𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎 || ❝And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you, and I'd choose you.❞ ||
↳ 𝗜𝗡 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗖𝗛 a murder machine, a coffee addict, and their dysfunctional family attempts to sav...
Who Is She? - I Monster "0:35 ━❍───────── -5: 32, ↻⊲ Ⅱ ⊳
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DARKNESS SPREAD LIKE a black sea. I was pulled into my conscience; it felt similar to drowning. How my lungs filled with something that was not air, and the numbness spreading along my body. It was suffocating.
I lay on the cold floor, nothing but silence filled the abyss. My body tensed and goosebumps prickled my skin. I gasped heavily as my eyes shot open.
I sputtered and rubbed my face, trying to regain my vision. I observed my surroundings, brushing my hair back in nervousness. It had been a while since my last visit here.
My question was: how the fuck did I end up here? I dwelled on that thought, trying to resurface any recent memories before I blacked out. Then it clicked: the bracelet. But how did a trinket that I had never seen before cause this?
Then the darkness became light, and everything shifted and changed into color. There I was, standing in a never-ending hallway. On the walls were paintings, exquisite brush strokes created the masterpiece's. But they weren't any ordinary paintings, they were my memories. Each of them had a specific event that happened in my life, the paintings moved as if it were alive.
I strolled onward, admiring each piece of artwork. The many years of living in this mansion, the memories I cherished with my family; they were all here. After walking down memory lane, I reached the end of the hall; an iron door stood before me. The metal door looked unusual compared to the colorful wallpaper that was beside it, but what stood out the most was the broken lock.
With hesitance, my hand clutched and twisted the handle. It clicked and creaked open as the door was left ajar. Beyond the door was blackness once again, but it wasn't just an endless void this time, there were paintings floating about.
These paintings weren't so serene this time, they were traumatic experiences, ones that I had either forgotten or pushed away. The further I ventured, the more tragic the memories. Each one had my darkest moments, ones that I never wanted to relive again.
I looked up, noticing some paintings that were torn apart. I reached out and managed to get my hands on one. I smoothened out the torn canvas, attempting to recover the memory. My blood ran cold when I stared at it. It seemed like a family photo, but everyone's face was either blacked out or burnt besides mine. I couldn't see their faces, I had no idea who these people were.
Something caught my eye. That uniform— that emblem on the blazers. It looked similar to the one that boy was wearing. The Umbrella Academy.
I released the painting and watched it levitate away. I quickly grabbed a few more, trying to find the answers to my many questions. They all had the same uniform, the same emblem. To my dismay, each painting still had their faces blurred out and I still had no recollection of these memories.
