Chapter Text
The twins:
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Chapter 20:
Curiosity killed the cat / la curiosité est un vilain défaut
We hurry down the stairs, passing a labyrinth of rooms lined with cabinets and shelves, each filled with dusty tomes and mysterious artifacts. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and magic. Suddenly, Sebastian's voice echoes behind us, halting our steps.
"Stop!” He calls out breathlessly, his figure materializing as he dispels the disillusionment charm. He's on his knees, gasping for air. “We're good now…"
Al, equally winded, emerges from his concealment spell with a swift motion. His platinum hair gleams under the dim light as he brushes it back from his forehead with practiced precision. "What if she comes down here?"
Sebastian shakes his head, straightening up to face us. His cheeks are flushed a light shade of red from the rush of adrenaline, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.
"She never comes down here... Trust me.” He assures us between breaths. “Every time she caught me, it was when I was trying to sneak back out. Old woman hates these stairs.”
Relieved by Sebastian's reassurance, I release the tension in my muscles and undo my own disillusionment spell.
"Where do we start?" I glance around the room, my heavy breathing the only sound breaking the silence. The shelves loom over us, filled with books trapped behind bars, their pages seemingly yearning for freedom. Some volumes even wriggle and shift, as if attempting to escape their confines.
Sebastian gestures toward the far end of the room, where another set of stairs descends further into the depths.
"Not here," he says. "The real good stuff is down there. I've combed through everything here. The further down we go, the darker the magic."
Al and I share a worried glance, his brows furrowing at Sebastian's choice of words. "Who said anything about dark magic?" A note of severity colors his voice as he directs his piercing blue eyes toward Seb. He's not pleased with this sudden revelation. If there's one thing Al doesn't want me involved with, it's anything related to the dark arts.
"Yeah, I mean…" I falter, my gaze shifting back to Seb. "We're just investigating wands…"
But Seb scoffs, his signature cocky grin spreading across his lips.
"I'm telling you, there's nothing of importance here." He strides confidently toward the guardrail, peering down at the shelves below where more books are stored. "If I had found anything even remotely related to your wand situation here, I would have told you," he explains, arching one eyebrow at me. "No, whatever you've got going on, the solution is down there."
A tense silence descends, and Al and I share another troubled glance. He appears skeptical, and I can't help but feel the same.
But they're just books, right? We're simply exploring, we're not doing anything wrong. Just because you read about the dark arts doesn't mean you have to engage with them.
Sebastian turns his brown eyes to Alphonse, arching his eyebrows as he waits for his final decision.
Finally, my brother nods in reluctant approval, though his expression reveals underlying irritation.
"After you, your Majesté ," Sebastian says with a sly smile, gesturing grandly toward the stairs. Al sighs and shakes his head before descending.
Downstairs the atmosphere remains unchanged. The books are still imprisoned behind bars, some even chained up, but none appear particularly threatening.
Sebastian leads us to the farthest corner, where a makeshift study area is set up. A desk cluttered with parchments and quills sits against the wall, flanked by chairs and a worn-out couch.
"Professors often come down here to work on their papers," he explains, gesturing toward the desk as my attention fixates on the neglected books scattered around it.
"Papers?" Al's curiosity piques, his gaze flitting around the room, scanning the shelves of books with keen interest.
"Yeah, they do their own research outside of teaching. Like Fig, for instance."
"Fig?" I move closer to the shelves, my fingers trailing along the bars that trap the books in place. The name doesn't ring a bell. I've never heard of a Professor Fig before.
"He teaches magical theory. Seventh year only," Sebastian clarifies with a nonchalant shrug. "Once, he caught me down here. I had to hide in the back, holding my breath for hours," he chuckles. "Almost died of boredom. Anyway, Fig hasn't been teaching much lately. He's always off somewhere. I heard some parents are pretty upset about it."
I can imagine. Fifth year is already tough with the OWLs, but seventh year with the impending NEWTs is like descending into the depths of hell. I can see why parents would start to worry if a teacher is consistently missing classes throughout the year.
Al's curiosity doesn't falter as he approaches the desk, his fingers skimming over the leftover parchments scattered on the hardwood surface. "What exactly is he studying?"
