, there was an oppressive tension Amrite felt, as though she were a spring coiled too tightly, waiting for the moment it would snap. Her dress: the bodice a deep, blood-red crimson that poured into cascading layers of black ruffles. The fabric pooled around her feet in waves, catching the flickering light like the surface of a restless red sea. The elder moved with quiet purpose, his hand gripping Maya¡¯s as he guided her to the front rows of the seats. His steps were deliberate, each one echoing faintly against the wooden floorboards. He stopped just before the stage, lifting Maya¡¯s hand in his as though to anchor her in place. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said, his voice low and steady. ¡°Your sister is strong and today is different. Three cantaors were sent by the high court to expel this demon. They¡¯re some of the best in the province and have dedicated their whole life to this sole purpose. ¡°They will squeeze it out and it will be made to suffer, never to hurt anyone again¡±. Amrite swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he processed the elder¡¯s words. He couldn¡¯t look away from the girl on the stage, from the terrible stillness that seemed to radiate from her like an unspoken scream. He remembered from the conversation he heard earlier she was only fourteen and now another terrifying piece of the puzzle unravelled, it was Maya¡¯s sister? The room sank into an uneasy silence as they took their seats, a stillness so profound it seemed to press against the walls. Every murmur, every shuffle of movement ceased as three figures clad in blacks and deep crimsons similar to the girl approached the stage. Their steps were deliberate, their heels striking the wooden floor with a weight that reverberated through the air and made Amrite¡¯s heart shake. They moved with the kind of solemn purpose that left no room for doubt, no space for levity.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Amrite watched them, unease twisting in his chest. Is this some type of music exorcism? The thought was absurd, almost laughable, if not for the suffocating heaviness that hung over the room. The first man carried an instrument that resembled a guitar, though its pale, bone-like surface gleamed unnaturally in the flickering candlelight, as if it had been carved from something living and ancient. He stepped to the left edge of the stage, his fingers hovering above the strings with an almost predatory precision, poised to summon the first notes into existence. The second bard moved to the opposite side, his face carved into a mask of intensity, his eyes fixed dead ahead, unwavering, as though he stared at something beyond the visible world. The third man lingered in the centre, directly in front of the unmoving girl. His eyes were closed, his expression serene and otherworldly, as though he were already a part of the ritual yet to begin. An unspoken gravity emanated from him, a presence that seemed to blur the boundaries between the physical and the ethereal as if he existed in two worlds at once. Without a word, the man on the right side of the stage began. His hands came together in a steady, deliberate clap, the sound sharp and rhythmic, reverberating through the room like an invocation. Each clap carried a weight that transfixed the audience, as though the very air leaned in to listen. Then, almost on cue, the guitarist moved. His fingers danced across the strings, and the first notes spilt forth - swift, sharp twangs that faded almost as quickly as they came, leaving behind a trail of clarity. The sound was alive, brighter and more vibrant than any ordinary guitar, each note bursting into the air before dissolving, as if reality itself couldn¡¯t contain them for long. The music curled through the room like tendrils of smoke, delicate yet commanding, bending the atmosphere to its will. As the guitar¡¯s lively rhythm took hold of the space, the man in the middle began slamming his feet down in precise, percussive movements, the sound crashing through the room like hammers striking anvils. The vibrations resonated deep, as though they reached the very bones of the audience, each strike forging the foundation of something immense and unstoppable. The singer began to move, weaving across the stage with quick, decisive steps, his feet tapping and stomping with a fiery intensity. The floor seemed to respond to him, amplifying the sound until it filled every corner of the room, each tap a declaration of power. