Chapter 1 : The First Fracture
There are drawings under my pillow.
Sketches I swear I didn’t make.
A hand stretched toward me.
A mouth half-formed in charcoal.
Eyes that look like they’ve seen war, worship, and worse.
I burn them every night.
And every night, I wake up to new ones.
Today was different, though.
The paper wasn’t under my pillow.
It was clenched in my hand.
✦ ✦ ✦
I walk through the campus library like I’ve been there before.
I haven’t.
Not really.
But when I pass the stained-glass window in the east wing,
my heart skips like it remembers something I don’t.
A symbol—etched faintly in the corner pane—
a circle, two vertical lines, one horizontal slash.
My body stops. My fingers twitch.
My vision darkens.
You’re close, darling..
I spin around.
No one.
✦ ✦ ✦
Later that night, I shower longer than I should.
I stare at my reflection—there’s nothing wrong with me.
I’m not crazy.
I’m not.
But when I open the mirror cabinet—
A single slip of paper falls out.
It reads in ancient lettering:
“Touch is corruption. Memory is fire. Love is death.”
And underneath it, in shaky, jagged black ink—written in English:
“You’ve begun. I’m coming back to you.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The screen blurs.
The page ends.
But the story has just begun.