"Not entirely sure," Sebastian admits, leaning against one of the shelves with his arms crossed. "I asked him once, and he practically shoved me out of his office," he recalls with a wry smile. "He's quite secretive about his work. Doesn't leave anything of value lying around here. He's rather... cautious."
"Mmh, makes sense," Al remarks, pulling away from the parchments with a hint of disappointment.
"He's probably safeguarding his research," I suggest, my fingers keep trailing along the bars of the shelves as I move toward the end of the room. To my surprise, I discover a wooden door tucked away in the corner.
"What's behind this door?" I point at the door, turning to Seb for an explanation.
Seb joins me. "Ah, that's just a storage room," he explains. "Stacks of books that haven't been sorted out yet, and a bunch of random stuff. There's some cool old and forgotten knick knacks in there. But the coolest thing has to be the dungeon."
"A dungeon? Here?" Al's eyes widen in surprise as he approaches us, peering at the door with interest.
"Not really a dungeon per se," Seb continues, crossing his arms once more. "But more like stairs leading further down. There's an empty room with an arch in the middle. I've tried to explore it before, but it seems like a dead-end."
The two of us fall silent, nodding in unison as we contemplate the door, wondering where that dungeon could lead.
"Hey," a croaky voice interrupts us. Al and I startle, spinning around to face the source of the unexpected sound.
Before us, a portrait hangs on the wall. Its canvas, that I swear was empty before, is now occupied by the weathered visage of an old man adorned with a pointy red hat.
“Good evening, Snitch,” Seb chuckles at the old man, clearly entertained by our surprise.
“Right, right,” the portrait replies dismissively, waving off Seb’s attempt at pleasantries. “No time for politeness, young boy. Scribner is on her way down.”
Seb's grin fades instantly. "Wait, what? Is she?"
“She’s been pestering Peeves upstairs about some commotion with her shelves. He keeps warning her there are people here,” Snitch explains. "She'll be coming down, boy."
Al’s expression sours and he takes a menacing step towards Seb. “Lucky for us ‘she never comes down here', am I right?” He repeats Seb’s words bitterly.
As if on cue, the distinct hissing voice of Mrs Scribner echoes down the corridor, muttering and threatening, likely directed at Peeves floating beside her. “If you've been telling lies, I must warn you, I will alert Mrs Weasley!” Her footsteps draw nearer.
We all instinctively crouch down, lowering ourselves to the ground and falling silent as they approach. I notice Sebastian glancing towards the other end of the long corridor of shelves, ensuring that Scribner cannot see us yet.
"I'm going to find her, make her believe this is my doing alone," Seb whispers, his head nodding in determination. "You two can hide in there until it's safe again."
“Since you’re offering,” Alphonse wastes no time, grabbing my hand and attempting to pull me towards the back door leading to the storage room.
"What? We can't let him take the blame!" I hiss angrily at Al, resisting his pull. He sighs and continues to guide me away, while Sebastian gives me a wide confident grin of his and a thumbs-up.
“Oh, yes we can, and we are,” Al insists, giving me no room for discussion. He keeps leading me to the door with a firm grip as Sebastian heads towards Scribner’s voice.
The portrait gives me a last apologetic look before Al and I slip away, leaving Seb to deal with the old librarian’s anger alone.
—
I press my ear against the wooden door, straining to hear the conversation on the other side.
Scribner's voice, though somewhat muffled by the thick door, carries a tone of stern authority. “I had thought we were finished with this mischief. Clearly detentions are insufficient. I’m afraid I must take this to the headmaster.“
“But…” Sebastian attempts to interject, but Scribner cuts him off sharply.
“That being said,” she continues, her voice softening slightly. “Peeves informs that you didn’t come alone tonight. If someone has coerced you. I would have you tell me. You’re a bright boy, don’t waste this.”
After a tense pause, his voice finally breaks through again, filled with determination. “There was nobody else. I came alone.”
Al breathes a sigh of relief, but I shoot him a withering glare. He backs away from the door, and simply shrugs, unfazed as ever.
"What?" He says, his tone casual. "There's no point in all of us getting detention. At least we can keep looking for answers,” he reasons, his tone frustratingly pragmatic.
I groan and jab him in the side with my elbow, eliciting a yelp of pain from him.
"Ouch! Hey!" He protests, rubbing his side where I hit him.
