Jenny had begun to settle into the strange rhythm of the Boundary Land—or, at least, she had learned to endure it. Days of silence had stretched her mind thin, leaving her hyper-aware of every subtle sound, every shadow, every shift in the crooked house that had become her prison. Her body was exhausted, her muscles stiff from endless pacing through hallways that seemed to fold upon themselves, and her mind was taut, straining under the weight of isolation and the oppressive presence of the strange family.
Yet despite the oppressive, unnatural calm of the Boundary Land, a part of her refused to surrender. Somewhere deep inside, Jenny clung to the fragments of her real life: her parents, her city, the streets she had fled, and most of all—the normalcy she once took for granted. It was a thread of hope she couldn't let go. And on this day, that thread would pull her toward a revelation that would change everything.
--
The window of her small bedroom had always been curious. Unlike other windows in the house, it wasn't crooked or warped. The glass was clear, almost unnaturally so, and it reflected the gray world outside with eerie fidelity. Jenny had avoided it for days, afraid that looking outside would draw attention—or worse, reveal the things lurking beyond.
But on this morning, fatigue and curiosity overcame fear. Jenny approached the window cautiously, her hands trembling as she brushed the curtain aside. She peered into the shifting, frost-covered landscape of the Boundary Land.
At first, nothing seemed different. The same gray trees swayed in the whispering wind. The broken ground stretched endlessly, curving unnaturally into itself. The shadows remained long, twisted, and lifeless.
Then she saw movement.
---
Jenny's heart skipped a beat. At first, she thought it was a trick of the light, a flicker of shadow. But as she focused, her eyes widened in disbelief. There, in the distance beyond the frost and fog, were familiar shapes. Buildings. Streets. Her city.
And then, even more shockingly, she saw them: her parents, her mother and father, walking desperately down the streets she recognized. Their faces were strained with worry, their hands gesturing as if calling her name. They carried the familiar look of those searching for someone lost, someone they loved.
Jenny pressed her forehead against the cold glass, unable to blink. The sight of them made her stomach tighten and her heart ache. She wanted to run outside, to shout, to reach for them—but something held her back.
---
She realized, painfully, that there was a boundary, a thin but unyielding wall between her and her real life. The window did not open to the city she knew; it only allowed her to watch, like a voyeur trapped between worlds. She could see reality, but she could not touch it, could not reach it.
Her parents moved through the streets in a frantic search, calling her name over and over. Jenny's own voice cracked in her throat as she pressed her hands against the glass.
"Mom! Dad! I'm here! Please see me!"
Her words never crossed the boundary. The wind carried her screams into the gray void of the Boundary Land, where they dissolved into nothing.
Tears streamed down her face as she watched her parents grow distant, their figures fading like smoke in the morning fog. She wanted to run, but the very air seemed thick and heavy, as though the Boundary Land were holding her down, keeping her contained.
---
Jenny didn't notice at first that she was not alone. Mara stood silently behind her, the man and the girl flanking her on either side.
"You see them," Mara said softly, her tone calm, measured, like a teacher explaining a lesson to a student who still didn't understand.
Jenny's voice broke. "I… I see them. My parents… they're looking for me!"
Mara's smile was patient, unsettling. "Yes. They come from your world. They are bound by their rules. You are bound by ours. Observe, but do not attempt to interfere—not yet. That will come later."
Jenny whirled around, incredulous. "Observe? Observe?! They're my family! I want to go to them! I need to go to them!"
The man's voice was calm, almost hypnotic. "You cannot. Not yet. You have crossed the threshold, Jenny. The Boundary Land does not release those it claims easily. You are here now. There is no immediate return."
The girl, silent until now, stepped closer. "Watching is a lesson. To understand what you have left behind is to understand what is at stake. Fear, longing, hope—they are all necessary. Do not waste your energy on anger or despair. Learn instead."
Jenny felt as if the room had grown smaller, the air thicker. She sank to the floor, pressing her hands to her face, trying to control her sobs. Her parents were so close and yet so unreachable.
---
Through the window, Jenny continued to watch her parents. They were real, flesh and blood, still living in the world she had abandoned—or that she had been taken from. But their reality could not touch hers. And the realization was devastating.
She thought of every attempt she had made to survive, to escape the stalker, to outrun terror, only to find herself here. Alone. Trapped. Watching the life she had fought for with aching helplessness.
The family remained silent, observing her reaction. There was no sympathy, only the patient calm of beings who existed outside conventional morality.
Mara finally spoke. "Do not despair, Jenny. Your parents are part of the life you left behind. They exist in their rules. You exist in ours. The two will meet, perhaps, but not yet. And when the time comes, you must be prepared."
Jenny clenched her fists. "Prepared? For what? For them to vanish? For me to vanish? For him to come for me?"
Mara's eyes gleamed softly in the muted light. "All of the above. And more. Observe, Jenny. Remember. Learn. The Boundary Land teaches those who listen."
--
Jenny spent the rest of what passed for the day staring through the window, unable to tear her eyes from the figures of her family moving through the city. Their shadows grew longer as the sun—or something like the sun in that world—shifted across the sky.
She began to recognize patterns in their movement: the frantic searching, the repeated routes, the way they paused at intersections, called her name, and then moved onward, never giving up.
The more she watched, the more helpless she felt. And yet, a strange obsession began to grow. She needed to see them, to know they were safe, to remind herself that the world she had left behind still existed.
But every attempt to reach them only reminded her of the Boundary Land's cruel rules. She was trapped. Observing. Waiting.
---
That night, Jenny lay in her bed, staring at the window. The Boundary Land hummed softly around her, alive and patient. The family had returned to their routines, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
She realized something that made her chest tighten with fear: the stalker, the man who had haunted her city life, was connected to this world. His patience, his persistence, his obsession—all of it extended into this liminal space. Watching her family had been a lure, a preparation, a reminder that escape was impossible without understanding the rules of the Boundary Land—and the people who guided her.
Jenny pressed her forehead to the glass, the cold biting her skin, tears blurring her vision. She whispered to herself, clinging to sanity:
"I will not give up. I will survive. I will find a way."
And deep inside, a quiet, burning determination began to grow.
She would watch. She would learn. And when the time came, she would act.
But for now… she was trapped between two worlds, a silent observer of the life she could not touch, the life that reminded her, painfully, of everything she had lost.
The window became both a torment and a lifeline, a constant reminder of what was real—and what was gone.
---