"No—!"
Air ripped from her lungs as she plunged. The cliff vanished above, the sea twisted into a whirlpool below, and the sky became a blade slicing the horizon.
His hands were the last thing she felt—warm for a moment… then merciless as an executioner's grip.
Before the ocean swallowed her, his voice echoed in her ears:
"Do you remember the last story you wrote?"
Then—silence.
Just minutes earlier, she had been standing on the cliff's edge, waves hammering the rocks below like an angry heartbeat.
"You always come here when you're lost."
She didn't turn. She didn't need to. She knew him like she knew her own breath.
"I'm not lost," she whispered. "Just… unfinished."
"Unfinished?"
"Like a story with no ending. Like a book no one ever read."
A faint smile curved his lips—too faint to read. "Still dreaming of being a writer?"
A bitter smile tugged at hers. "It's not just a dream. It's all I had. To write. To be remembered. To leave a trace behind."
Only the crash of waves answered.
"I know I'm ordinary," she went on softly. "Not especially pretty. Not brilliant. Just a girl who recently graduated, with a notebook full of broken stories and forgotten drafts. But I wanted more. I wanted to be a story—not just read one."
His silence deepened. Then, in a low, almost curious tone, he asked,
"Do you remember the last story you wrote?"
Her brow furrowed. "Which one?"
"The one about the girl who trusted the wrong person."
Her heartbeat stumbled. Something inside her recoiled.
"What do you—?"
She never finished.
A strong hand shoved her in the back.
And she fell.
The sea was a cold blade wrapping around her bones. Salt and darkness filled her lungs. She kicked, fought, clawed toward the light, but every stroke dragged her deeper.
Everything she had dreamed of—everything she was—slipping away.
This isn't fair.
This isn't the ending.
"I never finished my story…"
She gasped—violently—like a soul ripped from the void.
Rough sand scraped her skin. Her chest rose and fell in ragged bursts. The ocean had thrown her back… but not the same ocean. The air was colder. The light sharper.
And the hands trembling in front of her—
—weren't hers.
Pale. Longer. Thinner. Unfamiliar.
She sat up too fast. The world spun. Wet strands of silver clung to her cheeks. She stumbled toward the shimmering shoreline… and the reflection staring back wasn't the girl she knew.
It was someone else.
Delicate. Strange. Ethereal.
Who is this?
Memories stabbed like shards of glass.
The voice. The push. The betrayal.
She had died.
And yet… she was here.
Then came a whisper—floating on the tide like a secret.
"Eri…"
It wasn't her name. But it felt like it belonged to this body. Or… what remained of it.
She looked toward the distant forest. Mist veiled the trees, still as a watching beast.
And as her pulse quickened—beating in a rhythm not her own—a single thought echoed within her:
If I died… then who opened these eyes?
She staggered to her feet, trembling. The ocean behind her no longer whispered—it roared in her skull, demanding answers she didn't have.
"Where am I?! What is this place?!" she shouted into the emptiness.
No answer.
But she wasn't alone.
A slow, creeping chill slid along her spine. She turned.
At first, only fog.
Then—movement.
Dozens of shapes gliding over the sand. Dark. Formless. Moving without steps.
One opened what might have been a mouth—wide, impossibly wide—and a long black tongue spilled onto the sand, sizzling where it touched. Behind it, jagged teeth gleamed like shattered glass framed in darkness.
She snatched up a stone and hurled it.
It passed through.
The shadow didn't even flinch.
Then—they all opened their mouths.
Tongues. Wet. Twisting. Reaching.
The stench of decay thickened the air.
She ran.
Her feet pounded the sand. Breath came in shallow gasps. The shadows glided faster—multiplying in her peripheral vision.
The forest loomed closer.
Her foot slammed into something buried under the sand—a rock. She stumbled and fell hard, her knee scraping raw. Blood welled hot and red.
The creatures screamed.
Not in fear.
In hunger.
They surged forward, tongues writhing like snakes.
They smell my blood.
She scrambled upright, legs shaking, and bolted for the trees. Branches clawed at her skin, thorns tore at her dress, but she didn't stop.
The moment she crossed into the forest—
Everything stopped.
The shadows halted at the edge, their mouths closing, tongues withdrawing.
They would not cross.
Why?
Her chest heaved. Her skin was cold with sweat.
This wasn't her body.
This wasn't her world.
And what she had just survived…
…was only the beginning of the nightmare.