Chapter 8: The Memory That Lied First
> "Not every memory is yours.
Some were planted. Others… were hungry."
— Note burned into the inside cover of the black notebook
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There was rain.
Or something like it.
It didn't fall — it rose, slowly, in reverse, dripping from the ground toward the sky like time trying to rewind itself.
Ranzō stood in the middle of it, dry, untouched.
His feet rested on a tiled floor that stretched endlessly in all directions. There were no walls. Just mirrors — floating, fractured, suspended midair like frozen screams.
Each mirror showed a memory.
But not his.
One showed a girl in a red coat walking into traffic.
Another — a boy drawing symbols on his skin with something sharp.
Another — a face that looked like his, whispering "I'm not me anymore."
And then: a mirror shattered on its own.
He turned to it.
Something inside that broken shard was moving — a small figure, curled up, trembling.
It looked like a child.
It looked like him.
He stepped closer.
The child looked up. Same eyes. But far too old.
And it said, with a voice full of static:
> "The first memory you believed... was the first lie."
Ranzō felt a crack inside his own thoughts.
Not in his skull — in the story of himself.
> What if… none of it was ever his?
He looked down.
His notebook was open.
But the pages had rearranged.
Chapter 1 was now missing.
Chapter 0 was there instead.
And it began with a single word:
> "Erase."
Behind him, all the mirrors began to scream — not loudly, but horribly.
The rain reversed again, and the child vanished into the reflection.
Only one thing remained on the ground:
> A single sentence, etched into the tile beneath his feet:
"Who remembers you when you forget yourself?"
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> Some memories don't fade.
They rot.
And the stench pulls you back.
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