Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So. This is how I die.

Facedown in an alley, soaking wet, bleeding, and probably concussed.

Honestly? Not even in the top five worst things to happen this year.

Because clearly, the universe thought I needed a little reminder of how I got here.

Dad screws up—again. Shocking, I know. Owes money to some guys who don’t exactly do payment plans. They show up, things get loud, I run. Because of course I do. I mean, who doesn’t love a late-night cardio session with bonus attempted murder?
Anyway, I’m sprinting through the rain like a tragic movie cliché, trying not to slip and eat it. Behind me: the human equivalent of bad decisions in steel-toed boots. Loud ones. Getting closer.

I spot the stairs and think, “Easy. I’ve jumped them before.” Because I’m an idiot with too much confidence and bad timing. Spoiler: I did not, in fact, land it.

I slipped. No grace, no second chance. Just pure gravity. Pain.

That’s what I remember most. The sharp, dragging kind that makes your brain shut down just to cope. I hit step after step, and then the ground hit me back—hard.

I ended up face down on concrete, drenched, freezing, breath knocked out of me. Everything hurt. But more than that, I felt… small. Like the world had decided it was done pretending it cared.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just stared up at the gray concrete while my blood ran with the rain. Somewhere behind me, I could still hear boots—slower now. Maybe they saw me fall. Maybe they were laughing. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. That was my life in a nutshell: one long fall I never signed up for.

My dad always said things were gonna turn around. “It’s just bad luck,” he’d say. “We’re due for a win.” But somehow, his “wins” always came with interest.

He used to be different. Back when I was little, he wore a tie, ran a halfway-decent business, pretended to be a real adult. Then something shifted. One failed deal turned into another. Then another. Then the drinking started. And once he started believing the universe owed him something? That was it.

He tried everything—crystals, lucky charms, fortune tellers. Like waving a rock around was gonna fix years of bad decisions. Meanwhile, the bills piled up and the “friendly reminders” became threats.

And then Mom left.

I remember it clearly. She didn’t yell. Didn’t cry. She just packed a suitcase with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. I stood there, eight years old and confused, asking if she was coming back.

She said, “I’m sorry.” Then walked out the door and never looked back.

She could’ve taken me with her. She didn’t. She left me behind with a man she knew was falling apart—and pulling me down with him.
I stopped making excuses for her a long time ago.

She had a choice. She chose herself.

And now here I was. Broken. Cold. Alone.

And for once, no one else to blame.

Maybe this was it. Maybe I was going to die in some nameless alley in the rain because two adults couldn’t get their lives together. And honestly? Part of me was okay with that. At least it would be quiet.
But then something strange happened.

The air shifted—electric, heavy. Like the sky was holding its breath. My skin prickled. The pain faded—not gone, but distant, like someone had turned the volume down on it. My fingers twitched. The light above me flickered once—
A low wail echoed through the alley. Faint, at first, but rising. Tires skidded somewhere nearby. Red and blue lights washed over the brick walls. An ambulance. Someone must’ve called. Maybe a neighbor. Maybe even those guys.
I turned my head slightly—barely—just enough to see blurred movement in the flashing light. Shadows rushing toward me.
And then—

The streetlight exploded overhead.

And everything went black.

Chapter Text

The streetlight exploded overhead.

And everything went black then white.

Not just dark—white. Like someone had shoved a spotlight right into my eyeballs and turned it on. I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help. The brightness swallowed everything whole.

When I finally opened them again, the world had changed.

I was no longer lying on cold watered down blood stained concrete but in a field of tall grass, the blades brushing softly against my arms. Above me, the sky stretched wide and empty—pale, endless.

On a gentle hill ahead stood a single massive sycamore tree. Its thick branches reached out like open arms, sheltering a stone path that curled up to its base.

The air was unnervingly still—aside from the occasional breeze that kept the area cool but not too cold. No city noise. No rain. No footsteps. Just quiet.

Too quiet.

There weren’t any birds in the sky—or anywhere, actually. Nothing moved except the grass. No insects. No rustling. Nothing… except a single dove-looking thing perched on one of the sycamore’s branches. Just sitting there like it had nowhere else to be. It was the only living thing I could see for miles.