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as his movements grew faster, and more intricate, the sound climbing in force until it became a storm of rhythm and energy. And then it began. The shift was sudden, a tangible ripple through the air as the man behind the girl finally opened his mouth. A melody poured forth, deep and resonant, a voice so rich and unearthly it seemed to rise from the earth itself. The sound was both a lament and a command, ancient and primal, gripping the room with an almost oppressive weight. The layers of music fell one on top of the other, each distinctive and standing out from the other beautifully, but there was something dark and deeply rooted in the music that transfixed Amrite as he couldn¡¯t take his eyes off the performance, the sounds shaking his organs and mind. The girl, bound in stillness until this moment, moved. It was as if invisible chains had shattered, releasing her from their grasp. Amrite almost forgot she was there, the music up until this point completely having taken his attention and not allowing him to look at the woman. A smile had spread across her face - if it could even be called that. The corners of her mouth stretched impossibly high, carving an expression no human should be able to summon. Her teeth, unnaturally large and jagged, gleamed in the flickering light, each one too perfect, too sharp. The deadness in her eyes had been replaced, but not with life. What looked out now was something far worse: a manic, hollow joy, a grotesque happiness that didn¡¯t belong in the oppressive darkness of this room. Was this the demon they had spoken of until now finally showing itself? Was it hypnotised into action through some sort of spell? Mechanically, she stepped forward, her movements stiff and deliberate, like a puppet pulled along by unseen strings. She stopped at the very edge of the stage, her shoes teetering just over the drop as if daring gravity to claim her. The music didn¡¯t falter. The man on the right kept clapping, his rhythm relentless and unyielding, while the guitarist¡¯s fingers danced over the strings, the notes rising and falling with a hypnotic urgency. The dancer, who had commanded the stage moments ago, stepped back into the shadows, his powerful presence dimming as he gave way to the girl¡¯s grotesque transformation, although his mouth still moved ceaselessly, each note and sound flowing with flawless procession as if crafted by an instrument rather than human lips. He remained behind her, his haunting melody weaving through the room like a living thing, wrapping itself around the horror unfolding on the stage. Then the girl turned sharply, her movements had become unnervingly precise as she began weaving around the stage. The sounds came like a thunderclap. The heel of her bare foot struck the stage with a force that seemed to ripple through the air, louder and fiercer than anything that had come before. If the dancer¡¯s earlier taps had been hammers, hers were fireworks exploding in rapid succession, each one crashing through the room with unrelenting ferocity. The rhythm, once commanded by the dancer, shifted entirely, folding itself to her movements as her relentless blows punished the floorboards, driving them into submission. Amrite¡¯s breath caught as the men followed her lead, their movements and music bending to the rhythm she now set. It was as though she had seized the reins of the ritual, pulling the threads of sound and motion into her hands. Her fingers curled, wide and majestic, every gesture carving the air with newfound purpose. The stage, once dominated by the dancer¡¯s commanding presence, now belonged entirely to her. The rhythms twisted and turned, bouncing between slow, deliberate beats and frantic, chaotic bursts. The music swelled, filling the space with an almost unbearable energy, each shift in tempo leaving the audience breathless. And still, her control was absolute. Amrite couldn¡¯t look away. He was utterly transfixed, his eyes locked on her as though an invisible force held them in place. Then her face began changing, no. There was a better word for it¡­ Morphing. "It started with the smile¡ªimpossibly wide, her lips stretching so far it seemed her face might split apart. The grin flickered, twisting into something even more grotesque. Her jaw unhinged with a sickening crack, the sound of splintering bones reverberating through the air. Her skin pulled taut over her skull, sharpening every contour into something skeletal and otherworldly. A low, sinister laugh escaped her. It sank into Amrite¡¯s chest, sending a shiver down his spine and locking him in place, paralysed by the fear of a predator sitting only meters away from him." The candles in the room seemed to pulse, shifting from pink to deep purple, then to an eerie red. It bathed her face in shifting hues, each one exaggerating the unnatural contortions of her features, making her appear less human with every passing second. She twirled, her dress a crimson blur as she picked up speed. The beat quickened, driving faster and faster until it seemed the music itself might break under the strain. The sound grew