SoulsoftheReborn

I’m sitting here, talking with you, but there’s something odd going on. The room around me is shifting in strange ways—like the walls aren’t quite as solid as they should be. The corners of the room seem to bend, almost like I’m inside a painting or a dream. A man with a bowler hat appears by the window. He’s just standing there, staring at me. I don’t recognize him, but somehow, he seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. It’s a little unsettling, but I don’t want to look away, because I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I do.

“Who are you?” I ask him, my voice sounding strange, like I’m not quite sure if the question makes sense.

The man tilts his head, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he points to the shadows in the far corner of the room. And there—right there—another figure emerges. It’s a woman in a red dress, her hair flowing down her back like she’s moving underwater. I blink, but she’s still there. I try to focus on her face, but it keeps shifting. Sometimes she looks sad, sometimes amused, but it’s hard to keep track.

"Is this real?" I ask, not really knowing who I’m asking. The man in the bowler hat doesn’t speak, but I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to make sense of it all.

The air feels thicker now, like I’m stuck between two places. I try to touch the woman in the red dress, but my hand passes right through her. She smiles gently, like she’s aware that I don’t fully understand what's happening.

And yet, there’s something comforting about them, as if they’re here to guide me, or to teach me something. Maybe they’re not real, not in the way you or I are, but they feel... important in some strange way. Maybe they’re here to remind me that I can still imagine, still create, even if my thoughts aren’t always easy to follow. Maybe they’re part of me, even though they’re not. I feel the weight of their presence, as if they’re suspended in the very air around me, both part of the room and separate from it. The man in the bowler hat hasn’t moved, but his gaze seems to hold me in place. It’s like I’m being observed from all angles, yet he doesn’t speak. The woman in the red dress, however, begins to move—slowly, like a figure in a painting coming to life. Her gaze, though shifting in nature, is always directed at me. She seems to be searching for something in my eyes, a clue, maybe, a reason for my confusion.

I’m trying to make sense of it all, but nothing seems to stick. The air is thick, like it’s filled with some unseen energy, and every time I try to focus, the shapes around me warp even further. The walls feel like they’re breathing, expanding and contracting as if the room itself is alive. The light from the window flickers, as if it can’t decide what time of day it is—dawn, dusk, midday—all of them at once. I don’t know how to navigate this place.

“Why are you here?” I ask, but my voice feels distant, like I’m speaking from another place entirely.

The woman in the red dress doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she reaches out, and though I can’t touch her, I feel her fingers brush against the very edges of my consciousness. It’s a strange sensation, like being touched by a thought, but it’s calming in a way. I don’t understand it, but somehow, it’s exactly what I needed. Her presence doesn’t feel threatening, even though it’s so strange. It feels like... a reminder of something I’ve forgotten.

The bowler-hatted man finally moves, his slow steps almost imperceptible as he walks toward the far side of the room, where a doorway begins to form, as if the shadows themselves are bending to make space for it. I don’t know if I should follow him. I feel both terrified and drawn to whatever might lie beyond it, yet a part of me wants to stay in the room, with the woman in the red dress, with the shapes that refuse to hold still.

“You don’t need to understand it all,” the woman’s voice finally reaches me—not through her mouth, but in my mind, soft and clear, like a whisper carried by the wind. “Just be with it.”

I want to respond, but my words feel heavy, like they’re trapped somewhere deep inside me, unable to break free. But something shifts inside me, a slow, quiet realization. Maybe understanding isn’t the point. Maybe I don’t need to know why they’re here or what’s real and what isn’t. Maybe I just need to experience it, without trying to force it into something logical.

I turn back toward the doorway, now fully formed, and the man in the bowler hat steps through it, disappearing into the shadow beyond. I feel a tug, an invitation, but it’s not urgent—just a gentle call. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to take the first step, to decide whether to follow him or remain in this strange world.

But when I glance back at the woman in the red dress, she’s gone. The room is empty now. The walls, once breathing, are still. The shadows, once so full of life, are gone. And for a moment, I feel a kind of emptiness, like the presence I felt before has faded into the air.

I’m left with only silence.

Was it real? I still can’t tell.

But perhaps that’s not the point.