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墨書 Inktalez
I am not sure when that voice disappeared, as if it had merely passed through briefly, like a malicious memory that quietly slipped in and then quietly slipped away before I could become aware of it. But what it left behind was not just the tremor in the air; it also left a hole in my mind, a void I was unwilling to face yet could not help but stare into.
Are you really still sitting here?
The voice was mine, not someone else's. It came from deep within my mind, like a pendulum that had not swung in ages suddenly starting to move. It was not doubt but confirmation, a reminder delivered in an eerily calm tone: you are sitting here simply because you do not know where to go.
"I know where I am going," I replied softly, but as the words left my lips, I sensed their frailty.
You know? Then how do you explain this silence? This smell? This waiting? Shouldn't you be at home, at the office, or anywhere meaningful, rather than here, in an unnamed restaurant, at a small table that makes you question your own existence?
I furrowed my brow. This was not the first time I had spoken to myself, but this time felt different. That voice seemed to understand my situation better than I did, even… more attuned to my feelings.
"I’m just curious; I want to know what this place has to offer."
Are you sure? Or have you grown tired of your linear life long ago? The day-to-day cycle of repetitive meetings, meaningless conversations, and cold computer screens?
"That's not the point," I shouted inwardly, as if trying to expel an unwelcome guest.
No, that is the point. You came here because a part of you that knows better than yourself brought you here. It is the dark part of your heart—the part you suppress, fear, and yearn to change yet dare not change.
I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself down. But what appeared before me was a door.
It was a black door with no handle, no cracks—only a faint breath seeping out from below, like some ancient call. I did not know where that door led, but it clearly did not belong to reality. Or rather, it belonged to the part of reality I had never faced.
"Leiflo…" I called his name, hoping to escape this self-dialogue. But he did not respond. He remained seated in his place like a tranquil statue, not even blinking.
Is he still alive?
The thought flashed through my mind before I quickly shook my head. "Stop it; that's absurd."
"Really? Are you sure he isn't just part of this restaurant? Are you certain he was once a real person, and not just... the beginning of this experience? An enticing door?"
I looked at him, but I couldn't discern his expression. The gaslight flickered, casting shadows across his face, as if it were a mask.
"Enough," I whispered. "I'm just here for dinner."
But you know this isn't dinner. You knew from the moment you stepped inside. The silence you feel, the invisible order in the air, the low hum, the breath behind that door—you know this is not an ordinary meal.
I took a deep breath, but the air lingered in my chest, refusing to settle, as if it were stuck. I felt pressure spreading from my lungs to the back of my neck, then pushing against my eyes.
Can you escape?
"I don't need to escape."
Do you dare to escape?
I closed my eyes, for the first time at a loss for words against that voice. Because a part of me already knew the answer.
I opened my eyes, trying to grasp something, but nothing had changed. The water glass on the table remained, and the gaslight in the corner still flickered unpredictably. But I knew something had just been opened.
Not a door, but me.
It felt like entering a dream in reverse. Each breath felt like a betrayal of reality. The air in the restaurant grew heavier; it wasn't imagination, but a tangible weight, like an invisible damp cloth pressed against my face, suffocating me.
You noticed, didn't you?
Yes, I noticed. This place is not merely a space. It feels like a designed container, wrapping around its visitors like a womb, reshaping their senses, thoughts, and memories in silence.
Do you feel time?
I... am not sure. My watch continues to tick, but the sound seems to come from someone else's room. It does not belong to me. The real me has already entered another rhythm.
Maybe you never left this place.
That sentence sent a shiver through me. It was something deeper than fear, a doubt about my own history. I struggled to recall the memories of before I came here, but they felt like wet paper, blurred and fragmented in my mind.
Do you remember your home?
I... should remember, but that image is gone. I tried to imagine the curtains, the floor, the dining table of home, but the picture felt like a story I had heard from someone else rather than something I had personally experienced.
This is your true room.
"No..." I whispered, my voice trembling, "this is just a dining room... just..."
Just what?
"It's just an extension of somewhere else, an illusion, it's... I don't know..." The faster I spoke, the weaker my voice became, until it turned into a powerless murmur.
You have been here too long.
"I just arrived."
Are you sure?
I fell silent.
Am I really sure? The face of the waiter—I had only seen it once or twice, yet it felt as if I could remember every eyelash; the taste of the soup—why was it so familiar, as if I had drunk it countless times in some forgotten past?
"This doesn't make sense, this can't be..." I shook my head, my voice sounding like a final defense for myself.
I made an effort to refocus on my surroundings, pulling my attention away from the suffocating inner dialogue. My gaze swept across the restaurant once more; the patrons still had their heads bowed over their meals, as if engaged in an uninterrupted ritual. And then, Leiflo finally stirred. It seemed he had just emerged from a deep contemplation, his eyes slowly sharpening as they turned toward me.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his tone steady but tinged with a hint of concern.
"I'm... just a little distracted," I replied.
"Many people feel that way the first time they come here," he nodded. "This restaurant attracts more than just with its dishes."
I managed a weak smile, about to say something more when I noticed the gaslight on the wall flicker twice before silently extinguishing one of its flames.
The light around us dimmed a notch.
This sudden change did not disturb the other diners; they continued eating, not even lifting their heads. Only Leiflo and I exchanged a glance.
"Power outage?" I asked instinctively.
"Impossible; this place uses an independent gaslight system," Leiflo shook his head, his voice dropping lower than usual. "This usually means... something is about to happen."
At that moment, a waiter appeared at our table, moving silently. Unlike the previous waiters who were ghostly quiet, he carried a distinct air of formality. He did not serve any dishes or ask questions; instead, he placed his hands together in front of his abdomen and slightly bowed.
"Gentlemen," he said in a low and gentle voice, "Mr. Spiro invites you to the back room for a discussion."
I instinctively wanted to refuse, but I felt Leiflo's arm gently brush against mine.
"This is an honor," he whispered in my ear, his tone more serious than usual.
I nodded, but inside, a storm was brewing. The back room—the one that had never been mentioned and where no one had ever entered—why was it inviting us now?
The waiter led us through the center of the restaurant. This was my first true crossing of this space. The short distance from our table to the back room felt like a ceremonial journey. The diners did not turn to look, yet several pairs of eyes subtly lifted from their plates, following us with calm gazes that felt like both a farewell and a silent witness to our passage.
We arrived at a door I had previously overlooked. It was made of mahogany, its polished surface reflecting a blurred image, resembling the gentle ripples of a lake. There were no markings on the door, no hints as to where it led.
The attendant opened the door and bowed slightly. "Please, enter."
Leiflo stepped through first, his stride steady. I hesitated for a moment before following.
The door closed silently behind us, the sound so faint it felt as if it didn’t exist. I turned around and realized this was not a kitchen or a storage room, but a—
Library.
The space was surprisingly spacious, with bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, filled with heavy leather-bound volumes. The spines bore languages and symbols I had never seen before. The floor was dark oak, creaking softly underfoot.
In the center stood a long table adorned with silver candlesticks, their flames burning steadily without a flicker. Behind the table, a tall figure was slowly rising, turning to face us.
Mr. Spiro.
His expression was gentle yet carried an indescribable calm authority, like a statue preserved since ancient times. His eyes were fixed on us, particularly on me, as if he already knew I would be here at this moment.
"Welcome, both of you." His voice resonated like a deep bell—rich and profound—making me feel as though the entire room trembled in response. "This is the true heart of Spero. I believe you are ready."
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