I tried to sit up, but my ribs immediately protested. Bruised and sore—that was one thing I could check off. Could’ve been worse. At least I wasn’t in pieces. My head throbbed and buzzed, like a broken alarm clock, and the world tilted every time I moved too fast. Classic.

So, here I was—lying in some weird field, feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, and thinking, this has to be a dream. Because obviously, the ambulance came and I trust modern medicine to save me from breaking almost all my bones.

The grass beneath my fingers was cool and real enough to poke at, which only made things more confusing. If this was a dream, it was doing an incredible job pretending not to be one.

Once I regained enough strength and willpower to stand, I chose to make my way toward the sycamore tree—which, by the way, was huge.

Like, stupidly big. The kind of tree that looks like it’s been here since the dawn of time and will still be standing long after the world ends. Its trunk was thick enough to fit a car through, and the branches stretched wide like it owned the sky. Each step up the stone path felt… off. Not in a painful way, just in that “this probably isn’t Earth anymore” kind of way. The grass was too soft, the air too clean, and everything around me looked like it came out of a storybook—with just enough weirdness to keep me on edge.

But I kept walking.

Because honestly? What else was I going to do—sit around and wait for the ghost-dove to give me life advice?

As I got closer, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.

Someone was already there.

They were sitting at the base of the tree, completely unbothered, legs crossed like they had all the time in the world. A book rested open in their lap, and they were actually reading—like this was just another lazy afternoon in a very not-dead-looking paradise.

They didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Just calmly turned a page like people didn’t randomly appear in fields after possibly dying in alleyways.

So that was… comforting.

I slowed as I reached the top of the hill, squinting at the person under the sycamore. They looked young—maybe a teenager like me, maybe older—but it was hard to tell with the way their face was angled down, completely focused on their book like nothing else existed.

Next to them, there was a simple picnic blanket laid out with ridiculous neatness. A closed basket sat at one corner, and a steaming cup of something rested beside it, totally undisturbed. It looked like they’d been here a while. Just… vibing. In the middle of nowhere.

Totally normal.

I cleared my throat.

No reaction.

I stepped closer. “Hey. Hi. Not to be rude, but I think I’m maybe… dead? Or in a coma? Possibly hallucinating? And I’d love a little context before I lose my mind.”

Nothing. Not even a side glance.

Cool. Love that for me.

I shifted awkwardly on my feet, eyeing the untouched picnic setup like it might suddenly offer answers. “You know, some of us weren’t exactly invited here. So maybe you could take, like, five seconds and tell me where the hell I am?”

Still nothing.

They turned another page like I hadn’t spoken at all.

I stared at them for a second longer, then dramatically flopped onto the grass a few feet away. “Awesome. Silent stranger with picnic energy. Totally not creepy.”

Still no reaction.

Now that I was closer, I could tell she was a girl—maybe a little older than me, maybe not. Her hair fell over her face in soft waves, and she didn’t even blink as she turned another page. Whatever book she was reading had her in a mean chokehold.

I sighed loudly.

Nothing.

“So this is how it’s gonna go, huh?” I muttered. “I survive a fall, wake up in a dead-soul dreamland, and get ghosted by the only other person here. Love that.”

The silence stretched on, broken only by the gentle rustle of grass and the occasional page flip. I shifted onto my side, studying the picnic blanket. Everything on it was tidy. Intentionally placed. Even the basket looked like it had been packed by someone with too much time and zero chaos in their life.

I glanced at her again. She hadn’t moved. She didn’t even breathe like a normal person—just sat there, calm and still, like she was part of the scenery.

I frowned.

“…Are you even real?”

Still nothing.

So I did what any normal person would do when ignored by a possibly imaginary book girl in a soul-field: I scooted closer and sat beside her. Up close, the book looked… old. Real old. The kind with faded gold lining on the pages and no title on the front. Just weird symbols I couldn’t read.

“Look, I don’t want to be rude or anything,” I said, lowering my voice like I was suddenly intruding, “but if this is some kind of spirit-world orientation, you’re doing a pretty terrible job.”

No answer. Not even a smirk.

I let out another sigh and leaned back against the tree, arms crossed. The bark was warm, like it had soaked in sunlight all day.

