Ayden's POV:
Christy is standing quite far away from me.
Her eyes are locked onto mine, a small smile forming on her face.
Christy: "Ayden…"
Her voice is trembling. That's enough confirmation.
She remembers me.
A strange mix of relief and tension fill my chest.
"…Thank God."
But I'm not thankful because I found her, or that I don't have to remind her of anything. I'm thankful I can put an end to this.
I take a step toward her. But she doesn't move. She's just staring at me. Like she's trying to figure out if I'm real.
I stop.
- Christy: "Is that really you…?"
She sounds unsure. Frightened, even.
I let out a sigh as I continue my approach. Slower this time. I put on my best smile and "nice guy" routine.
"It's me, Christy. I'm not sure what you've been through, but I'm here."
- Christy: "You really came back... Is everyone else okay?"
Honestly, it relieves me a little that she's able to still think rationally. Still asking questions.
Maybe things will go better this time.
"Yeah. They're all back at the cabin wai—"
Suddenly, a sharp pain shoots through my head.
"—gh!"
Still, I'm able to keep focus on what's going on around me.
The white expanse around us is flickering. Warping like a VHS tape. Lines stretching violently.
The ground, if there even was one, twists unnaturally beneath my feet.
- Christy: "Ayden?!"
Her voice echoes strangely, as if she were getting farther and farther away from me. My vision blurs at the edges as the sound of paper ripping fills my head.
I cover my ears with my hands, but it's no use. Pain shoots through my eyes as static fills my vision.
What is this?!
- Christy: "Wait—"
She reaches out to me, but I can't reach for her.
I close my eyes, trying to calm down and breathe through the burning sensation running its course through my vains.
After a few minutes, the pain subsides enough for me to open my eyes.
But when I do, I'm no longer where I once was.
A narrow hallway stretches out in front of me. Tight enough that maybe only three of me could stand shoulder to shoulder. The walls, which are painted in a bland beige, are lined with tall mirrors, each one reflecting me back at slightly different angles. Too many versions of myself staring back at once.
A shiver runs down my spine.
I thought for once, things would be easy. I silently curse my horrible luck.
Why do I always speak? It's like I'm asking for something to happen.
At the very end, I notice a single open door. As if it were inviting me to enter.
As I walk in, the room beyond is even worse.
Mirrors line every wall, reflecting endlessly into themselves. Dozens of mannequins are scattered around, each frozen in different ballet poses. Perfect, balanced and lifeless.
It's unsettling.
Then I hear it.
A sharp scrape against the floor, followed by a thud. I'm not alone. The thought instantly worries me.
I turn to see the door behind me has disappeared, mirrors and a wall in its place.
A girl stands in front of me.
She spins, stumbles and fails, falling onto the floor.
Hard.
Her knees hit the ground with a dull crack. She sucks in a breath, trembling, then forces herself back up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
My eyes narrow.
"…Christy?"
She's younger. Thinner and smaller too. But there's no doubt in my mind. It's her.
She's breathing heavy, chest rising and falling like she can't get enough air. Sweat clings to her skin as her movements get sloppier. Desperation fills each motion. Like she's trying to reach something she can't quite grasp.
I step toward her.
"Hey. Christy?"
No response. She just continues her dancing, almost like I never even spoke. Unaware of my presence.
I reach out, but for some reason my hand stops.
Like something invisible is blocking it.
I try pushing, but no budge. I can't interact with her. I'm only supposed to watch.
I realize another mannequin standing near her. This one is different though.
It's posed like a person mid-step. Its mouth stretched wide open, frozen in a silent scream. One arm raised, gripping a thin ruler.
The angle and posture tell me something. It's not dancing at all.
It's yelling. At Christy.
My eyes flick over to her.
Bruises line her arm.
They're faint, but there.
And they're not from falling.
What the fuck is this?
A sharp pressure suddenly builds behind my eyes. Not nearly as bad as before, but enough to make my vision waver.
"…Again?"
The room flickers.
For a split second, everything goes black. I'm still conscious though.
Then it snaps back, and I'm no longer in that room.
