Mira's eyes fluttered open to a room that didn't belong to her. The room was heavy with silence, suffocating, like the air itself was pressing in on her. Her pulse raced as she tried to sit up, but her body felt uncoordinated, sluggish—almost as though it had forgotten how to move. Her head ached as if something were pressing against her skull, her thoughts swirling in a hazy fog that refused to clear.
She reached out to steady herself, her hand brushing against something soft, yet cold. The walls around her were unfamiliar, made of some smooth, dark material. The air smelled damp, metallic. The space was too still, too quiet, and yet—she could feel the weight of it, the presence. Something was watching. She wasn't alone.
Panic set in, sharp and cold.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood shakily, her legs giving way as she staggered to her feet. The sudden motion sent a wave of dizziness crashing over her, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through. She had to get out of here. Wherever here was.
Mira's hands clenched into fists as she steadied herself against the wall. She needed to make sense of this—this place, this sensation that she couldn't shake. It felt like she was being pulled in all directions, as if the building itself were trying to bend her to its will, to make her forget what she had been, what she had seen.
But she couldn't forget. She wouldn't forget.
There was something deeper, something darker at play in this place, and Mira had been its witness for far too long.
The hallway had never been a friend, but it had been the only constant she could rely on. And now—now, it was twisting. It was changing her.
Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts as she steadied herself. A cold shiver ran down her spine, and the faintest of whispers brushed against her ear. She jerked her head toward the sound, but there was nothing there. Just shadows.
The shadows.
The building was alive. It had always been alive. But now, its presence was more pronounced, more intrusive. It was hungry, and it wanted her.
Mira pressed her hand to her forehead, forcing herself to focus. She could feel the memory stirring, the fragments slipping into place. She wasn't new to the building. She hadn't just wandered in like Ansel. She had been here for much longer than he realized.
She had learned to survive. But survival in this place was no longer enough.
It had begun to seep into her, too.
The floor beneath her shifted, the once sturdy stone groaning, as if the building were moving, shifting with purpose. She could feel it now, as though the floorboards themselves were aware of her every step. The walls loomed, growing closer with each movement, as if the very structure was closing in around her.
Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, her heart thudding in her chest.
"I have to get out," she whispered, but her words felt hollow in the suffocating silence.
She moved to the door, but when her hand touched the handle, it didn't feel right. The metal was cold, unnaturally so. Her skin prickled as if she were touching ice itself. Her fingers lingered, but the moment she turned the handle, the door didn't open.
Instead, she felt a strange pressure on her chest. It was as if the hallway had read her touch, understood her desire to escape, and was punishing her for it. She pulled her hand away, her breath shallow, heart hammering.
Then she heard it.
A faint scratching sound. Soft at first, but growing louder. It was coming from the other side of the door. She pressed her ear to it, her breath held. The noise was jagged, relentless, like nails being scraped across stone.
Something was out there.
She backed away from the door, her pulse racing. Every instinct told her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The hallway had closed in too tightly. She had no escape.
Mira closed her eyes for a moment, breathing through the rising panic. She had faced the dark before. She had survived its whispers, its mind games. But this—the sensation now—was different. The hallways were no longer just a series of corridors. They were breathing, living, changing.
It was adapting to her.
She was becoming part of it.
She shook the thought from her mind, refusing to acknowledge the creeping terror that tried to take root in her heart. Not today. Not while there was still a chance.
She turned, determined to find another way. The hallway loomed in front of her, stretching into the abyss. The faint whispers in the walls were growing louder now, the building's pulse reverberating through her chest.
The closer she got to the center of the hallway, the more her body reacted, as if it were drawn by some invisible force. Her legs felt like lead, unwilling to carry her forward, but she pushed through it, forcing herself to move.
The lights flickered above her, their hum shifting into something deeper, more resonant. The shadows stretched longer, deeper, as if the very darkness itself had a life of its own.
Mira paused.
There was something—someone—in the darkness ahead. A figure, still and silent. She couldn't make out its features, but she could feel its presence like a weight pressing down on her chest.
It was a man. Tall. Broad. But there was something off about him. Something that wasn't quite right.
She took a step forward, then another.
The figure shifted, its silhouette becoming clearer in the dim light.
"Mira…" the voice came, hoarse, like the sound of a thousand whispers.
The name made her freeze in her tracks. It wasn't just a name. It was an invitation.
She could feel her heart stop for a split second as she finally recognized the voice.
Ansel.
He was here. But what was he now?
The figure moved again, closer, his features slowly coming into focus. His eyes… they were hollow. Black pits where human emotion should have been. His body seemed… wrong, somehow.
No. It wasn't him.
It couldn't be.
Mira's breath hitched as her hand reached for the wall for balance. The walls seemed to pulse beneath her touch, humming louder. The building was alive with anticipation.
But there was something else too. A presence. One that wasn't just him, or her, or the hallway.
It was the Rewrite—the force that twisted and consumed everything it touched.
And it was drawing them both closer.
Mira's encounter with the shadowy figure leaves more questions than answers. Ansel is here, or at least something resembling him. Is he too far gone? Is it possible for them both to escape this rewriting force, or is the building playing a much deeper game than either of them can fathom? Guys what do you think?