A few pages from the novel I’m currently writing. Still unfinished, but I wanted to share its atmosphere.

𝑨 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆.

The world of Illusion.

Echoing Voices…

​There are voices inside my head that never fall silent—echoing endlessly against the bleak walls of my mind. It all feels like a lawless game with no rules and no end. No matter how hard I claw at the edges, I cannot escape. The only anchor to my existence is this constant murmur reverberating deep within my skull. Each voice carries a different cadence, yet all share a singular purpose. Of that, I am certain. They want to trap me here. Drive me to madness. They are like quiet explosions trying to hollow me out from within.

​No… not explosions. Explosions eventually fade, leaving behind a dark, merciful silence.

​But these… these are eternal.

​The ground trembles now, as though an enraged giant has finally clawed its way out from beneath the earth. I feel those violent tremors not just beneath my boots, but deep within the marrow of my bones.

​That hell I thought I had escaped… the nightmare I foolishly believed had ended… it keeps hunting me down. Cries for mercy, desperate, heavy footsteps, and savage shrieks blend into a singular, deafening roar.

​I am standing in the dead center of chaos.

​Distant wails echo from somewhere far away, yet hidden beneath those agonized cries are sinister laughs, lurking like shadows in the periphery. The sounds bleed together until the human is indistinguishable from the monstrous. Thousands of stolen lives, all imprisoned within one suffocating noise.

​Then, footsteps.

​Slow. Deliberate. Heavy.

​Someone is coming.

​With every approaching step comes a wave of familiar panic. Fear. Utter desperation. The very emotions I have spent a lifetime losing myself within.

​What is the point of this frantic commotion? Where is this crowd running to? What looming darkness are they trying so desperately to outrun?

​Or perhaps… are they merely running from themselves?

​If that is the truth, then their flight will never end. Should I mock them with the ultimate irony—that the greatest illusion of all is believing one can escape their own truth? Or should I choose silence?

​From what I can gather, they know nothing of the world's real design. Perhaps silence is a mercy.

​I cannot stop the questioning. What if none of this is real? What if this entire world exists only inside my mind—a dark, shifting labyrinth from which I will never break free? I don't know anymore. But if everything truly originates within my own mind, then there is no corner of reality left where I can hide from the horror.

​Which of you is real? And which of you is just another cruel trick born of my fevered mind? Tell me. Please. I can no longer tell the difference.

​I am suffocating under this uncertainty. Tired of the chaos. Tired of these games played without rules. Everything has the blurred edges of a dream… but the pain is too vivid, too devastatingly real. And I have absolutely no idea how to wake up.

​I think I am utterly lost. Not just within the suffocating corridors of this labyrinth or among this panicked, unfamiliar crowd… but within the wreckage of myself.

​My grip on reality is slipping away. I can no longer separate the agony of the mind from the trauma inflicted upon my body. I am exhausted. It feels as though my very soul is being slowly, systematically drawn out of me.

​Yet… the warmth of my own blood slicking across my skin, sinking into the dry earth… that wetness, that distinct metallic scent…

​It chains me to this cruel, undeniable reality.

​Once more… it feels as though I am—

​Dying.

​Deep within my soul, a vast void of darkness expands. A boundless abyss, dragging me further away from who I used to be.

​And somehow, that abyss is the only thing that feels real.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝑻𝒖𝒓𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒉, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑰 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒕𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.