The sky over Velross looked calm.
No birds, no planes. Just thin clouds drifting lazily across the pale blue.
Reina stood on her balcony, staring up at the sky. She sipped from her coffee cup, her face unreadable.
She was famous now. Every media outlet had covered her story. Universities were dying to have her speak at their events. Everyone loved her. But Reina knew better.
None of this was real.
This life, this fame, this version of reality—it was all part of a deal. A pact with something that crawled out of the dark, and offered her exactly what she wanted. In exchange for something she hadn't fully understood.
Lately, things had started to slip.
Reality wasn't staying put.
She'd started writing everything down in a black-covered journal—a weird habit that began two weeks ago, after a strange dream whispered: "If the world starts to blur, write down the outline."
And she did. Everything.
The time she woke up. How many steps from her bed to the bathroom. How many seconds she stared at herself in the mirror before blinking.
But nothing ever matched up.
Her handwriting would look different the next day. Dates changed on their own. Events didn't line up. One day, she wrote that she was out of town—except when she pulled back the curtain, she was still in Velross. Another time, she wrote about having dinner with a government official, but there were no emails, no security footage, and the restaurant she mentioned had been closed for five years.
She started recording herself every night. Set up hidden cameras in her room. Every morning, she watched the footage with her heart racing.
There she was—sitting on the edge of her bed, talking to something the camera never picked up. Laughing like a child. Arguing, like she was fighting with a voice in her head. Crying silently. Lowering her head like she was ashamed of something she couldn't remember.
But the scariest part?
The voice coming out of her mouth… wasn't hers.
It was deeper. Echoing. Inhuman.
Sometimes she said names she didn't recognize. Sometimes she giggled like a little girl, then broke down sobbing, hugging her knees.
The distortion started bleeding into her daily life.
Her phone would ring with no caller ID. When she picked up, it was just a bunch of whispers—like a dozen people all speaking at once, too fast to understand. Laughter at the office sounded warped, like it was slowed down and twisted. Even her own voice on voicemail didn't sound like her anymore. It was like someone pretending to be her—and doing a bad job.
She tried calling a psychiatrist. The call never went through.
When she opened a maps app to find a clinic, the location icon spun in circles like even GPS didn't know where she existed.
And then she started doubting her own apartment.
Everything about it felt… staged.
Every morning, sunlight came in through the curtains at the exact same angle. Her neighbor's footsteps echoed in the hallway every day at exactly 7:03 AM. The coffee machine turned on by itself, like someone invisible was pressing the button before she woke up.
At one fancy gala, Reina stood in the middle of a glittering ballroom. Cameras flashed. Everyone adored her. She wore a designer gown worth more than most cars and jewelry from brands she used to only see in magazines.
She picked up a wine glass, looked into the reflection—and froze.
Her face… had changed.
Her mouth was torn open all the way to her cheek. Her eyes were black, hollow.
The glass shattered as it hit the floor.
Everyone went silent.
Reina forced a laugh. "Sorry," she said, "got a little too excited."
The crowd went back to cheering like nothing happened.
That night, after returning home, she looked at her reflection in the window. But it wasn't just a reflection this time.
It was smiling back at her.
Not in sync. Not her smile.
She reached out to touch the glass, and her fingers passed through it like it was smoke. Cold panic gripped her chest. She stumbled back and fell to the floor, gasping for air.
"This is just a dream…" she whispered, crawling to the bathroom.
But the water didn't feel cold.
And the mirror didn't show her reflection.
She pinched her cheek. Nothing.
No pain.
Every sound around her—the fan, the ticking clock, the dripping faucet—turned into whispers. Strange words. Gibberish. Sometimes, the whispers said her name. Sometimes, they just laughed.
Once, she spun around quickly and saw the curtain in the living room move—just slightly—shaped like someone standing there, watching her. But when she pulled it back, it was just a window.
And her reflection… no longer looked like her.
She started hearing her own voice say weird things, like someone else was living in her mind.
"This is what you wanted, right? All your dreams come true."
She didn't even notice her lips moving.
Days blurred together.
The digital clock in her room stayed stuck on the same time. Like time had stopped. She began writing strange phrases on her walls and in her journal. Stuff she didn't remember thinking. Her hand just moved on its own.
The next day, she'd look at what she wrote and couldn't make sense of it.
One night, she woke up to soft classical music playing from the living room.
Piano. Smooth, delicate notes.
She tiptoed toward the dark room, her heartbeat pounding. No one was there.
Just a small speaker glowing red on the bookshelf.
She never remembered turning it on.
Then came the big one.
She was invited to a national award show. Crowned as one of the country's "Most Inspiring Young Figures." Cameras everywhere. Thunderous applause.
Reina walked on stage with a fake smile, reciting a perfect speech written by her assistant.
But when she glanced at the giant screen behind her—her face was wrong.
The smile was too wide. Too stiff. Her eyes… empty.
She froze mid-sentence.
The room went dead silent.
She looked at the audience. Everyone's faces were blurry. Unfocused. The applause still echoed—but now it sounded more like mocking laughter, cold and cruel.
She backed away from the podium, short of breath.
Then came the voice.
Right in her ear. Whispering. Real.
"So what's wrong, Reina? Isn't this what you wanted? Standing here, on stage… being admired by everyone."
She dropped to her knees, gasping.
On the screen behind her, her face disappeared—replaced by a blood-red triangle, pulsing like it was drawn in liquid and fire.
The audience clapped harder, thinking it was all part of the show.
They laughed.
They cheered.
And Reina just knelt there, unable to breathe, staring at the burning symbol as everything she once believed in collapsed around her.