sharper, louder, filling every corner of the room until it felt as though the walls themselves vibrated with the force of it. And then it came - a scream, raw and primal, ripping through the air like a jagged blade. It was a sound that didn¡¯t belong to the girl, nor any human throat. It was the scream of something other, something angry, a presence that had finally realised the threat that was approaching under a fake guise, although at this point it was too late. The audience froze, their faces pale and rigid, as though the weight of what they were witnessing had drained the very life from them. Now they were the unmoving ones, transfixed by the spectacle unfolding before them. All eyes remained locked on the girl as something began to shift. Her face contorted further, and then, impossibly, it began to project outward. A translucent shape sanguine and grotesque - pushed itself free, its edges writhing like smoke caught in an unnatural wind. The creature twisted, resisting its emergence, its jagged outline warping as though tethered to her still. At that critical moment, the musical exorcists sprang into motion. Their stillness shattered, each of them moving with a precision that seemed rehearsed yet entirely reactive. The guitarist¡¯s fingers tore across the strings in a furious cascade of notes, the sounds even sharper and faster than before, each note seeming to strike the projection like a physical blow. The clapping bard quickened his rhythm, the sound rolling through the room like the crash of distant waves, each strike heavy with power made the creature scream. Translucent, blood-red claws unfurled from the girl, their jagged tips lunging toward the guitarist with lethal intent. But the dancer stepped forward, his movements swift and instinctive. Each stomp of his foot struck the stage with such force that the floor seemed to tremble, as though he sought to splinter the ground beneath them. With every strike, a shimmering barrier of light materialized, translucent and crackling with energy, intercepting the claws and halting their advance. The demon¡¯s form was getting pulled further and further from the girl and its form flickered with every impact of sound. Its claws, half-formed and jagged, reached futilely for the girl she had previously inhabited, but its grip had loosened and now they were unable to reach its host as it was being pulled free. The singing bard behind her stepped forward at last, his haunting melody transforming into a single, guttural chant. His voice reverberated with an almost unnatural resonance, commanding the space with a force that bent it to its will. The words were unintelligible, but their power was unmistakable. A vessel appeared in his hands, a black, glasslike orb that seemed to drink in the light around it. With each note, each clap, each stomp, the projection was dragged closer to the orb, as though an invisible force were tethering it. The demon writhed violently, resisting, its form shuddering with fury and desperation. The audience could do nothing but watch, their breaths shallow, their gazes unblinking. The girl¡¯s body jerked violently as the last strands of the demon were torn from her, the translucent form stretching impossibly thin before snapping free entirely. With a final, wrenching scream, the projection was dragged into the orb, its translucent form twisting and writhing as though resisting until the very last moment. The orb sealed itself with a sharp, resonant hum that reverberated through the room, leaving the air heavy with its finality. And then, as if the room itself held its breath, the bards fell silent, their task complete. A crushing stillness filled the room. For a moment, no one moved the weight of what had just transpired pinning them in place. Then, as if a spell had been broken, the crowd erupted. Chairs scraped harshly against the floor as people leapt to their feet, their faces awash with relief and triumph. They surged toward the stage, their cheers rising in waves that reverberated through the small, candlelit room. ¡°She¡¯s breathing!¡± someone cried, their voice cracking with emotion. ¡°She¡¯s alive! Thank Serelina the woman sobbed.¡± Amrite¡¯s chest tightened as he watched them gather around the girl, a chaotic blur of joy and gratitude. Hands reached out to touch her, tentative at first as if confirming she was real, whole, saved. ¡°Your sister will live, Maya!¡± the same woman exclaimed, turning back with tears streaking her face. ¡°She made it. The demon is gone - finally exorcised!¡± ¡°Maya, come here!¡± another shouted, beckoning him forward. ¡°She¡¯s safe now!