ℂ𝕊𝕄 (𝔸 ℂℍ𝔸ℕ𝔾𝔼 𝕆𝔽 ℙ𝔼ℝ𝕊ℙ𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼)

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔦𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

Darkness stretches endlessly in all directions. A suffocating black void, so still that even the concept of sound seems foreign. Nothing exists here—no walls, no floor, no ceiling. Just endless, oppressive emptiness.

A lone figure stumbles forward, their footsteps soundless against the unseen ground. Their breath comes in ragged gasps, chest tight with a sense of being watched, though they are utterly alone. The void presses in on them, the air heavy as though it's thickening around their body, slowing them down.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Their voice falls flat in the darkness, swallowed by the void. They glance around frantically, searching for any sign of light, of life, of an exit. But there's nothing. Just the overwhelming, inescapable darkness.

Until they see it.

Far ahead, a faint outline—a door, standing alone in the black expanse. It's old and wooden, weathered like something that's been forgotten for ages. But something feels... off. It's not just a door. Two faint shapes seem to flicker on either side, indistinct yet somehow there—somoene gazing at them.

Heartbeat quickens, a chill crawling down their spine. They squint, trying to make out who—or what—those shapes are, but the darkness clings to them like a shroud, obscuring all detail.

Still, they feel it. The weight of those unseen eyes burning into them.

Instinctively, they step forward, drawn to the door despite the strange, unshakeable dread that grows stronger with every step. Their pulse pounds in their ears. The figuresremain motionless, but the intensity of their gaze is undeniable, almost tangible.

They swallow hard, forcing themselves to approach the door. It feels like the only way out, the only thing here that means something. Their fingers tremble as they extend a hand toward the handle. Their breathing become ragged, the figure seeming to close in around them, though they never move.

Their fingers brush the cold metal handle. In an instant, a surge of panic overwhelms them—something deep and primal, like the door itself is alive, pulsing with the promise of something terrible on the other side.

But they can't stop now. They have to open it.

Just as their grip tightens around the handle, a sudden jolt—a force snaps them back.

"Not yet."

The world twists violently, the void collapsing around them. The figures, the door—they're all swallowed in a whirlwind of darkness, spinning faster and faster. The weight of the unseen eyes bores down on them, suffocating, drowning them—

[Real word]