Elise had lost track of time. Days felt like hours, and hours felt like days. The world outside her apartment seemed to disappear, as if it were no longer a part of her reality. She was trapped in a cage of her own making, surrounded by the fragments of a past she could no longer ignore.
The journal lay open on the floor, its pages now filled with notes and drawings she didn't remember making. The faces of people she had never met stared up at her, their eyes hollow, their mouths twisted in silent screams. And at the center of it all was her. Her name. Her face. She was the one who had drawn these pictures. She was the one who had written these words.
"Elise," Greg's voice came from the doorway, pulling her from the haze of her thoughts. She looked up at him, her eyes blank and unfocused.
He stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. "It's time," he said simply.
Elise didn't respond. What was there to say? She had known this moment was coming. She had known she couldn't escape it. It was time to face the truth, no matter how much it shattered her.
"Let's end this," she whispered, her voice barely audible.