— What are you waiting for?
— What am I waiting for… — I mechanically repeated the question, as if it were a password to my subconscious. — I don't know.
— No. You do know. You just… refuse to accept it.
How convenient — hiding behind "I don't know" when you're aware of every minute detail. When your heart has long since decided, and your mind is just too ashamed to acknowledge it.
— I won't go against the others, even if it costs me my life… — I say it like it's something noble. Though in truth, it's just exhaustion. — I've had enough of this. Why must we always be forced into these kinds of decisions?!
— Because your fate depends on it! — The voice sounded like it was slamming its head against the walls of my logic. — Or do you have another suggestion?
— My mind is completely blank… — That phrase was the only thing I could offer. — But I won't resort to murder. Not for anything.
— Snap out of it! — My inner "self," like some rejected double of the real me, raised its voice. — Everyone in this game is against us. You can't escape the fate that's been laid out. They want to get rid of you!
— Or are you just going to endure their humiliation? — it continued. — Let them throw you away like worthless, unwanted trash? It makes me sick to look at such a… pitiful version of myself.
...And on that day, I changed.
No, not just changed.
**I disappeared.**
What remained was a shell, now inhabited by something new. Cold. Determined. Willing to embrace despair and take steps the real me would have averted his eyes from.
A new persona.
A new mask.
A new version of me, forged for a single purpose — **the dream**.
I accepted it like a sentence. Voluntarily. And my old "self" — the real, human one, full of fear and doubt — was… sealed away. Buried deep. Never to wake again. Hopefully.
That is the price of a dream.
If even a drop of compassion remains in you, you can't walk this path.
You'll fall. And never rise again.
You'll shatter. And no glue will piece you back together.
To reach the end — you must become a machine.
Merciless.
Resolute.
Thoughtless.
**I'm not the only one like this.**
Yahweh went through it too.
And you — you did as well.
You also cast aside your true self, strangling the inner voice that begged you to stop.
You were never someone who'd kill with joy.
But you killed.
You walked over corpses.
You… changed.
No, you didn't change — you **pretended** to be yourself.
The real you stayed trapped inside, bound by chains of silence and fear. And yet…
We're the same.
— It's because of your nature that you can't raise a hand against them now! — I spoke to myself, and yet not to myself. — They sense it. And they're using it.
— But you have me. — The voice inside me grew quieter. But only quieter, not weaker. — I won't let them harm you. Even if you want them to.
— I'll do it for you. — The perfect crime: outsourcing your will to your own shadow. — Just trust me. After all, you trust me more than anyone, don't you?
— I'm the only one who understands you. Who sees what's happening inside. — No one will hear a heart screaming into the void. No one but me. — You're tired. You don't want to be discarded.
— So why accept their lies? Why accept the guilt they force on you?
— Just rely on me. We're… in this together.
— Together, nothing can stop us. Nothing. Not even morality.
— Yeah… — I muttered. — You're right.
If I just sit in this room, doing nothing…
They'll… remove me.
Write me off.
The game will continue. Just **without me**.
— Exactly. Don't let them do as they please. Show them your resolve.
**I'll show them… I'll show them my determination to win this game.**
While one participant drowned in his thoughts, the others rummaged through grimoires — desperate for even a sliver of truth. The perfect detective's chaos: everyone on edge, yet no one knowing what to look for.
— It's getting dark, — Hov drawled. — The sun's setting, and we're no closer to solving this.
— We still have time. Even if the next phase begins — we'll all be together. That's our advantage: the killer is alone. The innocent are in the library.
*"Morgana's right… but I still don't believe the killer is among us."*
I'm betting more and more on the witch.
Every night, she makes her move just to confuse us. As if reveling in this devilish game of chess.
Even if she doesn't kill directly, she compels it.
She **whispers**.
She manipulates, nudges, murmurs: *"They'll stop you. Remove them."*
— Hey, any luck over there?
— Nothing yet. Too many grimoires. The one we need just isn't showing up.
— Most of these are just spells, incantations, and other filler.
— Speaking of filler, — Yahweh suddenly perked up. — Seems the mansion's first owner was into alternate worlds and parallel realities.
— What? What are you even talking about?
— Look, diagrams of Earth and its "reflections" across other planes. Interesting stuff.
— Alternate Earths? As if one wasn't enough…
— Cool as this is, it's off-topic. We need to focus on **our** inscriptions.
— Right, let's not get distracted. Though… some of these books could literally kill you. Open one — hello, instant curse.
— I'll step out for some water. My eyes are blurring from all these lines.
— Dangerous to go alone, especially now.
— Then I'll come with you. Three of us here, three of us there — balance maintained.
— Fine, Cheryl. We'll make it quick.
*"And we'll check on Enua… I have to prove his innocence. Cheryl and Morgana are with me. Together, we can uncover the truth.
All that's left is translating those lines. If we understand what they say, we might find the real killer. After all, everyone's convinced those writings are the culprit's doing."*