“So this is my afterlife,” I muttered. “Dead, ignored, and stuck next to a girl who thinks she’s too cool to talk.” Figures.

I sat there in stubborn silence for a minute or two, arms crossed, trying to ignore how freaked out I actually was. Then I glanced at her again. Something about her face—her profile, the shape of her nose, even the little crease between her brows—felt weirdly… familiar.

I squinted.

No. Wait—That was my face. Sort of.

Not exactly, but close enough that it made my stomach twist. Like looking at a dream version of myself, one step to the left. Her features were sharper, more polished. Her hair was neater, her posture straighter. She looked like someone who had her life together—if I’d been born in a fantasy novel and not… whatever my life was.

She still didn’t look at me. Just flipped another page, calm and composed like we weren’t sitting in the middle of some weird soul-field existential horror picnic.

I turned my attention to the tree. Anything to distract me.

Up close, the sycamore wasn’t just big—it was ancient. Its bark was a patchwork of smooth, pale silver and deep, gnarled scars. Weird patterns swirled across the surface, almost like veins or runes burned deep into the wood. I wasn’t sure if they were natural or carved, but they gave me the distinct feeling the tree was watching me back.

The air around it felt thicker. Not in a bad way—just heavier. Like the tree carried weight. Memory. Something old.

And I don’t know if it was my imagination or not, but I swore the grass stopped growing right where its roots started, like even the ground knew not to crowd it.

I glanced back at her. The not-me.

Doppelgänger…? Maybe.

Her eyes moved for the first time. Just a flick—down the page.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My throat felt tight for no reason I could explain.

So I just sat there. Next to her.

Next to me.

Next to this tree.

Waiting.

Then the hunger hit.

I shot the pastries a glare, like this was all their fault.

No way was I eating dream-food. Everyone knows how that ends—one bite and boom: you’re stuck in the spirit realm forever, or possessed by some moody forest god. Something dumb like that.

My stomach didn’t care.

It let out another pathetic growl, loud enough that even she couldn’t ignore it.

And then, for the first time, she moved.

Her hand slipped into the basket, slow and deliberate. No hesitation. She pulled out a small, neatly wrapped cloth bundle and unfolded it like she’d done it a thousand times. Inside was another pastry—round, golden, still steaming like it had never known a day of sadness.

She held it out to me.

I blinked.

She looked up.

Our eyes met—and everything in me went cold.

She looked exactly like me.

Not kind of. Not similar. Me. Same eyes. Same mouth. Same subtle scar under the left eyebrow from when I fell off my bike in fourth grade. My crooked nose from being hit in the face during gym class.

But it wasn’t just that.

Her gaze was calm. Still. Like she wasn’t just reading a book but reading me—everything, all at once. Like she knew things she shouldn’t. Like she’d seen everything. Like she was something… more.

A quiet power hung in the air between us, thick and undeniable. It wasn’t threatening—exactly—but it made me feel small, like a single leaf trembling under a giant’s gaze.

I stared at her, heart pounding in my throat.

“What the hell…” I whispered.

She didn’t say a word. Just kept holding the pastry out, her gaze steady. No smile. No blink. Just me, staring back at me, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

And the worst part?

That pastry smelled really good.

I hesitated for a second longer than I wanted to admit, eyeing the pastry like it was a trap dressed in flaky golden layers. But hunger won—loud and impossible to ignore.

Slowly, I reached out and took the pastry from her hand.

Her eyes never left mine. Calm, unreadable, like she was watching something far beyond the moment.

I bit into the pastry. Warm. Buttery. Perfect. Like biting into a memory I didn’t know I missed.

For a second, the strange heaviness in my chest eased. The fog in my head lifted just enough to breathe easier.

She opened the book. Not a word. No reaction. Just a quiet, deliberate motion that felt like she was opening a door on everything else. Then she flipped the page and settled back into her silent reading, like I’d never been there.

I chewed slowly, eyes locked on her.

So much for company.

I took another bite, mostly out of spite.

“This is really good, by the way,” I said around a mouthful, gesturing vaguely with the half-eaten pastry. “In case you care. Which you clearly don’t.”

No response. Just the soft flick of a page turning.

“Seriously though, am I dead? In a coma? Inside some weird spirit-world fever dream? I’d take literally any answer at this point—even a riddle.”

