The hour was late, and the halls of the library were empty save for Himiko. She sat tucked into the back of an alcove, folded into the corner as if trying to make herself smaller, quieter—less. The book lay open in her lap, but her hands faltered over its pages as the whispers threaded through her mind.
She shook her head. Not there. Not there. The words repeated like a prayer, like a fragile charm against something relentless. If she said them enough, maybe they would leave. They never did.
She drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands, begging for silence. For peace. The book slipped from her grasp and struck the floor with a dull thud, the sound snapping her out of the fog she was trapped in.
Alone. Thankfully, alone.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the book and lifted it from the floor. Her eyes focused on the words on the page, seeing them but not taking them in. They hadn’t for the last hour, but she craved anything that might keep sleep at bay—and the inevitable nightmares that would follow.
Since coming here, she had felt more lost than she ever had with them. Like a ship at sea without a destination. She lacked purpose. Direction. Only the crushing weight of indecision remained. They told her she was safe, but she knew safety was an illusion. There was no safety. Not from the whispers. Not from what lurked in her mind. In her blood. They started again. Cold. Insidious. Cruel.
“Please… not real. Please…” she whimpered into the darkness.
They slithered in, soft and relentless, whispering everything she had tried to forget. You’re weak. You can’t fix this. No one will help you. Each word burrowed deeper, prying open old wounds she had barely stitched over. Her chest tightened, her hands shaking so violently the book threatened to fall again.
Images flared behind her eyelids: faces she had failed, moments she wished she could erase, voices she couldn’t stop hearing. The library, once a refuge, felt like a cage, the walls pressing closer with every accusation.
She pressed her palms harder to her face, trying to block it out, but the whispers were inside her now, crawling in her blood. Not enough. Not safe. Not loved. They were cold, precise, cruel—and impossibly familiar.
Himiko shivered. She wanted to run, to scream, to throw the book across the room—but there was nowhere to go. The whispers followed every thought, every heartbeat. They weren’t external. They had always been inside her, waiting.
Please… stop. She thought, though even that was meaningless. The echoes didn’t answer with mercy. They only repeated what she already knew, what she had always known: she could not out
run herself.
[MFT]
[Word Count: 463]
She shook her head. Not there. Not there. The words repeated like a prayer, like a fragile charm against something relentless. If she said them enough, maybe they would leave. They never did.
She drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands, begging for silence. For peace. The book slipped from her grasp and struck the floor with a dull thud, the sound snapping her out of the fog she was trapped in.
Alone. Thankfully, alone.
With a trembling hand, she reached for the book and lifted it from the floor. Her eyes focused on the words on the page, seeing them but not taking them in. They hadn’t for the last hour, but she craved anything that might keep sleep at bay—and the inevitable nightmares that would follow.
Since coming here, she had felt more lost than she ever had with them. Like a ship at sea without a destination. She lacked purpose. Direction. Only the crushing weight of indecision remained. They told her she was safe, but she knew safety was an illusion. There was no safety. Not from the whispers. Not from what lurked in her mind. In her blood. They started again. Cold. Insidious. Cruel.
“Please… not real. Please…” she whimpered into the darkness.
They slithered in, soft and relentless, whispering everything she had tried to forget. You’re weak. You can’t fix this. No one will help you. Each word burrowed deeper, prying open old wounds she had barely stitched over. Her chest tightened, her hands shaking so violently the book threatened to fall again.
Images flared behind her eyelids: faces she had failed, moments she wished she could erase, voices she couldn’t stop hearing. The library, once a refuge, felt like a cage, the walls pressing closer with every accusation.
She pressed her palms harder to her face, trying to block it out, but the whispers were inside her now, crawling in her blood. Not enough. Not safe. Not loved. They were cold, precise, cruel—and impossibly familiar.
Himiko shivered. She wanted to run, to scream, to throw the book across the room—but there was nowhere to go. The whispers followed every thought, every heartbeat. They weren’t external. They had always been inside her, waiting.
Please… stop. She thought, though even that was meaningless. The echoes didn’t answer with mercy. They only repeated what she already knew, what she had always known: she could not out
run herself.
[MFT]
[Word Count: 463]