Rows of desks span out in front of me. Perfectly aligned, not even a single one out of place. It's a classroom. The chalkboard is spotless. The walls are clean and smooth as well. Almost like they've never been touched before. The windows are all shut too. Not just closed, but sealed.
My chest tightens.
"…Seriously?"
No one reacts to my words. Of course they wouldn't.
Students fill the room. All mannequins. Some are at their desks, seated straight, with their hands on their desks. Others are standing, making what seems to be small talk.
This is pushing it now. Enough with the mannequins.
My gaze shifts.
Christy is sitting near the center. Older than before. Composed, with a perfect posture and hands folded neatly on her desk. She's speaking, but no sound is being produced. Almost like we're in a vacuum, and the air is refusing to carry it.
I look over to the front of the class. A mannequin, seated at the teacher's desk is pointing a chalk at her. Its head is tilted.
It's… scolding her.
Christy's face is completely blank though. No expression. Nothing. She just nods slightly, bowing her head down onto the table.
In this state, however, I manage to hear only a few faint words exit her mouth.
- Christy: "…I won't make the same mistake again…"
That line. That's what puts the pieces together in my mind. I walk over beside her desk, looking down at her.
"…Yeah."
A breath escapes me.
"Of course you won't…"
My jaw tightens and twists with spite.
Is this how you see things? Empty shells of people surrounding you? No life in the outside world?
My fingers curl slightly at my side.
"…That still doesn't justify anything."
The words come out quieter than I expected.
"You don't get to decide who lives or dies, just because you're afraid of things going wrong."
I stare at her, brows furrowed and eyes focused.
"You don't get to kill me to make things easier."
Unfortunately, before I can reach for her, the static returns, dulling everything again.
"…How many times—"
I cut myself off as the pain worsens, forcing me to curl in on myself in a useless attempt to fight it. Falling to the ground, I take controlled breaths and close my eyes.
The floor shifts under my feet, causing me to lose my balance. I instinctively open my eyes, and find myself in another location.
A house…
The pain festering at the back of my mind, the stuffy atmosphere lingering all the same.
The moment I take a step forward, it starts. A constant high-pitched ringing.
"…What the hell…?"
I press a hand to my ear. It doesn't help. It's not coming from outside. It's in my head. I force myself to ignore it and push forward.
The hallways feel unnervingly tight. It's dark here, the only light filtering in from the windows, dim and weak, casting long stretched shadows across everything. The quiet that fills the house is also unsettling, like the house itself is holding something in. Something that could break at the slightest sound.
A collection of art pieces hang along the walls, the light gently reflecting off each one. Their frames are elegant, but the works themselves are questionable. There are no family portraits, no personal memories of anything. Just pieces that seem really out of place.
One, in particular, catches my attention. A painting of a single, empty room, with no furniture or anything of value. There are bottles that sit on the floor, each one is just as empty as the room. They are completely spotless, reflecting the light emanating from the only window in the painting. I stare at it for a minute, before continuing down the hallway.
I step into the kitchen. The room itself feels is functional, though cold and quiet. The appliances are sleek and modern. The dim light from the adjoining room spills over the counter.
Through the open doorway, I can see into the living room. The brown leather couch and armchair are worn, but well-maintained. A coffee table occupies the center. An antique wood with a smooth polish.
At the far end of the room, a woman sits in the armchair, absorbed in a newspaper. Her posture is rigid, her focus unwavering as she reads, the sound of rustling pages being flipped filling the space. A younger version of Christy stands nearby, holding a piece of paper in her hands. I can't see the content from here, but I'm guessing it's a test or assignment.
Another thing to prove herself with…
Christy reaches out to her mom, her voice soft and a little nervous. She sounds like she's bracing for something, expecting the worst.
- Christy: "Mother, I did better this time. Look—"
Her words are interrupted by her mom waving her hand in dismissal.
- Christy's Mom: "Not right now."
Her eyes grow somber as she stares at her feet.
She looks defeated.
The ringing suddenly sharpens. Slightly louder than before. Almost like it's digging into my head. I speak out without thinking.