"He's in trouble because of me!" I scold my brother, frustration evident in my voice.
Al sighs again, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "He said it himself, he doesn't care much about detention. And as for his uncle, well, he doesn’t give a shit either. But do you have any idea what mother would do if we were caught?"
I deflate, realizing he's right. Getting caught would mean facing the wrath of our mother, and that's a fate I'd rather avoid at all costs.
"Exactly! Now that we're here, we might as well do some digging," he declares, surveying the room with a determined gleam in his eyes. I follow his gaze, taking in the sight of the forgotten storage space.
Books lay scattered across the floor, buried under layers of dust and cobwebs, while various pieces of armor and other assorted items decay in the shadows.
As we venture further into the room, the air grows thick with dust and humidity, making it difficult to breathe. Al grabs a random book, its pages yellowed and brittle with age, and begins to flip through them. With each turn, a cloud of dust billows forth, causing him to cough and wave his hand in front of his face in an attempt to dispel it.
"Good God, these have been here for centuries, it seems," Al coughs again, attempting to pat the dust away from his uniform.
"Do you think we can find any clues here?" I inquire, a sense of guilt and uncertainty seeping in my voice. Things weren't going according to plan at all. We were supposed to leisurely peruse the hundreds of books in the restricted section, not be limited to dusty, moldy tomes long forgotten by Scribner.
Suddenly, it all feels like a colossal waste of time, and a costly one for Sebastian too.
He sets the book aside and shoots me a slightly irritated glance, raising one eyebrow. I brace myself for what's coming.
"Em...we're here. Stop doubting everything, will you?" He runs a hand through his hair, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "We all agreed to this plan, knowing the risks. Seb will be fine, and worst-case scenario, we leave empty-handed. So just chill out." He lets out another long sigh, coughing some more. "The only real bother here is this damn dust invading my personal bubble." He waves his hand in the air, sending more dust swirling around the dimly lit room, and I can't help but chuckle softly.
As I sweep my gaze around the room once more, my mood lifted slightly by my brother's reassurance, I catch sight of the wooden door at the far end. The one that supposedly leads to a mysterious dead-end.
"Wanna check it out?" Al's voice breaks through the silence, and I turn to see him looking at me with raised eyebrows and a sly grin playing on his lips. His playful expression is infectious and I giggle in response.
The door, weathered and worn, groans lowly as Al pushes it open, revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness.
The stone staircase, worn smooth by centuries of use, winds down into the abyss below. As we step onto it, the temperature drops sharply, sending a shiver down my spine. Each step seems to deepen the sense of foreboding that hangs heavy in the air. The darkness swallows us whole, broken only by feeble rays of dim light struggling to penetrate the gloom.
Spider webs cling to the walls like spectral veils, broken crates lie scattered about, and an eerie silence envelops us like a suffocating blanket.
Alphonse leans over the balustrade, peering into the abyss below. "Well, that's rather ominous..." His voice reverberates against the stone walls, echoing into the void. "Maybe it's some forgotten part of the castle, abandoned and left to decay."
"Where do you think it goes?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper in the oppressive silence.
"Sallow said it's a dead end, but..." Al's words trail off, uncertainty lacing his tone. "We can find out, if you're brave enough?" He raises his eyebrows at me and when I nod my approval he takes a deep breath, betraying his own anxious energy, before turning to the darkness again.
As Al takes the first step down the staircase, a sudden burst of light erupts from the torches and candles, casting an eerie glow that illuminates the path ahead.
We share a startled glance.
"Now I'm seriously creeped out," he mutters, his voice tinged with nervous laughter. But beneath his attempt at humor, I can sense his unease mirrored in my own feelings. I offer a weak chuckle in response, trying to mask the growing sense of trepidation that coils in the pit of my stomach.
Together, we descend the stairs, the flames casting dancing shadows on the walls around us. With each step, the air grows colder, wrapping around us like a damp cloak. Silence envelops us, broken only by the soft echo of our footsteps bouncing off the stone walls.
