Elara's fingers brushed the carved wood. The door pulsed under her touch, alive and heavy, as if it could feel her heartbeat.
She took a deep breath. "I remember," she whispered to herself, and then pushed forward.
The world tilted violently. The corridor disappeared, the walls twisted, and she fell through darkness like water. Her stomach lurched, but she landed on solid ground a cold, wet floor.
The air smelled strange damp, sweet, and metallic all at once. Faint whispers floated around her, some her own voice, some others she didn't recognize.
Elara looked up. The room was enormous. The walls were carved wood covered in symbols that moved like shadows. Mirrors hung at impossible angles. Every reflection showed a version of herself some screaming, some crying, some staring blankly.
She stepped forward, and a chill ran through her spine. The floor beneath her moved like liquid, rippling under her feet. Every step seemed to echo hundreds of steps at once.
"Welcome… Elara," a voice hissed from all directions. It was soft but everywhere at once. "You should never have come back."
Her eyes darted around. Shadows moved in the corners pale figures of herself and other trapped people. Some floated above the ground, their arms stretched toward her. Others pressed against mirrors, shouting silently.
Elara tried to remember. She focused on her past the attic, the birthday, the small hidden chest, her child self drawing symbols. Each memory gave her courage. The shadows hesitated, wavered, flickered.
A hand grabbed hers suddenly. She spun around it was the other Elara, her hollow-eyed double.
"You're strong," the other whispered urgently. "But the door feeds on fear. Don't stop now."
Elara nodded. Her breath was uneven, but she stepped forward. The mirrors shifted violently. Some of her trapped versions reached out, trying to pull her inside. Their fingers were cold and heavy, and when they touched her, she felt pieces of her memory tugging away.
"No!" she shouted, holding her memories tightly. She forced herself to focus, calling every fragment back. Each remembered moment made the shadows shrink, retreating into the mirrors and walls.
At the far end of the room, the carved wooden door appeared again, larger, darker, pulsing like a heart. Symbols twisted faster, forming faces of the people the door had taken over the years.
A whisper echoed from the carvings: "To leave… you must face what you left behind."
Elara's breath caught. She realized the truth. The door wasn't just a door. It was alive. It remembered everyone who had touched it. And if she wanted to escape… she had to confront every trapped version of herself all at once.
Her chest tightened. She had survived the shadows… but the real test was still ahead.
And behind her, a thousand pale hands began reaching through the mirrors, clawing for her.