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"To become who you want to be, you must sacrifice who you are." ___
The dense fog clung to the earth, thick and suffocating. It carried with it a smell—a mix of earth, decay, and something more ancient, as though the land itself had been forgotten by time. Y/N's eyes fluttered open, her breath shallow and heavy. Her body felt strange, foreign even, as if it had not fully belonged to her in ages. But she was fully clothed, wrapped in simple, dark robes that clung to her skin like an old, forgotten memory. The fabric was soft against her skin, yet it held the weight of something—something heavy, like a thousand unspoken words trapped in the folds of the cloth.
For a long moment, she lay there, unmoving, staring at the ceiling above her. A haze of fragmented memories swirled in her mind, fleeting glimpses of faces, places, and moments that felt just out of reach. There was a name she could almost grasp—her own name, she thought. And there was something more. A purpose.
She closed her eyes again, a sudden wave of dizziness crashing over her, but as it subsided, something deep inside her compelled her to rise. Something unseen was calling to her, pulling her forward. Without fully understanding why, she stood up, her limbs stiff and uncoordinated as though she hadn't used them in years, or perhaps lifetimes.
Her heart thrummed in her chest, each beat a reminder that something had gone terribly wrong. The world around her was unclear, fragmented, like a story told by someone else, someone who had lived her life but left nothing more than traces behind. She tried to breathe, but even the air around her felt foreign, unfamiliar. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the cool stone beneath her, steadying herself.
She looked down. Her robes, although simple, were well-made—crafted from a fabric that seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light. The cuffs were embroidered with intricate symbols she didn't understand. They pulsed gently, as though alive, connecting her to something she couldn't quite reach. Her fingers traced the edges of the symbols absentmindedly, her thoughts swirling around the mystery of it all.
Everything about her seemed to whisper "familiar," yet nothing about the scene around her seemed right. She tried to think back, to remember who she was, what had happened to her, but the details were hazy, elusive. The name she thought she remembered, her father's name, and the sense that she had once lived within these walls—the pieces refused to come together, floating around her like dust caught in the fog.
The silence in the room was oppressive, heavy in its stillness, and Y/N felt a creeping unease. She glanced around. This place was both a sanctuary and a tomb. The walls were made of stone, ancient and weathered, and the air was thick with the scent of incense and something else—something she couldn't name, something that unsettled her. This wasn't the place where she had awoken, but somehow, it felt as if she had always been here.