¡± He didn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t. The relief washing over the room was palpable, contagious even, but it didn¡¯t touch him. It couldn¡¯t. His gaze lingered on the girl lying still on the stage, her chest rising and falling with shallow, laboured breaths. The memory of her grotesque smile, the inhuman teeth, the eyes hollowed out by something ancient and terrible burned in his mind. But it wasn¡¯t her that terrified him now. It was the demon. The screams it had unleashed, the way its form had writhed and resisted as it was torn free, clawing at her soul like a cornered beast. Whatever that thing was, it wasn¡¯t of his world. It wasn¡¯t of any world he wanted to understand. The voices around him blurred into indistinct noise. All Amrite could think about was the cold truth settling into his bones. What happens when they realize I¡¯m not Maya? The thought clawed at him, relentless. He couldn¡¯t speak their language. He couldn¡¯t mimic her movements, her presence. Even his hesitation earlier when he hadn¡¯t followed their lead had drawn wary stares. They would know. Sooner or later, they would see him for the fraud that he was. He remained silent, his unease masked beneath the jubilant noise of the crowd¡¯s celebration. The bards, their task completed, departed without a word, carrying the black orb that now imprisoned the demon. Time slipped by unnoticed, the fervour of the moment fading into a quiet lull. Unable to communicate, his silence was misinterpreted; the others soon drifted away, assuming his fear had stolen his voice and left him too shaken to speak. When they finally made it to their home, when the cheers and relief had faded into the stillness of night, Amrite made his decision. The idea of staying in this body, this world, filled him with an unspeakable dread. He couldn¡¯t pretend to be her. He couldn¡¯t endure their rituals, their scrutiny. Better to end it on his terms, here and now, before the truth clawed its way into the light In the dead of night, he moved with quiet purpose finding a tree not far from his newfound residence. He walked slowly, his bare feet crunching softly against the dew-covered grass. His hands trembled as he slipped off his clothes. The cool air bit at his skin, but he barely noticed. Every movement felt detached, and mechanical, as though his body was acting on orders his mind couldn¡¯t override. He took the dress and made the tightest knot that he could. Each action was practised again and again and before he knew it the knot was tied to the tree and he found his neck in between. Was this it? Was he really going to end everything just like this? He thought of his mother and his father, and how angry they would be at him that he threw his life away without even trying. He thought long and hard, but in the end, it didn¡¯t matter. He grew up with pain his whole life, and if he learned one thing from it, he knew it could always get worse. When they found out he wasn¡¯t Maya he knew a never-ending hell would wait for him. Better to end it now. Better to end it on his terms. With a last long breath, he dropped from the tree. And then, the pain came. Not from the noose, but from his joints - a familiar ache that bloomed suddenly and unexpectedly, and then spread through his limbs. It wasn¡¯t the body he wore just a moment ago. It was his body. The real one. The world shifted around him, the room dissolving into a blur of light. He blinked, and when his eyes opened again, he was lying flat, staring up at the blinding lit up ceiling of the asylum. His lungs burned as he gasped for air. His hands, his real hand ached as he flexed them, the joints stiff and uncooperative. But the pain in the moment was a relief. It was real. Familiar. For a long moment, Amrite simply lay there, trembling, his mind reeling from what he had just endured. He was back. Somehow, impossibly, he was back. The cold ceiling stared back at him, unmoving and indifferent. But it was real. The ache in his joints and the shallow rhythm of his breath was familiar, grounding. Yet the screams, the music, the grotesque smile, they all clung to him, refusing to fade. He was back, but he wasn¡¯t free. Would you like to begin a new voyage? Ringing. Incessant, piercing ringing. A sound that didn''t just linger but clawed its way into Amrite¡¯s brain as relentlessly as a ticking clock in a silent room. The ringing didn¡¯t linger alone, it dragged him back into memories that he wanted to push out, a life he couldn¡¯t untangle from his own. The music rose and fell in his mind, a grotesque symphony looping endlessly, each note dragging him back to its depths, back to that demonic smile forged in hell itself. The memories spun like a cracked record, each revolution digging deeper, every jagged scratch sharper, unstoppable. ¡°Amrite? Amrite? Amrite!¡± Amrite blinked. Dr. Mendez¡¯s worried gaze swam into focus. Her voice was calm but firm, as though each syllable were a gentle hand pressed against his shoulder. Hue stood nearby, hovering uncertainly in the corridor. ¡°Are you all right, Amrite?