Still nothing.

I narrowed my eyes. “You know, some people might consider this whole silent-all-knowing-mirror-version-of-me act a bit unsettling.”

Another page.

“Cool. Awesome. Love that you’re committed to the bit.”

I let out a slow, annoyed breath and leaned back against the tree, chewing the last of the pastry with a little more aggression than necessary. Since she clearly wasn’t interested in explaining anything, I let my eyes wander.

The field stretched far—further than I’d realized. Endless waves of tall grass rolled gently under the breeze, like the land itself was breathing. There were no mountains. No cities. Not even a single building in the distance.

Just the tree. Just us. And the bird.

Even the stone path I’d walked up seemed to vanish once it reached the base of the hill. Like it only existed to bring me here.

I looked up. The branches above swayed slowly, lazily, like they weren’t moved by the wind but by something deeper. The veins in the bark pulsed faintly—just enough to make me question if I was imagining it. If the tree was alive in more than the obvious way.

There was something carved into the trunk. Words, maybe. Symbols I couldn’t read. Old and smooth, worn down like they’d been touched a thousand times.

And just like before, even with the quiet… I didn’t feel alone.

Not in the creepy-watched way. In the watched by something old and impossibly patient kind of way. I took another step back, narrowing my eyes as I took in the full picture.

There was a wall of names, like a network. The carvings formed a pattern—lines branching from one another like roots and veins, webbing up the trunk in a sprawling map of connections. Not bloodlines or a family tree. Something else.

Each name stood on its own… yet was still connected to others, like threads in some cosmic spiderweb. Like alternate paths. Some of the names have lines connecting them to other names.

Like a multiverse.

Dozens of different names…

Hundreds.

It had been carved so deep the wood was cracked around it. But unlike the others, it had been slashed through. Twice. As if someone wanted it erased completely, but I could still see it.

I stepped closer and crouched. Trying to give myself a better view of the name. The crossed-out name was still legible beneath the scars. Just one word. Elysian.

And even though I’d never seen it before, I felt it in my bones.

Whoever she was, whatever she did—all of this started with her.

Beside me, the girl stopped turning pages.

The air shifted—barely—but I felt it. A hush, like the world holding its breath. I stood slowly and turned my head. She was watching me now. No book. No smile.

Just that same calm, unreadable face. And I couldn’t help but wonder…

Who the hell she was. Was she Elysian? 

She was still staring at me.

That same unreadable expression. That same quiet stillness. But now, with her eyes actually on me, I saw more than just the surface. I saw the differences. At first glance, she looked exactly like me. The kind of resemblance that made your stomach twist, like catching your reflection in a window that’s almost a mirror.

But now?

Now I could see it wasn’t just me with a better skincare routine. Her eyes were the same shape—but colder. Sharper. Mine always looked a little tired around the edges, but hers didn’t have any of that. No dark circles. No warmth. Just stillness. Like the kind of eyes you’d see in a painting… or a statue. Her eyes were purple but mine were green. Her hair was longer than mine. Straighter. Not wind-blown or messy, just perfectly in place, like she didn’t deal with things like humidity or gravity.

Her skin was flawless. Not in a model-perfect way, but in a not-quite-real kind of way. No freckles, no scars, not even pores. Like someone had smoothed her down until there was nothing left but the ideal.

Even the scar under my left brow—that tiny line from when I fell off my bike as a kid—wasn’t on her face. I touched mine instinctively. She didn’t move. Just kept watching.

A perfect version of me. Unbothered. Untouched. Unreal.

I took a slow step back, my throat dry. “You’re not me,” I said quietly. Her head tilted just a little. Not a nod. Not a no. Just… something.

A flicker. A maybe.

And I hated how much that scared me. I backed up another step, heart thudding, eyes still locked on hers. Then something changed. A soft breeze stirred the grass at my feet, gentle but purposeful, like the world had just… exhaled. The ground sloped downward behind me—only slightly—but enough that the blades of grass parted on their own, revealing smooth stone beneath. It wasn’t there before. I was sure of it.

Then, without a sound, water pooled across the stones.

Not from rain. Not from any source I could see. It simply appeared, rippling out in slow, perfect circles until a shallow pond shimmered at my feet.

