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Damn… what the hell just happened?
My eyes fluttered open, twitching from the dull ache that pulsed through my skull. Something was wrong—no, everything was wrong.
The mattress beneath me was soft, absurdly soft, like sinking into a cloud spun from silk. The air was cool, carrying a faint metallic tang. My gaze traveled upward. The ceiling loomed above, painted in a matte shade of black so deep it swallowed the dim light. The walls gleamed in contrast, a glossy black surface that distorted my reflection as though mocking me.
Even the windows weren't real. They weren't glass at all but screens—screens showing a vivid, impossible night sky. Not the kind you'd see from a city rooftop, but a canvas of infinite stars sprawled across a velvet void, galaxies stretching like brushstrokes across eternity.
Am I… in space?
The thought burned in my mind, but no answers came. No skyscrapers, no horizon, no world—just an endless night stretching far beyond the window.
I sat up, and that's when I felt it.
Something warm trickled down the side of my forehead. Slowly, hesitantly, I touched it. When I brought my hand back into view, it was stained red.
Blood.
I froze. Did I hit my head? No. I didn't remember falling, didn't remember fighting, didn't remember… anything. My memories blurred into static—only shards remained. A sharp pain. A void swallowing me whole. Screams muffled by silence. Then nothing.
My breath quickened as panic began clawing at my ribs. I stumbled toward a door, nearly tripping over my own feet before forcing it open. A bathroom—dim, sterile, unnervingly bare. The only thing visible was the sink, a solitary tap gleaming under faint light.
I twisted the handle with shaking hands, and icy water burst forth. I splashed it over my head, over my face, rubbing furiously as though I could wash away the unease clinging to me. Red streaks ran down porcelain. My reflection—
Tick.
The sound was faint, mechanical, like some unseen switch being flipped. The lights flickered, and suddenly the mirror came alive.
My heart stopped.
The figure staring back wasn't me.
Snow-white curls framed a face pale enough to be mistaken for marble. Skin, too flawless, too cold. Eyes—deep violet, glowing faintly with something unearthly, something predatory.
I stumbled back, but the reflection mirrored me perfectly. Same stagger. Same wide eyes. Same horrified breath.
No. That wasn't me. It couldn't be me.
I clenched my fist and did the only thing my body screamed for—I punched the mirror. Glass shattered, raining down like brittle stars. My knuckles split open, blood dripping onto the tiles. Yet even in the fractured shards, dozens of violet eyes stared back at me.
Each piece of glass carried that same face. My face.
The bile rose before I could stop it, burning as I doubled over and vomited into the sink. Acid burned my throat, bitter and sharp, clinging long after I wiped my mouth with a trembling hand.
Gasping, I forced myself to stand, to breathe, to face the broken reflection again. The pieces gleamed, silent witnesses to an absurd truth I couldn't comprehend.
This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
And yet…
In the room behind me, the air stirred. It wasn't wind, but something heavier—an invisible pressure that made the hairs on my arms stand. The atmosphere crackled faintly, like a storm building just beyond the veil of reality.
For a moment, black vortices swirled in the corners of the room, spiraling open before collapsing back into nothingness. Like wounds in the air, trying—and failing—to stay open. The presence lingered, suffocating, and then vanished as though it had never been.
Silence fell again.
All I could remember was the void. The endless pain. My body tearing apart, my mind breaking. Faces? Voices? No… only fragments that slipped away when I tried to hold onto them.
And now I was here. In this place of shadows and stars. Wearing a face that wasn't mine.
I pressed my hand against the mirror's edge, glass cutting into my palm, grounding me. My breath came ragged, uneven.
Who… am I?
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