¡± Dr. Mendez asked, her tone low and measured. ¡°You look quite pale. Has something unsettled you?¡± Still, the ringing dominated, sharp and impassable. He heard her, yet her words struggled to pierce the thick haze shrouding his mind. ¡°Hue came earlier to fetch you for our session,¡± she continued, ¡°but when you didn¡¯t respond, he asked me to check on you. You seemed distant as if you were somewhere else entirely. Would you like to tell me what¡¯s on your mind? It might help to speak about what you¡¯re feeling.¡± Amrite understood just enough to grasp that she wanted some explanation for his current state. How could he put this into words? I was a woman in another world just a few hours ago. I saw a demon. I killed myself. The thoughts looped endlessly, absurd and impossible. How could he say any of this aloud, especially to someone who would decide whether he could leave this place or not? He wanted out, he wanted to be back in his apartment, back under his covers where he could hide from it all. As he tried to form some words for his muddied thoughts, he looked up again. Dr. Mendez was gone, the space she had occupied now empty. Had she truly been there, or had his mind played tricks on him? His thoughts were too crowded to answer. In that instant, the truth, whatever it might be, slipped through his grasp and into the relentless hum of that dreadful ringing. Time quickly slipped by in that timeless place, unnoticed until the familiar words manifested before him once again. Would you like to begin a new voyage? ¡°No,¡± Amrite said, weary resignation threading through the single syllable. He had rehearsed this moment countless times in his mind, yet it made no difference. Acknowledged. Voyage initiated¡­ Without any means to refuse, he collapsed inward, dropping once more into oblivion. Emptiness. Void. Silence. The darkness enveloped him entirely, a cocoon of nothingness from which he could not escape. Slowly, his mind began to reassemble, thought by fragile thought. There was no light, no warmth, no sound - only the sluggish reformation of a consciousness forced back into existence. He drifted, powerless, within the void¡¯s suffocating embrace. No energy, no will, not even the strength to push away the intrusive memories that came as soft whispers or harsh shouts. Amrite felt hollow as if his soul had stretched too thin. Time trickled by, until a haunting sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu settled upon him. He remembered a childhood memory: floating in a salt bath, his mother¡¯s gentle smile somewhere beyond the soundproof walls. He recalled that sensation of weightlessness as if his body had become insubstantial, free from all burdens of pain. Now, as then, he floated senseless, formless, and strangely a sense of calm perforated through his bodiless body. He knew what was coming next. The lights would appear soon enough. And appear they did. Letters assembled, almost indifferently, at the centre of his vision. Voyage number 8 has been initiated. Please choose a location to be deployed. Once again, he felt himself drawn through the darkness, powerless as a spider washed down a drain. He had no more ability to resist than a leaf in a storm. The lights rushed towards him, a host of faint specks the first he noticed was a pale, wavering blue, barely discernible at all. He fixed his gaze upon it, straining to will himself into its glow. The journey through the void had given him a lot of time to think. He couldn¡¯t face the kaleidoscope of lights again, nor endure the torrent of emotions they unleashed. He needed an escape, a way to break free earlier. If he guessed right it was his focus that determined if the light would shoot towards him or not. Amrite used his whole focus, on that one point of the dot, doing his best to keep it directly in the centre of whatever was giving him sight. Just as he readied himself to dismiss his theory entirely, the pale blue spec suddenly streaked towards him, enveloping him completely. He blinked and found himself beneath a soft, heavy blanket in a dimly lit room. The air was warm and still, and as he fought down the urge to vomit, he reminded himself to move slowly and that he was living again. He concentrated on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, calming his unsteady breathing. Gradually, the swirling confusion in his mind quietened, and he braced himself for whatever life he had stepped into this time. Beneath the same cover, only a breath away, he noticed a woman, perhaps in her early thirties, lost in a deep and untroubled sleep. Long, dark hair fanned out across the pillow, framing a peaceful face that showed no signs of waking. He studied her for a moment, relieved that his abrupt arrival had not disturbed her slumber. Bracing