"…You've gotta be kidding me."
But no one hears me. No one reacts to me. Almost like I'm a ghost.
Christy's outstretched arm slowly lowers. She doesn't put up a fight or argue with her mother. She just gives up.
I see her turn and quietly head up the stairs to the right.
But as I try to follow her, I don't move. I can't move. Something is blocking my path. The same way it was when I tried interacting with her earlier.
Does this dream want me to see something else?
As I take a step back, the heavy thud of footsteps echoes behind me. I turn just in time to see a man walk into the room.
It's her dad…
His face is hard, his eyes cold, his demeanour like that of a man worryingly commanding. I instinctively step aside, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
Not like anyone can see me anyways. Something about him is unsettling though. And I don't like I can't put my finger on it.
The man walks by, and immediately a conversation breaks out once he enters the living room. Strangely, I can't hear what they're saying properly. It's all mumbling. As if they were in a distant room, closed off. Then it hits me.
I get it. I must only be able to hear what Christy hears…
I can't make out their words, but I can hear the rise in the womans voice. I can see her pointing her finger at him accusingly. The man is just brushing her off, the same way she did to Christy earlier.
As their argument escalates, the ringing in my ears gets slightly louder.
The man keeps dismissing her, trying to walk away, but it's clear she's not having it. She steps in front of him, her voice rising and becoming somewhat understandable now.
- Christy's Mom: "You must have been with that whore again!"
The words shock me for a second. My eyes go wide as I keep watching nonetheless.
As she demands answers, and I can feel the anger she's expressing, thickening the air. It's all heading for something worse, something dangerous.
My heart begins to race, an underlying worry creeping up my spine.
I need to get out of here. I need to find Christy, and fast.
Thankfully, the second I think it, I realize I can move again. I don't waste a second, rushing up the stairs and checking every room as I go. I don't find her in any of them. Panic rises in my chest.
Where is she? I didn't see her anywhere else. Where could she have gone?
Butt then it hits me like a cold wave. She's hiding.
The ringing in my ears has been getting louder, almost deafening now. It's disorienting, and I can barely focus. The world feels too tight, the air too thick, like I can't breathe properly. I look around frantically and finally, my eyes land on a door at the end of the hallway.
It's her bedroom.
I push the door open cautiously. The room is dim, lit only by the faintest sliver of moonlight. I don't see her though. I look toward the corner of the room. A closet. I pull it open slowly, a slight hesitation behind my movements. It's cramped and dark. Trophies, ribbons, and other trinkets line the floor, with Christy at the center of it. She's curled up, her body balled up tightly, like she's trying to disappear into the walls. Her eyes, red and teary, lock onto mine the moment I opened the closet.
"Christy…"
I whisper, my voice barely breaking the suffocating silence.
She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, just stares at me, her face a mixture of confusion and something deeper. Pain.
I swallow hard, my chest tight.
I don't… I don't forgive you. For what you did. I don't think I ever will.
But standing here, in front of her like this, with everything falling apart around her.
I understand.
I don't know how long I stand there in the silence, but finally, I reach out my hand, offering it to her. She hesitates for only a moment before her shaking fingers slowly lift, her hand finding mine.
The moment her hand touches mine, everything around us shifts. The ground beneath my feet trembles, and the entire room starts to crumble, the walls splintering apart like they were made of glass.
I hear her voice speak out.
- Christy: "Ayden…"
When I look back at her, she's back to the Christy I know. A smile formed on her face, tears running down her face. It's the last thing I see before the world vanishes completely.
Then, she disappears. Gone. Like she was never there at all. And I'm left standing alone in the white expanse.
Clapping sounds out from behind me. It startles me for a second, before I realize it can only be one person behind it.
I turn around, my heart pounding in my chest. The air feels heavy, like it's pressing in from all sides. And standing before me, with a presence that makes the space feel even more suffocating.
- The Dreamer: "Well done. I'm quite shocked with how you handled that. It's… uncharacteristic of you."
I don't bother commenting on his words, getting straight to the point.
"What do you want?"