• I no longer know whether what I think is true or false.
The truth… what is it, really?
A statement filled with fragments that claim—rightly or wrongly—to be true or false… It seems simple, yet it is maddeningly complex. What tells us that this so-called truth isn't just a lie wearing the mask of honesty? So how can I know if what I think remains my truth, and not the twisted reflection of someone else's?
If I'm telling you this, it's because it will matter later. People believe the mind is something simple, when in reality it is dangerous and labyrinthine. The mind is like a vast lake—still, shallow at first glance, but the depths are endless and suffocating. Imagine measuring our current awareness: it would be nothing more than a single drop lost in an immeasurable ocean.
– Why is this book talking about that? A recipe book is supposed to be about food, not philosophy!
– Pierre! Dinner is in twenty minutes. Get ready properly this time, understood?
– Yes, Sister Marie!
Alright, let's continue reading…
• I'm not saying this to scare you, no. I'm saying it to warn you of a danger far greater than you believe. Since I arrived in this place, this mysterious land, I can no longer tell reality from illusion, or truth from lies. You might think this is foolish, laughable even… but this is the reality of the world I'm trapped in!
Have you ever watched a woman die before your eyes, only to rise again and slaughter her former friends, until she was killed once more—her body dismembered and locked away in jars so her memory would vanish? I lived through it. And yet, the very next day, no one remembered she had ever existed. As if memory itself had been devoured.
And it happens again, and again. Bodies—men, women—tortured, abused, mutilated… and the following day, erased from all memory, as if our minds were black holes swallowing themselves. I fear the day will come when even my own existence is devoured. Why us? Why me? I was kind, quiet… harmless. And yet I was cast into this hell that doesn't even try to hide.
If it were only memory loss, maybe I could accept it. But no—the Devil has his claws in this place! Something watches us from the darkness. It doesn't sleep, it doesn't stop, it only hungers. Perhaps it was a mistake to settle down here, to try to live in peace. After surviving so many ordeals, maybe it's simply bad luck that has finally caught us.
– Weird… why would all this be in a cooking magazine? And what are these "old trials" he talks about?
– The right question isn't "why are you here?" but "how did you get here?" And anyway… why am I even thinking about this, when his whole story is clearly made up…
There were barely forty pages left. So I plunged once more—and for the last time—into his tale.
• In the end, I decided to leave the village before death claimed me like the others… death… angels… why is her smile twisted… the sea, unnaturally calm these days… so faith does exist… I doubt the existence of all these monsters… is it real, or only in my head? I see corpses, phantoms… or worse.
I met a group of survivors—ten in total, four women, six men. They were kind… but something about them felt wrong. The women were nothing but playthings. One of them vanished. Changed, I think. Or maybe she never was herself. It's been thirty suns and moons since I've lived in relative peace. I pray it lasts… She dances naked. She terrifies me. I was right—it's not her. It's a copy. A monster in her shape.
God… I'm bleeding. It's been a week since I left them, after learning the truth. I was walking through the forest when I fell. Sprained ankle, I think. Laugh if you want, but my body is weak. Injuries come easily. And what did I stumble over? A skull. Flesh stripped away, just white bone. Of course I searched the pockets for food or supplies… but no. It was Garrie. The leader of the group. Damn it… why…
After that, too many events happened at once to describe.
…
▪︎ (Torn pages, or writing so violent and scratched out it's unreadable. Nearly twenty pages lost.)
…
I wonder if all this was the will of Baphorak or Aël… or if the gods of this world decreed it. But no. I refuse to believe. If it was their doing, then they are worse than all the monsters, demons and abominations I've seen in this grotesque nightmare.
Here I am, at death's door. No, not because of a beast. I am ill. I believe it's HIV. Perhaps it's fitting, after what I did to that young woman… I'm sorry, mother. Forgive me, father.
Don't trust your mind. It lies to you. Sometimes to protect you from a truth too brutal to face. Sometimes because it has already betrayed you. If anyone finds this journal, may they forgive the sins I have carved into the world. May God have mercy.
Signed: Franck Dupuit
– Wow. I clapped when I finished—it left me in such a twisted, unsettling mood.
– It's a shame, though, that Franck committed such crimes. It ruins him as a character. Still… I wonder what kind of creature he faced. And those "games" at the start—what were they? Some twisted Squid Game? A deathmatch? I can't help but wonder…
And then the woman's voice echoed through the orphanage. Our mother's voice:
– Dinner's ready, children!!!
End of the episode.
And thank you for reading.