himself, Amrite slowly raised his arms and took in his new form. This time he wore the body of a man. His hands were broad and calloused, marked with the quiet evidence of labour. He flexed his fingers experimentally, each joint and muscle a testament to a life he had not chosen, yet now found himself inhabiting. Amrite noticed that the relentless ringing had finally subsided, leaving only a faint hush in its wake. He had lost all measure of how long he had drifted through that shapeless darkness, yet now a certainty took root within him. In the silent void between worlds, he had forged a plan, and now he would steel himself to carry it out. He surveyed the modest surroundings by the glow of faint moonlight that slipped in through the slightly ajar door. The cabin was spare: wooden walls and a simple straw mattress, with a few farming tools neatly arranged beside the threshold as if their owner took quiet pride in keeping order. The air carried the faint scent of timber mingled with a trace of cold ash, hinting at a fire long extinguished."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. With careful movements, he eased himself out of the warm covers. The hay-filled mattress dipped silently, and the wooden floor felt cool beneath his bare feet. He moved towards the door, each step deliberately quiet. Beyond it lay another small chamber, leading straight outside. There, under the open sky, his breath caught. The cold night air bit sharply into Amrite¡¯s lungs, making him want to jump back into the warm bed that he had just vacated. Amrite took a moment to steel himself once more for what was to come. This was another moment he had rehearsed in his mind again and again both in the void and in the asylum, and he knew he couldn¡¯t take too long if he didn¡¯t want to stop himself. Stepping into the night, he found himself in a crude farmyard. An axe rested plunged into a stump, freshly split logs scattered at its base. In nearby pens, sheep huddled close together, their muffled shuffling stirring the dark. They could have been goats or some other animal as Amrite has never been on a farm, but he didn¡¯t stay long enough to find out. He ignored the small details, pressing on until he spotted a length of cord coiled near a pile of kindling. He grasped the cord and ventured into the shadows, each step careful, muffled, and purposeful. He advanced until he found a suitable tree - an old, knotted thing. He climbed with a grim sort of familiarity, wedging his foot into rough bark and pulling himself up into the boughs. His hands began trembling, the cold starting to make them shake. Or maybe it was the fear of hanging once again? Amrite genuinely wasn¡¯t sure as he didn¡¯t allow himself to linger. He played this moment too many times in his head while in the void to allow himself any respite from his motions. With shaking hands, he formed another noose. The second that he had fashioned for this purpose. He put it around his neck and stared down at the hard ground once more. ¡°I won''t let myself get caught here. I won¡¯t pretend to be someone I¡¯m not¡± Amrite whispered to himself, hot tears beginning to form in his eyes. He dropped, weight and gravity doing their grim work in an instant. No sooner had he felt the desperate pull around his neck than the world was snatched away. The icy air, the sheep, and the coarse bark under his fingertips, all just vanished. He blinked, and in that blink, he was back, the stinging pain of his joints undeniably welcoming him back home. Welcoming. Amrite grimaced at the thought. How could this wretched, relentless ache, etched into his bones for as long as memory served, feel anything but loathsome? The notion stirred a distant memory of his grandmother, her voice heavy with wisdom and weariness, as she sat hunched over in her chair. ¡°Pain,¡± she¡¯d said, her words carrying the weight of shared affliction, ¡°is how we know we¡¯re alive. It¡¯s cruel, yes, but there¡¯s something far worse, the silence that comes when it¡¯s gone.¡± The words of his grandmother were etched deep, and even now the meaning landed like a whisper from the past cutting through the fog. Pain was a tether, and now it was the familiarity that gripped him to his normal life. The thought unsettled him as the artificial light blazed in his eyes, drawing him wholly back into the embrace of reality. Amrite rubbed his neck, remembering, and tried to steady his heart. He had escaped that world again, but it had cost him another suicide. Another inch of his sanity. ¡°I¡¯ll do it every time if I have to, I don¡¯t care.¡± Amrite murmured into the silence, his voice reaching no ears but his own. ¡°I won¡¯t be put through that torture when they find out I¡¯m not of that world.¡± ¡­ Would you like to begin a new voyage? ¡°Do not start voyage!