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Chapter 37 - The Smear Between Sentences

He repeated the lines to himself.

Quietly. Carefully.

Not aloud. Not fully.

Just pieces.

Ask him where the door leads…Don't follow the shelves…You left something in the spiral room…

Spiral room?

Had he been in a spiral room?

He tried to picture it.

Stone? Books?

Nothing came clearly. Only colors. Pressure. A shape that didn't quite fit into the mind.

He clenched his fists.

Started pacing.

The letter was still on the desk, open, innocent.

Staring.

Waiting to be reread.

He didn't touch it.

He was afraid it would say something different the second time.

Or worse—exactly the same, but mean something else.

He walked a loop around the bed, eyes flicking from floorboard to window to the faint outline of the curtain's hem.

The air was too still. His thoughts too loud.

There was a feeling behind his eyes, like something was trying to be remembered through him, not by him.

Then he stopped.

Turned.

Faced the mirror.

Still covered.

Still draped in that thin, lifeless white.

He didn't remember ever touching it.

But the cloth had… shifted.

Just a bit.

Not enough to notice unless you were really watching.

Not enough to be certain.

He stepped toward it.

Each footfall softer than the last.

The cloth was breathing. He was sure of it.

Just a rise. A fall. Like lungs in hiding.

He reached out.

Stopped.

Something about the way the cloth hung—

No, not the cloth.

The space beneath it.

It wasn't reflecting.

It was listening.

He backed away.

Didn't turn his back.

Didn't blink.

There were no footsteps behind him.

But the sound of the swing ropes creaking still rang in his ears.

Even though there was no swing in the room.

Had never been.

Maybe the letter wasn't for him.

Maybe he was never meant to wake up here.

Maybe he was just—

Just what?

He tried to finish the thought.

Failed.

Started again.

And found himself standing in front of the mirror, hand outstretched.

He didn't remember moving.

He whispered, "I'm still real."

And the cloth fluttered.

Just slightly.

From the inside.

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