❝𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓?❞
❝𝐈 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓.❞
Lies.
▔▔▔▔▔★▔▔▔▔▔
"I love you..." You whispered and leaned close, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It caught him by surprise, but he quickly kissed back. It was supposed to be a sweet...
The hospital room, a sterile tableau of pale blue and bleached white, felt less like a sanctuary and more like a stage for an unfolding nightmare. The overhead lights, meant to be a source of calm, cast a cool, diffused glow that turned every corner into a shadow. The bed, a stark island of crisp sheets and a thin, folded blanket, waited in the center, its purpose a promise of rest, but its presence a harbinger of vulnerability. An IV drip, its clear tubing a serpentine trail of a lifeline, hung on a metal stand, a silent testament to a body tethered to science.
On a nearby rolling table, a tangle of wires and humming medical machines whispered of a life hanging by a thread. ECG leads, like thin black tendrils, snaked across a chest, disappearing beneath the blanket as if burrowing into flesh. The air, thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic, felt heavy and suffocating, a constant reminder of the room's grim purpose.
The dominant sound, however, is the rhythmic, insistent beep of the heart monitor. It was a steady, paced pulse, a constant, unwavering beat that echoes the vital signs being displayed on the small screen beside it. Each beep is a precise punctuation mark in the quiet, a tangible representation of a life being closely monitored, a silent testament to the presence of someone within the sterile confines of the room. The sound was neither loud nor soft, but it filled the space, a constant, reassuring, yet undeniably present reminder of the human being in the bed.
But while the body lay in a state of enforced stillness, a weary head finally at rest and eyes sealed against the sterile light, the mind was a maelstrom of unfolding secrets. A chorus of whispers, barely audible at first, began to fill the inner chambers of consciousness. These were not words alone, but the very essence of forgotten rituals and languages long since silenced— a low hum of a forgotten incantation, a jumble of syllables from a world unknown.
Yet, beneath this strange dialect, a deep, resonating truth began to emerge. A spiritual current pulsed, a thread of understanding that, while not logical, felt ancient and real. It was a connection to the source of all things, an echo of a time when the veil between worlds was thin, and the boundary between life and death was blurred.
Amidst this growing symphony of ancestral prayers and murmured blessings, one voice rose above the others. A deep, feminine whisper that carried no malice, only the crushing weight of ages. As she spoke, the volume of her words didn't increase in decibels, but in a purifying intensity that resonated deep within the sleeper's soul, vibrating with an ancient power that felt both foreign and familiar.
The whispers swelled into a roar, not of sound, but of profound meaning that threatened to shatter the very foundation of the mind, until the crescendo broke and all went silent. In the sudden, absolute stillness, a single, driven voice remained. It was a beacon in the newfound darkness, a stark command that cut through the haze of a million lifetimes, piercing the silence with an unequivocal purpose.