¡± Amrite roared. Acknowledged. Voyage initiated¡­ ¡­ Voyage number 9 has been initiated. Please choose a location to be deployed. ¡­ Would you like to begin a new voyage? ¡°STOP!¡± Amrite commanded. Acknowledged. Voyage initiated¡­ ¡­ Voyage number 10 has been initiated. Please choose a location to be deployed. ¡­ Would you like to begin a new voyage? ¡°Cease. False. Disable voyage. Please don''t start another one!!!¡± Amrite ordered. Acknowledged. Voyage initiated¡­ ¡­ Voyage number 11 has been initiated. Please choose a location to be deployed. ¡­ Again and again, the pattern repeated itself. It was not always so straightforward; sometimes he found himself improvising, sometimes barely scraping through. Yet Amrite always discovered a way. In the void, he would regain some semblance of control, resisting the desperate urge to struggle. He would drift, letting his mind align itself with the grim task that lay ahead, mustering the determination to face what came next. When the lights appeared, he would fix his gaze on the first one, never allowing himself to wander deeper into their dazzling labyrinth. Venturing further only meant more confusion, more chaos, and more fragments of life that would cling to him undesirably. By keeping his focus tight, he could land in a new world quickly, maintaining just enough control of himself to stay in control. Once he arrived, he took care to behave as unsuspiciously as possible. He would play his part, whatever it happened to be: a labourer, a scholar, a farmer. He still couldn¡¯t communicate but he found ways to get through it. Feigning sickness, or fainting if he was ever backed into a corner. Then, in the dead of night, while all others slept soundly, he would make his exit, slipping away to end his life. He allowed himself no lingering attachments, no doubts. It was his only purpose, time after time. Some grew wary of his strange manner, but their suspicions remained too vague, too unfocused, to entrap him. He worked against the clock, knowing that the longer he tarried, the closer he drifted to capture. Always, on that very same night, he would steal off into the darkness and finish his grim business at hand. This time would be no different. As Amrite woke after another long journey in the void, he wondered, was this truly another world? A familiar ache radiated through his joints, seizing him like an old adversary. He recognised its weight immediately, the stinging of sore joints radiating through his body. As Amrite gathered himself yet again, he raised his newly acquired hands and studied them. A habit he had picked up ever since the second voyage where he had inhabited the farmer. His hands were broad, knotted with raised blue veins with skin marked by time - thin, wrinkled, and flecked with liver spots. His joints felt stiff, and as he flexed his fingers, he realised he inhabited an elderly man¡¯s body this time. With a quiet sigh, he turned his head, taking in the room. It was small but comfortable, lit by the soft glow of morning light seeping through cracks in the door. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling, and a simple woven rug covered the floor. Amrite, mind racing with the plan he needed to enact, considered how he might leave this world just as quickly as he had entered it. But before he could settle on a method, the sound of light footsteps reached his ears. ¡°Bapa!¡± A child¡¯s voice sliced through his thoughts. Spinning around, he saw a little girl dart into the room. She wore a simple homespun dress, faded linen dyed a pale earthy green. Its edges were frayed, suggesting it had been handed down or worn for many seasons. Her hair, a warm chestnut brown, fell in soft waves around her shoulders, tied loosely at the back with a thin strip of cloth. She was perhaps six or seven years old, with wide, curious eyes that shone like polished hazelnuts and cheeks flushed from running, either in play or from excitement at seeing him awake. Without pause, she leapt into his arms, her small, calloused feet leaving the floor as she pressed herself against him with the complete trust and love only a child could offer. Her laughter tinkled like a tiny bell, and her scent - a mixture of fresh hay, warm bread, and the faint sweetness of a child¡¯s innocent world enveloped him. ¡°Bapa! Bapa!¡± the girl repeated, her voice bright and earnest. She gazed up at him with unguarded affection, as if his presence were the sole reason her morning had begun so joyously. Amrite froze, the word echoing in his mind. ¡°Bapa?¡± he echoed softly, his voice rough with confusion. He stared down at the girl, his borrowed arms still cradling her slight weight. Here, in this medieval hush, he was someone¡¯s grandfather? For now, that single truth hung over him like a distant bell, leaving him uncertain, unsettled, and utterly unprepared.