An ancient painting, bound by a thousand years of love and resentment—
where the living and the dead cross paths once more.
(Case records: PD1-01 to PD1-10)
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Archived on: 2025-11-25
— Behind the Red Veil —
The moment I stepped into the bar, breath caught tight against my ribs.—
as if something unseen had brushed against my heart.
It wasn't pain—more like heat, sudden and invasive.
I stopped at the doorway.
The room felt wrong.
Not visibly different, not distorted or altered in any obvious way—
yet unmistakably out of alignment,
as though it no longer belonged to the same world I had been walking in moments before.
The music was low.
The laughter measured.
Even the clink of glasses sounded... restrained.
"The energy here is... off," I muttered, barely moving my lips.
Selene tilted her head, her dark hair brushing her shoulder in the dim amber light.
"This is my cousin's place—the Boundary Bar. He wanted to welcome us back from Kailash."
The name settled uneasily in my thoughts.
Boundary.
Jasper was already grinning behind the counter, polishing a glass that was already clean.
"Welcome, Mr. Rhan. Music, drinks, and dreams. At The Boundary, even stiff souls loosen up."
If only he knew.
The moment we stepped into his office, a weight pressed against the air.
It wasn't silence—
more like the room itself had thickened,
as if the space between objects had been reduced by some invisible compression.
The door closed behind us with a soft click.
Something brushed past my skin in faint, wavering currents.
Not wind.
Not imagination.
The sensation crawled along my forearms, raising fine bumps beneath my sleeves.
Then I saw it.
The painting.
It occupied the far wall alone, centered, as though the room had been arranged around it rather than the other way around.
A woman in red, dancing alone in half-shadow.
The fabric of her dress flowed in mid-motion, frozen between steps.
A sheer veil covered the lower half of her face, translucent but impenetrable.
Only her eyes were visible—bright, unreadable, and unsettlingly aware.
Her fingers hovered lightly, curved as if about to trace an unseen pattern in the air.
Her posture was poised—restrained, deliberate—
the stillness of someone who had learned patience over centuries.
Around her stood men from different eras:
a knight in chainmail,
a Renaissance scholar,
a Victorian gentleman,
an East Asian scholar in flowing robes,
an Ottoman courtier,
a sunburned gunslinger from the American frontier.
Their clothing, their ages, even their stances did not match.
They did not look at each other.
Every one of them was staring at her.
Not admiration.
Not fear.
Something heavier.
Something desperate.
The pressure in the room deepened, settling against my lungs.
My chest tightened again.
What brushed against me this time was not curiosity.
It was a pull—subtle, persistent—
as though the space between myself and the canvas was being quietly negotiated without my consent.
"You like it?" Jasper's voice yanked me back.
I exhaled slowly. My pulse still felt trapped inside the painting, echoing against my ribs.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, forcing my breathing to slow.
"A friend gave it to me," he shrugged.
"No idea who painted it. If you want it, take it."
No title.
No signature.
No date.
Too clean.
I stepped closer.
The air grew colder by a fraction—just enough to notice.
For a brief moment, something shifted beneath the veil—
a flicker, like a reflection catching light at the wrong angle.
An eye.
A curve of the lips.
Intent.
My breath caught in my throat.
Then the door swung open.
---
— Omen —
Selene walked in.
Something was wrong.
Her face was pale, drained of color, as if the warmth of the bar had never touched her at all.
Her shoulders were tense, drawn inward.
She stared at Jasper. Her voice was tight.
"Did you put a camera in the dressing room?"
"What?" Jasper shot upright. "What are you talking about?"
"When I was changing," Selene said,
"I felt someone watching me."
Jasper scoffed, a defensive laugh escaping him.
"That's impossible. I check this place every day."
I turned to Selene.
"Are you sure it was—a person?"
She hesitated.
Long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable.
Then she nodded.
"I felt it the moment I entered the bar."
The air grew tense, taut as a drawn wire.
Jasper's phone buzzed.
He glanced down, relief crossing his face too quickly to be natural.
"My girlfriend's here. I'll get this."
Selene raised a brow. "Another one? Congratulations."
"Stop," Jasper muttered. "You've met her. Bella."
Selene froze.
"...Who did you say?"
"Bella. From high school—"
"Jasper."
Her voice cracked.
"Bella died. A year ago."
The words landed with a dull finality.
Silence closed in around us.
"I went with her mother to the morgue," Selene whispered.
"I saw her."
Jasper stared at his phone.
Bella · Calling...
"Selene... don't mess with me..."
"She was at my place yesterday. We... we even—"
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Let her in."
He swallowed hard.
"What if it really is her?"
I didn't answer.
My fingers had already clenched around the small pouch at my side.
Inside, the three artifacts stirred—
their rhythms aligning with my pulse, awakened by something unseen.
I felt it—not clearly, not consciously—
only as a subtle alignment, like objects settling into place after a long imbalance.
"The living are living," I said quietly.
"The dead are dead."
"We'll know the truth when she walks through that door."
Jasper answered the call.
"...Come in."
Selene leaned close to me.
"Rhan. Something is terribly wrong."
I didn't disagree.
It wasn't just the painting.
Not just the presence watching Selene.
Not just Bella's voice on the phone.
They were connected.
Footsteps echoed outside—
even, measured, unnatural.
The doorknob turned.
The lights dimmed.
Not darkness.
Something thinner.
Sound dulled.
Color faded at the edges.
From the corner of my vision, the painting shifted.
Beneath the veil, something stirred.
Not fully seen.
Not fully felt.
My heart reacted before my thoughts did.
I didn't know what was about to step through that door—
only that the space between here and there
had begun to narrow—
as if the world itself had decided to look closer.