The world had gone silent again.
The storm was over. The mansion was gone. And I was standing in a shallow crater where it used to be, surrounded by nothing but wet earth and broken trees.
For a long time, I didn't move. The smell of ash clung to everything — a bitter, metallic scent that filled my lungs no matter how deeply I tried to breathe. My clothes were torn, my hands scraped raw, and every part of me hurt in ways that didn't feel entirely physical.
The last thing I remembered was light — that impossible, burning white that had swallowed the mansion whole. I thought it had killed me. Maybe it had. Maybe what crawled out of the crater wasn't entirely human anymore.
"Maya?"
No answer. Only the rustle of wind through the skeletal trees.
I stumbled toward the forest's edge. My steps felt heavy, uneven, like gravity had changed. The forest was unfamiliar now — brighter somehow, yet colder. The leaves shimmered faintly with moisture, reflecting fragments of red whenever the sunlight shifted.
I told myself it was just a trick of the light.
It took me most of the day to reach the road. I recognized the cracked asphalt, the leaning sign that marked the trailhead — the same one we'd passed what felt like a lifetime ago. My car was still there, half-buried in fallen branches and soaked leaves.
I forced the door open and sat inside. The engine coughed once, then started. The sound felt foreign — too normal. Too alive.
Driving away from the forest felt like trying to escape gravity. Every mile I put between myself and that crater felt heavier than the one before. The trees seemed to stretch on forever, until, finally, the first hints of civilization appeared — rooftops, telephone poles, the distant hum of life.
But the silence didn't leave me.
Even as the city swallowed me again, everything felt wrong. The people on the sidewalks moved too slowly. The sky hung too still. My reflection in the rearview mirror flickered when I blinked — just once, a faint afterimage like heat distortion.
By the time I reached my apartment, night had fallen.
The lights buzzed when I turned them on. Dust coated every surface, though I'd only been gone a few days. The calendar on the wall said otherwise.
Seventeen days.
I sat on the couch, staring at the date until my eyes blurred.
That was when I heard it — faint, rhythmic.
Thump. Thump.
At first, I thought it was just the pipes, the old radiator. But then it synced with my pulse.
Thump. Thump.
My chest tightened. I pressed a hand to my ribs, feeling the faint vibration deep beneath the skin.
"No," I whispered. "No, no…"
I stumbled to the mirror above the sink. My reflection looked normal. Pale, exhausted, but normal. Until I looked closer.
Beneath the surface of my eyes, a faint red shimmer pulsed once, like an ember catching light.
I staggered back. "You're gone. I destroyed you."
Did you?
The voice came from nowhere — soft, familiar, and terribly calm.
I turned toward the door. Nothing.
You tore down the walls, Arlen. But I was never just the mansion. I was what you carried into it.
I pressed my hands to my head. "Get out of me."
You can't kill a memory.
I stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. My breath came fast, uneven. "I ended it. I ended you."
The voice laughed softly, like wind through hollow wood.
You only gave me room to grow.
The sound shifted, coming from behind me now. I spun — and froze.
The reflection in the dark window wasn't mine anymore. It was the other me — the one from the Heart. Pale skin, red eyes, faint smile.
He raised a hand, pressing it to the glass from the other side.
"Hello, Arlen."
I backed away slowly. "You're not real."
"Neither were we, once. But the mind makes reality."
The lights flickered, dimmed, then went out.
Darkness filled the room, and with it came the faint scent of dust and old wood — the mansion's scent. The air grew thick, almost warm, and I could hear it again: that slow, steady heartbeat beneath the floor.
Thump. Thump.
I grabbed the nearest object — a lamp — and hurled it at the window. The glass shattered, cold air rushing in. The reflection was gone.
For a moment, I thought I'd won.
Then I saw the blood.
Not on the glass — on my hand. A thin line of crimson where shards had cut me. It pulsed faintly, glowing for just a second before fading.
See? You still remember how it feels.
I sank to the floor, clutching my arm. "What do you want from me?"
To finish what you began.
The city outside the window seemed to darken, the streetlights dimming one by one, leaving only the faint glow of red at the horizon.
I closed my eyes, trembling.
"Then I'll burn it again," I whispered. "Even if I have to burn myself with it."
The voice went silent. But the heartbeat didn't stop.
It never stopped.