I stared down into it.

And froze. My heart fell down to my ass in barely a second.

It was my face staring back. But not the face at the same time.

My hair looked longer. Neater but still messy. Like hers. My skin smoother but still rough. The scar under my brow? Still there—thank God, if it wasn’t there I probably would’ve lost it. My clothes were still mine—ripped, dirty—but I wasn’t. Not completely.

I leaned closer, knees nearly buckling.

It was like looking at a slowly updating version of myself. One that was still changing… refining itself… smoothing out all the imperfections I’d spent fifteen years collecting—which is rude by the way.

It was me, but it wasn’t. Not the way I knew myself. I glanced up, and the mystery girl was still there, watching from the shade of the tree.

Her expression hadn’t changed.

And now, neither had mine.

I looked back down at the water—

Same face.

My heart lurched.

“What… is happening to me?” I whispered.

The pond didn’t answer. I don’t know why I even asked it. But the breeze rustled the tree’s branches—slow, deliberate—and a single leaf drifted down between us. I stared down into the water, heart pounding in my ears.

That was me. But something was… off.

My face was still my face. The scar under my brow was still there. My nose was still slightly crooked from when I got hit in the face with a basketball in middle school. My eyes still had that tired, too-old and dull look they’d had for as long as I could remember.

But compared to her, I looked soft but with a humanly edge. More real. Like a pencil sketch next to a perfect sculpture.

It hit me all at once. I wasn’t looking at a reflection that was turning into her. I was already her. Or rather, I was the human version of whatever she was. Like she was the blueprint—refined, smoothed out, stripped of all the messy, human stuff—and I was just the… what? Prototype? Glitch? Echo?

A chill crawled down my spine as I looked back up at her. She hadn’t moved. Still watching. Still unreadable. Still too perfect. Almost uncanny. And now, I realized, that was the point. I already was her. Just the version with blood in her veins and dirt on her knees. The one who still made mistakes and got scared and had no idea what the hell was going on.

And she—she was what came after. Or what came before. Or what waited at the end of all this. I wasn’t sure which scared me more. My throat felt dry, like the words had been sitting there for hours, waiting for me to catch up.

I looked at her—still sitting beneath the tree, still quiet, still too much like me. Something about the way she watched me made it feel like she already knew what I was going to say. Which only pissed me off more.

“Alright,” I said, taking a few slow steps toward her, “You’ve been real mysterious and creepy and silent this whole time, and I’ve tried to be chill about it—honestly, gold star for me—but what are you?” She didn’t answer. Of course.

So I kept going.

“Are you me? Like, future me? Clone me? Multiverse version who never face planted down a flight of stairs? Or are you just some divine being who thinks my face is aesthetically pleasing?”

Still nothing. Not a blink.

I threw my hands up. “I mean, Fuck! you give me food, you stare at me like I’m a bug under glass, and you’re just… sitting here like this is all totally fucking normal. I found my name carved into a tree, tied to a creepy cosmic spiderweb. And you’re just… reading a book? That book better be the most interesting shit on this fuck ass planet!”

She tilted her head slightly. Barely. Like she was listening now.

That somehow annoyed me even more. “I need answers,” I said. “Just one. Start with something easy. Like… what is this place?”

The wind stirred. The pages of her book fluttered once, then stilled. And finally—finally—she moved—praise the lord. She closed the book. Folded her hands over the cover. Then she looked up and said, in a voice so quiet it barely touched the air—

“You’re early.”

Chapter Text

“You’re early,” she said. And for a second, I thought I was the one speaking.

I froze. “What the—?!” The word died halfway in my throat as I stared at her—me—standing there like she’d been waiting all morning. Same voice. Same face. Same everything.

“What the actual f—” I took a step back. “You know what? No. Nope. Hell no.”

She smiled. My smile. God, that was messed up.

“I—no. Uh-uh. I didn’t sign up for this doppelgänger demon bullshit,” I snapped, pointing at her like that would somehow do something. “Who the hell are you?” She didn’t answer. Just tilted her head the other way, like a curious cat. Or a glitch.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, my head in my ass, and My palms slick with sweat. This wasn’t just weird—it was wrong on a level I couldn’t explain.

