The moment I hear her voice, my legs don't hesitate.
I run. I run without thinking, without looking back.
"Sol, stop!"
Fary's hand grabs my wrist, but I yank it free. I don't care. I don't care what they say.
She's here. She's here. My mother is here.
I sprint through the broken hallway, my breath shallow, my heart hammering against my ribs. The dim lights flicker above me, casting long shadows against the cracked walls. The house still smells of dust and something metallic—something wrong.
But none of that matters.
Because when I step into the hall, she is there.
My mother.
She looks… normal.
Same familiar face, same warm smile. Even her voice—soft, gentle, safe.
The only thing different is a scar running along her cheek. But I don't care about that. I don't care about anything else. I just run to her and throw my arms around her.
"I—I was scared, Mom." My voice cracks.
She holds me, her fingers gently brushing through my hair like she always did. "I'm here."
She feels real. Warm. Solid. She smells like home.
My vision blurs with unshed tears.
Fary and Dad come running in.
"Sol! Push her away! Run!" Fary's voice is sharp, almost panicked.
I don't move. I don't listen.
Because why would I? This is my mother. She is fine.
She pulls back slightly, her hands cupping my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks like she's memorizing every detail of me.
Dad's voice breaks through the air, desperate. "Don't look into her eyes, Sol!"
I freeze.
But it's too late.
Because I already am.
And they are… normal.
Dark, warm, kind. Exactly how I remember them.
So why… why do I feel like I can't move?
Dad and Fary turn and run toward the city—probably to call for help.
But I don't care.
Because I am still here, in front of her. Her hands are still on my face. Her eyes still on mine.
She is… so silent.
I swallow. "Why aren't you saying anything, Mom?"
She doesn't answer.
Her stare doesn't break, not even for a second. She doesn't blink.
Something inside me shifts, an uneasy feeling creeping into my stomach.
And then—her expression changes.
The warmth in her face melts away, replaced by something else. Something I don't understand.
Her eyes turn curious.
Curious and… pained.
Like she has lost something. Like she is searching for something that isn't there.
Like she is dissatisfied.
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.
One minute.
She is just staring at me.
Two minutes.
She still hasn't blinked. She hasn't moved.
A sharp, unnatural silence wraps around us.
The air thickens, pressing against my skin, heavy and suffocating.
Three minutes.
Something is wrong.
A deep, twisting fear crawls up my spine as her unblinking gaze turns colder. The warmth from before, the soft, motherly kindness—it's fading.
Her eyes… change.
The curiosity that lingered within them just moments ago—the almost painful sadness—is shifting.
Shifting into something worse.
Anger.
It happens slowly at first, her lips pressing together, the muscles in her jaw tightening. Her grip on my face turns just a fraction firmer—enough to make my skin prickle.
But then it grows.
Like a fire catching wind, the rage in her eyes expands.
And now, I'm scared.
I try to move—I need to move.
But I can't.
My body refuses to listen.
It's like I'm stuck in place, my legs frozen, my breath locked inside my chest. My mind is screaming at me to run, run, run, but nothing happens.
And then—
"RUN!"
Distant voices. People rushing toward me. Footsteps pounding against the cracked floor.
Someone is calling my name. Someone is trying to warn me.
But before I can even turn—
She moves.
And suddenly, she isn't my mother anymore.
"You… BLOODY WRONG CREATURE!"
The voice that escapes her lips is not hers.
It is something else—something twisted, something inhuman.
A deep, jagged growl mixed with a shriek—so unnatural it makes my stomach churn.
And then—
She strikes.
Her nails—longer, sharper, deadlier than before—slam into my face.
A white-hot pain erupts across my skin, slicing deep.
I can't even scream.
My entire body locks up in terror.
For a split second, my mind shatters into panic—this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real—
And then—
Hands.
Someone's hands grab me.
Hard. Yanking me back.
Ripping me away from her claws before she can tear deeper.
The world blurs as my vision fills with streaks of red—blood? My blood?
I hear shouting. More footsteps. More people pulling me away.
And then—
A sharp, terrifying screech.
I turn my head—just for a second.
And what I see—
Is not my mother.
Even as I am being pulled away, my legs stumbling to match the force dragging me, my head refuses to turn.
My face is still looking at her.
Still searching for something—some sign that she's real, that she's not what I fear.
And then—
The lights go out.