I stick close to Al, his tall form a reassuring presence in the dimly lit corridor. But despite his nearness, a sense of unease begins to settle over me, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as goosebumps prickle my skin.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, we step into a small circular chamber hewn from ancient stone. The atmosphere grows increasingly oppressive, the weight of centuries bearing down upon us, a heavy anchor dragging us into the depths of time. The walls of the circular room are rough-hewn stone, their surfaces coated with more layers of dust and spiderwebs. It feels as though we've stepped into the bowels of the castle itself, a forgotten chamber lost to the annals of time.
The air is so cold that our breath forms wisps of mist that hang in the frigid atmosphere, swirling around us like spectral tendrils.
The room itself seems to belong to another era entirely, its architecture reminiscent of a bygone age. Ancient symbols are etched into the stone walls, their meaning lost to the sands of time.
It's a place that feels... wrong.
As though we've stumbled upon something that was never meant to be discovered.
At the center of the room stands an ominous arch, its darkened stone looming over us like a specter from the past.
A silent sentinel. Its purpose shrouded in mystery and age-old secrets.
Alphonse's brow furrows in confusion as he stares at the arch, his expression mirroring my own sense of unease.
"What's the point?" He muses aloud, his voice the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. He glances back at me, a silent question hanging in the air.
I peer at the arch, a sense of foreboding settling over me. It feels as though this arch holds the key to some long-forgotten secret, buried deep within the depths of Hogwarts. "Maybe there used to be a passage here..."
Al takes a hesitant step forward, descending further into the room. After a moment's hesitation, I follow suit. But just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, a voice whispers in my ear, sending a jolt of fear coursing through my veins.
I whirl around, my heart pounding in my chest as I search for the source of the sound.
"What was that?" I gasp, my eyes wide with fear as I turn to Al again, hoping for some semblance of reassurance in the darkness.
He meets my gaze, his expression one of confusion.
"What?" He replies, his voice barely audible over the sound of my pounding heart.
"You didn't hear that?"
Al and I stand in the eerie silence of the chamber, straining our ears for any sign of the mysterious voice. The oppressive stillness looms over me like a dark shadow, poised to strike like a predator closing in on its prey.
"Maybe the wind is playing tricks," Al suggests.
But I can't shake the feeling of apprehension that grips me, the sense that something is terribly wrong in this ancient place. The voice I heard felt too real, too distinct to be dismissed as a mere figment of my imagination.
"No, it's not the wind," I insist. "It sounded like... chanting, or murmuring, or something."
Al looks at me, his expression now filled with concern for me. "Are you sure you're okay, Em?"
I nod, trying to convince myself as much as him. "I'm fine," I reply, although the tremor in my voice betrays my anxiety. "Let's just keep going."
But as I take another step down the stairs, the voice echoes through the chamber once more, sending another shiver down my spine. This time, it's louder, clearer, unmistakable in its eerie resonance.
I turn around, pressing my hands to my ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound. "You're not hearing this?" I cry out to Al, desperation creeping into my voice.
He turns to me again, tilting his head. "I don't hear anything.”
I glance nervously around the chamber, the cold stone walls seeming to close in around us. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to leave this place, to escape the creeping sense of dread that hangs heavy in the air.
But Alphonse turns back to examine the arch, his fingers tracing the rough edges of the ancient stone.
“Why would that be here?” He murmurs. “It doesn’t make any sense does it? Do you think it used to lead somewhere?”
I shake my head, panic gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. The longer we linger in this ominous chamber, the stronger my instinct to flee becomes.
"I don't know," I squeak. "But I think we should go back. This place gives me the creeps." But Alphonse seems oblivious to my mounting anxiety, his attention still fixed on the enigmatic arch before us.
Reluctantly, he tears his gaze away from the arch, but his curiosity seems to linger, tethering him to the spot. With a heavy feeling of foreboding settling in my chest, I turn away from the arch, eager to leave this cursed place behind. But then my eyes catch something on the wall, freezing me in place.
There it is.
Etched into the stone with a sinister permanence.
A triangle, with a single eye staring back at me from its center.
The symbol fills me with a sense of cold dread, its presence awakening memories I'd long tried to bury.
I've seen it before, countless times in my dreams, in my darkest nightmares. I never thought I'd encounter it again. I prayed I never would.
And yet here it is, mocking me with its ominous presence.
"Al…" I murmur, my gaze steadfast on the symbol carved into the wall. A numbness envelops my entire body, my skin prickling with a cold sweat as tendrils of terror begin to coil through my veins, ensnaring my mind with a deadly grip.
