ᵣₐbbᵢₜ ᵢₙ ₜₕₑ Bₗₐcₖ Cₕₐₘbₑᵣ

Cₕₐₚₜₑᵣ ₁₅: [...] ₗᵢᵥᵢₙg ᵢₜₛₑₗf ᵢₛ ₜₕₑ ₛₒᵤᵣcₑ ₒf ₛᵢₙ

She was falling.

She knew this was just a dream, she was still in Dazai's room, on a futon, yet in the void at the same time. Falling, endlessly, into a darkness that seemed to stretch on forever, a chasm with no bottom, no end. The sensation was familiar-too familiar, like an old friend that had come to visit again. The void was her companion, her shadow, her inevitable fate.

Falling, falling, always falling.

There was no ground beneath her, no walls to hold her, nothing but the emptiness that swallowed everything. And yet, she was aware, painfully aware, of the futon beneath her in the waking world, the soft fabric pressing against her skin. She could feel the warmth of Dazai's presence, somewhere nearby, distant yet close, as if tethered to the edge of her consciousness.

But in the dream, in the void, there was nothing. Only the sensation of falling.

She tried to grasp something, anything, but there was nothing to hold onto. Her fingers clawed at the air, but it was futile, absurd. The void laughed at her, mocked her efforts, and she laughed back, a hollow sound that echoed in the vast emptiness. It was all a joke, wasn't it? A cruel, twisted joke that the universe played on those foolish enough to seek meaning in its chaos.

She was falling, and she knew she would never stop. Because to stop would mean an end, and there was no end, only the continuous, relentless descent into nothingness. And wasn't that what life was? A fall, a plunge into the unknown, where every moment was a struggle against the inevitability of the void?

Living itself is the source of sin.

The words rang in her mind, over and over, a mantra, a curse. Sin was in every breath, every heartbeat, every thought that passed through her mind. To live was to sin, to defy the void, to pretend that there was something more than this endless fall. But she knew better. She knew there was nothing beyond the darkness, nothing but the cold embrace of the void.

She laughed again, louder this time, a mad cackle that bounced off the walls of her mind. The repetition of it all-the falling, the laughter, the knowledge of her own futility-it was maddening. But wasn't madness the only sane response to a world like this? A world where living itself was a sin, where every moment was tainted with the absurdity of existence?

She was falling, and she was falling, and she was falling.

The dream was a loop, a cycle that she could not break. She would fall, and then she would fall again, and again, and again, until there was nothing left of her but the memory of a girl who had once tried to fight against the void, only to be consumed by it.

In the void, there was no time, no space, no sense of self. Only the fall. Only the sin of existence. And she was guilty, guilty of living, guilty of defying the void with every breath she took, every thought she allowed to form in her mind.

She could feel her sanity slipping, unraveling like a thread pulled loose from a tightly woven fabric. Each repetition, each cycle of falling, brought her closer to the edge, to the point where there would be nothing left but the void, where she would become one with the darkness that surrounded her.

And still, she fell.

Then, out of the darkness, eyes appeared-eyes of mockery, eyes that watched her with cruel delight. They were not eyes she recognized, but she knew them. They were the eyes of the void itself, the embodiment of the chaos that had swallowed her whole. They stared at her with an intensity that pierced her soul, dissecting her, peeling back the layers of her mind, her sanity, her very essence.

The eyes grew in number, multiplying, until the void was filled with them, all of them focused on her, all of them laughing silently at her futile struggle. She wanted to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, strangled by the terror that gripped her heart.