“Say something,” I demanded. “Anything that isn’t just my voice echoing back at me like I’m in some horror movie knockoff.” Still nothing. Just that smile—tight, a little too wide, like someone who practiced being human in the mirror and got bored halfway through. Then, finally:

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Oh hell no.

“Relax,” the girl said with a sigh. “You’re safe here.”

‘I’m safe here?’ Oh, cool. Great. Just great. Because clearly, mirror-me sitting under a big ass tree in the middleman of nowhere like a broken NPC screams safety. I didn’t move or blink, half-convinced that if I did, she’d lunge at me and tear off her face or something equally traumatic.

“Safe?” I echoed. “Yeah, no offense, but people who look exactly like me and sound like they’ve been stalking my dreams don’t exactly scream trustworthy.” She didn’t flinch—just stared like I was the one losing it.

“I get it,” she said calmly. “It’s jarring. But you’ll understand soon. Just… don’t fight it.”

My mouth twitched. “Oh, that’s cute. You think I’m not gonna fight it.” My gut screamed run, and for once, I actually listened. I spun on my heel and bolted—no witty comeback, no dramatic glare, just pure nope. The grass whipped against my legs as my heart jackhammered in my chest. But the further I ran, the more the world blurred. The field didn’t get farther. Everything just stretched, like some sadistic treadmill.

“What the hell—?” I gasped, digging in my heels, but my legs weren’t moving forward. I whipped around. She was still there—same spot, same eerie calm, like she’d been waiting for this.

“You done?” she asked, not even out of breath. Why would she be? She didn’t even move! Nor did I. I stared at her, panting, chest heaving like I’d run a mile uphill, but I might as well have stood still.

“What did you do to me?” I snapped, voice shaking more than I wanted.

“Nothing,” she said with a soft shrug. “This place just doesn’t work the way you think it does.How about we talk over some tea?” the girl said with a smile, motioning toward the table behind her. A table that, I swear on every ounce of my sanity, was not there a minute ago. It looked like it had been plucked straight out of a storybook—lace tablecloth, porcelain teacups, and enough pastries to make a bakery cry. Crepes, vanilla beignets, cinnamon rolls, apple pie… and tea. Lots of tea.

My stomach growled. Again. Traitor. I gave it a mental middle finger and narrowed my eyes at her. “This feels like the part in the movie where the main character makes the worst decision of their life,” I muttered, but my legs were already moving. I sat down across from her, still tense, ready to flip the table and run if anything twitched wrong. She poured tea with the elegance of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Too calm. Too precise. I didn’t touch mine.

“Alright,” I said, folding my arms. “We’re sitting. There’s tea. There’s… whatever that pie is. Great. Now talk—who the hell are you?”

She took a sip, completely unbothered. Calm like this was just another casual afternoon tea, not a full-blown identity crisis.

Then she set her cup down with a soft clink and smiled again.

I stared at her. Then at the tea.

Then seriously considered throwing the cinnamon roll at her face.

Before I could decide between pastry assault or flipping the whole table, something fluttered past my head.

Fast. White.

I jolted, twisting in my seat just in time to see it land silently on the edge of the table.

A dove.

The dove.

Same glassy black eyes. Same unsettling stillness. Like it had been watching me this whole time and finally decided to step into the scene. It didn’t move. Didn’t coo. Just stood there, inches from the apple pie, head cocked like it was judging me.

“Oh, great,” I muttered. “Now the bird’s back. What’s next, a talking rabbit? A prophetic squirrel?”

The girl—mirror-me, whatever—didn’t even glance at it.

“It seems it’s time for you to leave,” she said, her fingers resting lightly on the teacup, voice as steady as ever. It was maybe the second or third thing she’d said to me since I got here.

There was no urgency in her tone—no warning, no drama. Just quiet certainty. Like she was telling me it was going to rain.

I blinked. “I… okay? Bit sudden, don’t you think?”

She stood gracefully, smoothing the front of her skirt like the fog curling around us wasn’t even there. Like the strange heaviness pressing in at the edges of everything was normal. “You weren’t meant to stay long,” she said. “This place doesn’t hold visitors. Not really.” Before I could decide if that was poetic or ominous, she turned to the dove with a small nod. “Would you show her the door?”