"It's a dead end," Alphonse's voice breaks through the haze of my fear, his words pulling me back to reality. "Sallow was right, nothing to see here."
The sense of impending doom hangs heavy in the air around me. I can’t tear my eyes away, my heart heavy with a fright I can't quite explain.
We need to leave this place, now, before it's too late.
As I retreat a few steps, my unease deepens, a gnawing sensation of dread clawing at my insides with icy fingers. "We shouldn't be here…"
Alphonse scoffs, dismissing my concerns with a wave of his hand, unaware of the terror creeping on me. "Yeah yeah, just ruins, nothing interesting," he replies casually, his eyes scanning the room with mild curiosity.
"No, I mean…" I falter, my gaze lingering on the symbol etched into the wall, my fingers trembling as they clutch the edge of my uniform for reassurance.
And then, as I take another step back, I feel something strange beneath my foot.
A soft, pulsing sensation, like an electric current running up my limbs.
I gasp in alarm and quickly pull my foot away, retreating to the wall, my heart racing as I watch particles of blue light begin to emerge from the ground, swirling and dancing in the air around me.
"What?" Al’s expression shifts from casual indifference to worry as he notices the look of panic on my face.
“What’s that?”
“What?” He repeats a little louder as he looks around for answers, seemingly unaware of the particles that keep floating. They form a glowing light, emerging faster and faster from the ground, gathering together in the air.
"That!” I point frantically at the swirling mass of blue light, my voice trembling with fear. “Can't you see it?"
Alphonse's brow furrows in concern as he studies me. His expression shifts from confusion to dread, and he takes a hesitant step toward me.
"There's nothing, Em. What are you talking about?"
"You don't see that? You don't?!" I demand, panic rising in my chest.
He stares at me, his blue eyes wide, but then they flicker down to my cheek.
Not my cheek. My scar.
His face drains of color.
"Em…" He begins, his voice barely a whisper.
I flinch as he reaches out, his fingers brush against my skin, and when he pulls his hand away, I see it—a sticky, warm liquid coating his fingers.
Blood.
My heart lurches in my chest as I stare at the crimson stain, my mind racing with terror.
“What the hell?” Al's voice echoes my thoughts, filled with disbelief and concern.
In one fluid motion, he rips the lower part of his shirt and presses it to my cheek, his other hand cupping my face. His touch is reassuring, yet my eyes sting with tears of panic.
Again, my attention is drawn elsewhere. I watch in horror as the particles of blue light, once harmless and ethereal, now seem to gather with purpose. They drift toward the arch at the center of the room, swirling and pulsating with an eerie energy.
“You really don’t see it?” I ask Al, choking on the tears rolling down my face. He looks into my eyes, his own filled with a mixture of fear and confusion, then he quickly glances where I'm pointing before shaking his head.
He continues pressing the torn fabric to my scar, but the bleeding won’t stop. Panic rises within me as the crimson stain spreads, staining my uniform and dripping down my throat like a macabre necklace.
“We gotta get out of here,” Al says urgently. He wipes my cheek, but the blood keeps seeping out like a fresh wound, refusing to be stanched. “We need to take you to the infirmary, now!”
I nod, my breath catching in my throat, but then the gathering of light suddenly bursts behind him, blinding me for a moment as I shriek and recoil, pushing Al’s hands away from me.
“What? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Al's voice trembles as he grasps my face again, his hands firm and urgent. “Em! You’re freaking me out right now!”
When I manage to open my eyes again, all I see is him, his gaze fixed on me with intensity, his normally vibrant blue eyes now wide with fear and uncertainty. His ghostly complexion betrays the panic coursing through him as he searches my face for answers.
Despite the chaos around us, I start to feel an inexplicable calm wash over me, numbing the panic and fear that had gripped me just moments before.
"Em?" He repeats, shaking me gently once more while continuing to staunch the flow of blood from my cheek.
But my attention is drawn back again to the arch, which now appears open. A passage into darkness, both foreboding and strangely alluring.
"It’s open..." I murmur, my eyes fixated on the mysterious entrance.
My brother turns to see for himself, his grip on my face tightening as his own expression mirrors my shock. The archway, previously empty, now reveals a dark corridor, its depths beckoning us forward with an irresistible pull.
