The door creaked open, revealing the shadowed room cloaked in dust and silence. Doona paused at the threshold, as if something in the stale, heavy air was warning her not to step inside. But she couldn't stop herself, couldn't resist the pull of this place. She took a breath, the air thick and unmoving, and crossed the threshold.
The room felt timeless, frozen, like a fragment of a memory left undisturbed. Her steps were soft, tentative, but her heart hammered painfully, each beat bringing her closer to something she both dreaded and longed for. The door closed behind her with a quiet click, sealing her into this place, this moment. It was as if the room had been waiting, still carrying the echoes of a night she couldn't forget.
She took another step, and a wave of memories washed over her, hitting her with a force that almost knocked her off her feet. Fragments of that night flared before her eyes—disjointed, sharp, and brutal.
She saw his face. The warmth in his eyes, the kindness that once filled this room with life. She remembered the way he'd smiled, his laughter that seemed to fill the air, transforming everything. But the laughter faded into silence, his eyes filling instead with confusion, then pain. Her pulse quickened as the images blurred and twisted, replaying with merciless clarity.
"He… was right here," she whispered, barely audible, her voice strained and broken. Her fingers reached out to touch the empty space, but they met only air. The room offered no comfort, no solace, only the unyielding reminders of all she had lost—and all she had taken.
The memory surged again, stronger this time. She saw his hand, reaching out, helpless, as he fell to the floor. She felt the weight of it, as if the guilt had taken root inside her, an unshakable burden pressing down. Her breaths became shallow, each one harder to draw as her heart twisted in a mix of sorrow and regret.
Unable to stand any longer, she sank to her knees. She pressed a trembling hand to the floor where he had lain, the coldness seeping into her skin. Tears welled up, slipping down her cheeks as she lost herself to the memories that clawed their way to the surface.
"I… I didn't mean to…" The words fell from her lips, whispered and broken. Each syllable carried a desperate apology, a plea to an empty room. "If I could… I would…"
Her voice faded into the silence, swallowed by the dust and shadows. She felt as if the room itself was judging her, witnessing her sorrow with the same indifference it had that night. Her hand clenched into a fist, pressing harder against the floor, as if to anchor herself against the waves of regret crashing over her.
She curled up, her forehead resting against the cold, hard surface, her body wracked with silent sobs. Every tear was a silent confession, every choked breath a futile attempt to make sense of the guilt she could never escape.
"Why did it have to be this way?" she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all. Her fingers reached out again, searching for something, anything, to hold onto—but there was nothing there, only the cold emptiness where he had once been.
She lay there, her body heavy with the grief that pressed down on her like a stone. The room, indifferent and unchanging, bore silent witness to her sorrow, holding each sob, each whispered word, in its shadowed walls. She knew, as she lay there, that she was forever bound to this moment, to the memories that would haunt her always.
And as her tears finally slowed, leaving her hollow and exhausted, Doona knew she would carry the weight of that night with her, a burden she could never escape.