The dove blinked slowly, then looked at me. There was no flapping or fanfare—just a quiet hop in one direction, toward the trees behind her, where a narrow path had quietly appeared. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now, through the thinning fog, I could just make out a tall, narrow door standing upright with no frame or wall—just there, like it had always been.

“Okay…” I said slowly, dragging the word out. “I guess I follow the bird now.”

She gave a soft smile. “It’s gentler that way.”

I glanced back at the dove and then at her. And came to the decision of not questioning her on what the fuck she meant by it being ‘gentler this way’. The bird had already glided forward a few steps and was waiting again, patient and quiet.

I looked at her one last time. “Any chance I get answers before I go?”

“Not today,” she said. “Why give answers when you won’t even remember them?”

I let out a slow breath, irritation mixing with something heavier—frustration, maybe, or the gnawing feeling that I was already losing hold of everything here. “Super vague. Love that for me,” I muttered, my voice softer than I meant. Part of me wanted to argue, to demand something concrete, but the other part just wanted to cling to whatever thread of sanity I still had left. And before I left I stuffed my face with a bit of the pastries.

She didn’t reply. Nor looked too bothered. Just watched. The forest didn’t dissolve this time. It just grew quieter, more distant, like a dream losing focus. I let out a slow breath. Then followed the dove down the path—step by step—toward the waiting door.

The dove stopped just before the door and spread its wings wide. A soft breeze drifted over me like a polite shove—basically the bird’s way of saying, “Go on, don’t be shy.”

Yeah, because nothing screams trustworthy like a mysterious bird suddenly playing traffic cop in a creepy fog. I took a slow breath and gave the door a long, hard look. Just standing there all ominous and silent, like it was waiting for me to screw something up.

“Alright, fine,” I muttered, stepping forward. “Let’s see what kind of nightmare’s on the other side.”

When I opened the door, I didn’t find a void or some cursed hallway—just a bedroom. Not like mine back at my gambling father’s house, where the wallpaper was curling off the walls and the mattress had seen better decades. This room was… normal. Ordinary, but in a soft, thoughtful way.

A full-sized bed sat tucked against the far-left wall, neatly made with a quilted blanket and a few slightly mismatched pillows that looked like someone actually fluffed them. The walls were painted a pale, comforting cream, with a couple of framed prints—flowers, maybe, or watercolor landscapes. The ceiling light was simple, just a round fixture with a warm glow. In the corner, a small loft shelf held a few books and a folded throw blanket, the kind you’d forget was there until you needed it.

Near the bed, a modest tea table was set up—a mug, one chipped at the rim, a couple of half-eaten cupcakes, and a napkin someone had tried to fold into a triangle. It wasn’t magical. It wasn’t some princess fantasy. But it was warm. Safe. Like a place someone lived, or dreamed about living. My stomach growled the second I stepped inside.

I eyed the cupcakes suspiciously, then picked one up. Vanilla frosting, a little cracked from sitting out too long. Those little crunchy rainbow sprinkles that always felt like edible gravel. I sniffed it—just to be safe—and took a bite.

Sweet. A little dry. Definitely not cursed.

I sat down and polished it off, then reached for the second. “If I get possessed by a pastry spirit, I’m blaming the bird,” I muttered. Nothing happened. No whispering walls, no sudden visions. Just me, sugar, and silence.

By the time I finished, my body felt heavy in that cozy, post-snack way. My eyes flicked to the bed. It looked way too inviting. “Just for a second,” I mumbled, already toeing off my shoes. “Not like I’m busy or anything.”I slid under the blanket and let myself sink into the mattress. It wasn’t luxury-soft—just comforting. Steady.My eyes drifted shut.

And then everything shifted. Not in the room—but under it. The sensation wasn’t sharp or sudden—it was quiet. Like slipping underwater. Like falling without fear.

The bed dissolved. The warmth. The silence. I felt something tug deep in my chest. Not painful, but real. Like a wire had been plucked, and something inside me had answered back. Whispers. Voices I didn’t recognize. One frantic. One calm.

Then came the wind. Fast. Rushing past my ears. And beneath it, the faint smell of smoke. Asphalt. Something burning.

I tried to move. To speak. But my body didn’t answer.