Elise could barely comprehend what was happening anymore. The lines between reality and nightmare had become so blurred that she no longer knew which way was up. The room around her seemed to shift and distort, the walls closing in as though they were alive, watching her. The shadows had grown darker, thicker, and they seemed to move, to pulse with an energy of their own. Every breath she took felt like it was suffocating her, and every sound—every whisper—felt like it was crawling under her skin.
"Stop," Elise whispered, clutching her head in her hands as if she could somehow hold herself together. "Stop it. Please."
But the shadows didn't stop. They swirled and twined around her, a living mass of darkness that refused to let her go. She could hear whispers in the distance, faint and indistinct, but they were growing louder, more insistent.
"Elise…"
The voice was unmistakable. It was Greg's voice, but it sounded distant, echoing as though it were coming from somewhere far away. She opened her eyes, but the world around her remained a blur, the shapes of the room warping as if she were caught in a dream.
"Elise," the voice repeated, closer now. "You need to wake up. You need to see it."
The shadows moved again, twisting around her, forming shapes that flickered in and out of existence. Elise's heart raced as she tried to break free from their grasp, but it was no use. She was trapped.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the darkness receded, leaving her breathless and shaken. The world around her steadied, the shadows melting back into the corners of the room. She blinked, disoriented, and found herself standing in the middle of her apartment, the floor beneath her solid and real.
But it wasn't real. None of it was.
"Elise," Greg's voice broke through the fog, grounding her. "You're slipping. You're losing yourself."
Elise looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear. "What's happening to me?" she asked, her voice breaking.
Greg stepped toward her, his face drawn and weary. "It's the ritual, Elise. It's breaking your mind. You're starting to remember, but it's too much. The truth is too much for you to handle."
Her chest tightened, and she felt the walls of her mind begin to crack under the pressure. The memories were flooding back, and they weren't just memories. They were pieces of herself—pieces she had buried, pieces she had tried to forget. And now, they were all coming back at once, a torrent of emotions and images she wasn't ready to face.
"I can't do this," she whispered, her voice hoarse with the weight of it all.
"You have to," Greg said, his voice softer now. "You have no choice.
You're already in too deep."