Part 1: **Fractured Reality**
Margaret Willows had always prided herself on her sharpness. Even at 82, she was a force—her memory razor-edged, her wit intact. She had outlived her husband, buried friends, and watched her children grow distant, but she remained vigilant, a pillar of clarity in a world that was slowly losing its edge. Her independence was a badge of honor.
But lately, something had been gnawing at the edges of her mind.
It began as forgetfulness—misplaced keys, unfamiliar faces at the market. Simple lapses that anyone might dismiss. She wasn't worried at first. "Just the weight of old age," she told herself. But over time, these incidents grew stranger, more disorienting. She would be mid-sentence and suddenly find herself unable to recall the words. They slipped through her grasp like water through fingers.
Then came the memories that weren't hers.
Margaret would sit in her armchair, sipping tea, when suddenly, she'd find herself overwhelmed by flashes of crawling on all fours, her hands chubby and small, her skin soft. The sensation was vivid, raw. She could smell milk, feel warmth, and hear distant, soothing murmurs—sounds she hadn't heard in decades, yet they felt... familiar. But they were not hers. She was sure of it.
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Fractured reality
Historia CortaMargaret Willows thought she had a firm grasp on her life-until things started to slip. Small moments of confusion turn into something far more unsettling, as the familiar becomes strange and her sense of reality begins to blur. As she struggles to...
