The Marionette Room

You won't remember the first time you read this.

You'll think it's new to you-another strange story, unsettling but safe, fictional.
But if you're reading it now, it means something inside you has already been marked.
Because this isn't the first telling.
Not for you.
Not for her.

There are stories that occur in time, and others that occur in memory.
This one is neither.

Eliah is not a girl. Not anymore.
She is a pattern. A reaction to a place that should not exist.
The house, the mirrors, the voices-none of them begin or end.
They merely surface when someone remembers them.

So if, at any point, you feel like you've read this before-if a line seems too familiar,
a moment plays out just as you imagined-
do not assume it's déjà vu.

Assume it's happening again.