labyrinth | daerin

PROLOGUE

The world is home to many things, and for many people, fear stems from the things that lurk outside: the dark of the night, the gleaming eyes that stare back at you from the depths of an everlasting forest, demons whispering in shadows, ghosts haunting the edges of perception. These fears are tangible, almost comforting in their predictability. But my fear is far more insidious.

It doesn't come from outside. It resides within me, a constant, gnawing presence that I can't escape. I am my own greatest fear, and within me lie the nightmares from which there is no running away.

In the quiet moments, when the world around me is still, that's when the fear tightens its grip. It starts as a whisper in the back of my mind, a barely audible hiss that tells me I'm not safe, that the real danger is lurking just beneath my skin. The fear grows, seeping into every thought, every breath, until it feels like it's suffocating me from the inside out. There's no monster under the bed, no ghost in the closet. The monster is me, and it waits for the perfect moment to pounce.

Each night, as I lie in the darkness, I feel its presence. The weight of it pressing down on me, a cold, relentless force. My bed, which should be a place of rest and safety, becomes a prison, and I am its captive. My heart races, my body trembles, and I know that sleep will bring no respite. Instead, it will unleash the horrors that my waking mind works so hard to keep at bay.

In my dreams, the scenes play out with a vividness that makes them feel more real than reality itself. I find myself in the middle of an unending forest, the trees towering above me like ancient sentinels. The darkness is absolute, swallowing all light, all hope. I can hear them, the eyes in the forest, watching me, waiting. But it's not the forest that terrifies me. It's the feeling of being trapped, of knowing that no matter how fast I run, no matter how desperately I try to escape, I can't. The forest is me, and I am the forest.

The nightmares weave a tapestry of my deepest fears. I see my reflection in shattered mirrors, my face distorted, twisted into something unrecognisable. I hear my own voice, but it's not me speaking. It's the fear, the self-doubt, the relentless self-loathing that I've tried so hard to suppress. It mocks me, tells me that I'm not good enough, that I never will be. And the worst part is, I believe it.

Every detail is etched with excruciating clarity. The cold sweat that drenches my skin, the sound of my own ragged breathing, the pounding of my heart that feels like it might burst from my chest. These are not just dreams; they are a reflection of my inner turmoil, a manifestation of the battles I fight every day.

But the most terrifying aspect of all is the realisation that there is no escape. I can't run from myself. I can't hide from the fear that lives within me. It's a part of who I am, intertwined with my very being. And so, I lie awake, staring into the darkness, knowing that the real demons are not out there, but inside me. They are the memories of the past, the anxieties of the present, and the uncertainties of the future. They are the scars that no one else can see, the wounds that never truly heal.

In the end, my greatest fear is the realisation that I am my own worst enemy. The nightmares are a reminder of the battles I must face, not against the external world, but within the depths of my own mind. And as the night stretches on, I know that the fight is far from over. It is a constant, unending struggle to find peace, to silence the fear, to reclaim a sense of self that is not defined by the darkness within.