I begin to raise my hand, drawn inexorably toward the inviting darkness.
Al quickly intervenes, grasping my hand firmly and stepping between me and the arch, his gaze locking with mine as he tries to break the hold of whatever strange force has captivated me.
"Hey, snap out of it," he urges, his voice tinged with urgency and panic as he continues to shake me gently, trying to rouse me from this bewildering trance.
I focus on his eyes once more, attempting to ground myself in his familiar presence. Blinking rapidly, I struggle to dispel the strange sensations clouding my mind.
"The door... It's..." I trail off, my thoughts fragmented and elusive, slipping through my grasp like smoke.
Al's gaze flicks back to the archway, his expression tense with apprehension.
“This is wrong…” He mutters, blue eyes betraying his growing panic as he returns his attention to me. With careful hands, he removes the cloth from my cheek, his movements deliberate and steady.
“The bleeding stopped... Thank God,” his sigh echoes the weight lifting from his shoulders. With gentle strokes, he wipes away the last traces of blood and tears from my cheek, his touch grounding me in the present moment. Yet, despite his efforts, my gaze remains fixated on the ominous arch, its darkness seeming to beckon me forward.
As if in response to my silent invitation, I hear it once more.
The whisper.
The chant.
Insidious and alluring.
"This was a mistake. Let's go," Al's voice is decisive now, his grip firm on my hand as he pulls me away from the arch. With determined strides, he leads me back toward the stairs, intent on escaping this god forsaken place.
As we reach the top, however, his expression shifts to one of shock, his eyes widening in alarm at the sight of the shut door.
“The fuck?! We didn't close it behind us, did we?” He releases my hand and reaches for the handle of the closed door, but it remains stubbornly unmoved, unyielding to his efforts. Al's frantic attempts to pry it open reverberate through the enclosed space, his desperation tangible with each futile push and kick.
I find myself drawn back toward the arch, my movements guided by an unseen force. With each step, the air grows colder, the darkness enveloping me like a suffocating but alluring embrace. Despite the fear gnawing at my insides, a strange sense of calm washes over me, compelling me forward into the unknown depths.
“Wait… Am I going crazy or... Did we…” His words trail off as he turns, only to find an empty space where I once stood. Panic flares in his chest as he realizes I'm no longer beside him, and without hesitation, he rushes after me.
Down the stairs, I move with cautious steps, the eerie glow of torchlight casting long shadows on the cold stone walls. My outstretched hand trembles slightly as I navigate the dimly lit passage, each step bringing me closer to the unknown.
"Em!" His voice cuts through the thick silence, a desperate plea laced with fear. I hear him calling out, urging me to halt, to retreat from the allure of the arch. Every instinct screams at me to heed his call, to grasp his outstretched hand and flee this forsaken place.
But the pull is relentless, an invisible force tugging at the very core of my being, drawing me inexorably forward.
He races down the stairs. His voice echoes, fraught with panic, as he stumbles over the uneven steps in his frantic pursuit, cursing and muttering under his breath.
"EMILIE! DON’T!" He shouts a desperate plea, a final attempt to halt my advance, but it's too late.
As my fingers dive in the shadowy veil of the arch, its surface sends shivers down my spine, a chilling sensation that seems to seep into my bones. Wisps of darkness coil around my hand, twisting like sinister tendrils.
It's a cold that pierces deeper than mere temperature, an icy grip that claws at my senses, leaving me breathless.
And then, the voice returns.
A haunting chant from the depths of my memories.
Familiar yet elusive.
A melody of the past that I struggle to place.
Where have I heard it before?
In fragments of memories? Forgotten dreams? Or perhaps in the darkest corners of my nightmares?
The taste of salt and iron floods my mouth, a bitter reminder of past horrors. Memories collide—a swirling vortex of crashing waves, icy waters, and suffocating mud.
Drowning.
Pain.
And the metallic tang of blood.
A fleeting image pierces through the fog of my mind. A pair of unseeing blue eyes, marked by a stark white star.
And the voices... They persist, clashing and growing in number, relentless in their torment.
With a trembling resolve, I take a hesitant step forward, teetering on the precipice of sanity.
And then, with a final breath, I plunge into the darkness.
In an instant, it consumes me whole.