The glass house faded, dissolving into the reddish gloom of the doll's garden like a dream that fades upon awakening. Lisa blinked, confused, disoriented, but her eyes no longer reflected the emptiness of trance, but rather the incipient spark of consciousness. She took the hand Elara offered her, a virtual touch, but charged with an unexpected warmth in that cold and hostile mental world.
"Come on, Lisa," Elara said, gently tugging on her hand, "It's time to go."
Lisa looked at her questioningly, as if she still didn't fully understand what was happening. "Leave? Where?"
"Home, Lisa. To your real home," Elara replied, with a soft, comforting smile, "Your family is waiting for you. They've missed you so much."
Understanding began to dawn on Lisa's pale face. A glimmer of hope, a suppressed emotion struggling to surface. "My... mom?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
"Yes, your mom. And your dad. And everyone who loves you," Elara confirmed, gently guiding her out of the space where the glass house once stood, back into the maze of the doll garden. "But we have to go now. Quickly. Before Silas changes his mind."
At the mention of Silas's name, a shadow seemed to darken the mental environment. The murmur of the doll's garden intensified, becoming a threatening whisper, a murmur of resistance, of frustrated possession. The reddish light flickered violently, as if the mental space itself were agitated, reluctant to let Lisa escape from its prison.
Silas's deformed figure emerged from between the rows of broken dolls, blocking their way, a look of suppressed fury on his grotesque face. "Where do you think you're going, intruder?" he snarled, his voice a low, menacing roar that echoed throughout the garden. "She belongs to me. She chose… the garden."
"No, Silas, you're wrong," Elara replied, her voice firm. "Lisa chose to go to the garden, not stay there. She chose freedom, not your prison. And now, I'm taking her with me." She gripped Lisa's hand tighter, preparing to face Silas's mental resistance.
Silas strode toward them, his striding menacingly, his hands extended like deformed claws. "She's not going anywhere. She's mine. Forever. In my garden. In my mind."
Elara felt Silas's mind swirling around her, trying to imprison her, hold her in the mental labyrinth. But she wouldn't give in. She'd come too far, risked too much, to turn back now. She had to protect Lisa, had to get her out of this mental hell, even if she had to face Silas Thorne's unleashed fury.
She closed her eyes, concentrating all her mental strength, all her determination, all her desire to save Lisa. She visualized a brilliant, protective light enveloping them both, an impenetrable mental barrier separating them from Silas's darkness, an upward force lifting them toward the surface, away from the mental abyss. And with a silent cry of pure will, she began her ascent, pulling Lisa with her, toward the light, toward reality, leaving the doll garden and Silas Thorne's impotent fury behind.
(Meanwhile, in the real world)
Marcus Bell sped through the industrial streets, siren and emergency lights blaring through the darkness. The call from dispatch had been clear and concise: they'd located a possible location that matched the vague description of a "glass house" Sarah Jenkins had provided. An old, abandoned greenhouse on the outskirts of the industrial zone, surrounded by crumbling warehouses and forgotten factories.
A greenhouse… A glass house… Silas's mental metaphor taking shape in the real world. Marcus felt a chill at the thought of what he might find in that place, the darkness that could lurk behind the broken glass of an abandoned greenhouse in the middle of the industrial night. But he didn't hesitate. He sped up even more, driven by the urgency to find Lisa, to confront the truth that awaited him in the real "glass house." Time was running out, and the hour of the final confrontation was fast approaching.
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