And I sat motionless as stone. Trapped inside my own body, a prisoner behind my eyes, begging myself to flee and finding no strength to obey.
That helplessness…
That is what has carved its mark deepest.
They would call this illness.
They would say the curse in my blood has ripened at last.
But if this were mere madness, would it have loosened its grip so neatly? Would the world have snapped back into its familiar shape the momentothers arrived? Would Poe—merciless, uncanny Poe—have erupted into violence the very breath after the vision shattered?
Yes, Poe. My dreadful, devoted sentinel.
He saw something.
He knows something.
I am certain he attacked her not from mischief, but defense.
So now I ask myself:
Where did the illusion end and the truth begin?
Was it exhaustion? Fear? Nervousness?
Or was something placed before me intentionally, crafted with care to unmake my sanity thread by thread?
Yes… yes, I feel it even now.
A presence. A pressure.
As though the house itself presses its hand upon the back of my neck.
Someone here wants me to believe I am losing my mind.
Someone wants my fear.
Someone wants me tobe silent.
I did not tell Sylum.
I could not bear the fleeting shadow that crossed his expression—the one that promises sympathy while whispering doubt beneath it.
If I am losing my mind, then madness has come with remarkable precision.
And if I am not—
Then a far darker truth prowls these halls.
Either way, I must stand before it.
I must heed Poe and explore this mystery.
I must peel back these shadows and see what bleeds beneath them.
Please, dear reader, you must believe me. You must…
—L
