"Mom? Dad? Is that you?" Anya asked, her voice trembling with disbelief.
Dad smiled warmly at her, just like he always did. "Of course, it's us, Anya."
"But… how?" she stammered, the lump in her throat growing tighter.
Mom waved her hand, brushing away her confusion with a smile. "Don't just stand there! Sit, sit, sit! Look, I've made your favorite food."
She sank into her seat, the delicious aroma wrapping around her like a warm hug. She took a bite, and the familiar taste nearly brought tears to her eyes. "It's delicious, Mom. It's been so long… I missed you both so much."
Mom paused, her smile replaced by a puzzled expression. "Missed us? What are you talking about? We're always here. How could you miss us?"
She froze, the words caught in her throat. "I mean… I left, didn't I?"
Mom's face clouded with confusion. "What do you mean, you left?"
Dad chimed in, his voice steady but calm. "She's just stressed. Don't overthink it. Anya, eat before it gets cold."
She let out a small laugh, trying to brush off the tension. "Okay, okay," she said and took another bite. "Mmm… it's perfect, Mom. Just like always."
But when she looked up again, the warmth was gone. The light from the room had faded into darkness.
"Mom? Dad?" She called out, her heart thudding in her chest.
From the shadows, a figure emerged. He said "I should've killed you that day."
A cold shock jolted through her, and suddenly, she woke up. Her breaths came in short gasps as she glanced at the unfamiliar ceiling above her. "Why… why am I still here?" she whispered to herself. She looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She was still in that strange, mysterious place. This time, she was lying on a bed, the faint scent of herbs drifting through the air.