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The white fades. Darkness returns—not pitch black, but a dim, smoky gray, as if the world has been dusted with ash. You're in a narrow hallway now. Long. Endless. The walls are cracked concrete, wet in some places, bleeding with mold and whispers.
Yes, the walls whisper. You can't make out the words, but the sound is there—like thousands of mouths murmuring secrets just beyond comprehension.
You walk.
With every step, the floor beneath you pulses. Not like stone. Like something alive. It ripples beneath your feet. The farther you walk, the clearer the whispers become.
"Liar."
"Watcher."
"Thief."
"You shouldn't have come."
You spin—but there's no one there. Not even your own echo. Your body feels weightless. Like you're both inside yourself and watching from far above.
And then you see it.
A door.
Rusty, bolted shut, but unmistakably real. Carved into the metal is a strange symbol: a closed eye.
You reach for the handle.
The moment your fingers touch the cold iron, a burst of sound fills the hallway—a voice like cracking glass:
"You've looked into others long enough. Now it's time to look into yourself."
---
The Eighth Choice:
The door creaks open on its own. Inside: a room with no lights and one object.
A mirror?
No.
A coffin.
Upright. Open. Waiting.
On its surface: your name.
You freeze.
Is this a trap? A punishment? Or another test?
You step forward, drawn by some invisible thread. Your fingertips brush the wood.
It's cold. Too cold.
The whispers are louder now, all around you:
"You left us."
"You forgot what you did."
"This is your penance."
Inside the coffin is... something. Fabric. Ash. A photograph.
Of you.
But not this version of you. A different one. You're smiling. Surrounded by people you don't remember.
You clutch your head.
Something is missing.
A part of you is missing.
---
Do you:
A) Step into the coffin. Face whatever memory you've forgotten.
B) Burn the photo, refusing to accept what you don't remember.
C) Take the photograph and walk deeper into the hallway.
D) Slam the coffin shut and run. Anywhere. Just not here.
---
The Breath of Memory:
Your hands tremble as you stare at the photo. The people in it—one of them has no face. It's just blurred out, as if reality itself erased them.
And yet… you feel something. Guilt? Love? Regret?
All three?
The door behind you slams shut. You are sealed inside with your choices.
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Quiz 8:
Another question carves itself into your mind—this time, painfully:
Which truth would hurt you the most to uncover?
A) That I betrayed someone I loved without realizing it.
B) That my entire identity is built on a lie.
C) That I'm the villain in someone else's story.
D) That no one ever truly knew me… because I never let them.
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End of Chapter 8
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