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墨書 Inktalez
You adjusted the volume slightly, and the noise from the television became a bit quieter. Although the dialogue remained muffled, you decided not to bother trying to decipher it any longer. As you turned around, your gaze naturally swept across the table in front of you, but suddenly froze—what had originally been just a cup of Unsweetened Lemon Tea had inexplicably transformed into two drinks.
One cup was still your Unsweetened Lemon Tea, its amber liquid quietly reflecting a faint light under the lamp, as if it had never been touched. The other cup, however, was filled with black coffee; the dark liquid exuded a bitter aroma, topped with a thin layer of foam that made it look exceptionally fresh, as if it had just been brewed. The two drinks sat side by side on the table, appearing ordinary at first glance, yet the eerie symmetry between them was impossible to ignore.
You furrowed your brow and instinctively took a step back. You were certain there had only been one cup of Unsweetened Lemon Tea—one that you had placed there yourself—so where did this cup of black coffee come from?
Your gaze drifted between the two cups, and a strange confusion suddenly welled up inside you: "What did I just drink?" Was it Unsweetened Lemon Tea? No, it could have been coffee. Your memory felt jumbled, as if something had disrupted it; events that had just occurred now seemed hazy.
You stared at the cup of Unsweetened Lemon Tea, recalling the taste you had just experienced—the refreshing tartness and the cool sensation. Yes, that was definitely Unsweetened Lemon Tea; you were almost certain of it. But when your eyes shifted to the black coffee, doubt crept in: perhaps what you had actually drunk was coffee after all. The bitter aftertaste seemed to linger on your tongue; maybe you just hadn’t noticed it before.
Your hand hesitated as it reached for the Unsweetened Lemon Tea, your fingertips brushing against the cold surface of the cup, causing you to shiver slightly. But at that moment, your gaze involuntarily shifted back to the black coffee; the dark liquid appeared to quiver under the light, as if softly beckoning you to touch it.
"What exactly did I drink?" This question began to echo more clearly in your mind, like an unsolvable knot that you couldn’t ignore. You even started to doubt whether these two cups were truly placed there by you… or if they were never meant to be there at all.
The confusion swirled like an invisible vortex rising from deep within your mind, spinning faster and growing larger. Your gaze flitted back and forth between the two drinks, but no matter how hard you tried to concentrate, that elusive sense of chaos continued to crash against your rationality like a relentless wave.
Instinctively, you pressed your fingers against your temples in an attempt to quell this strange sensation, but instead of easing, the overwhelming confusion deepened—a weight that felt inescapable pressed down on you until it was hard to breathe. Then a genuine pain began to spread—not psychological pressure but a tangible ache. It started at your forehead and radiated throughout your head, as if invisible hands were stirring within your skull, tightening every nerve.
"Violator…"
You froze suddenly as that voice drifted in softly like a gentle breeze, weaving into your ears and embedding itself deep within your mind. It was a woman's voice—soft as a whisper yet laced with unmistakable anger—like a thin rope tightly coiling around you, leaving no escape.
"You have already violated the rules… multiple rules."
The sound surged from all directions, yet you could not pinpoint its source. It was low and slow, but it carried an undeniable weight, as if each word struck your mind like a hammer, triggering deeper pain.
"Attempting to communicate with unfamiliar clients, first item."
Your head jolted as if something sharp had pierced your memory, causing images to flood back unbidden. The figure in the hallway, the expression on his face when he turned back... You couldn't grasp the details, but a deep-seated unease grew stronger within you.
"The basket is designated for white clothing only, yet you have violated this rule by loading it with other colors... second item."
This statement left you even more bewildered, but the pain spread palpably. You tried to recall what exactly you had placed in the Laundry Basket. Was it that worn-out outfit? Or perhaps... something you hadn’t even noticed?
"You were excessively wrong."
The final remark was low and slow, yet it pierced deep into your brain like a drill. You felt your heartbeat quicken, your breath become shallow, and your vision began to blur as if the entire world warped under the weight of that whisper.
The pain intensified, like an invisible vice tightening around your skull. You wanted to say something, to defend yourself, but every time you opened your mouth, only fragmented gasps escaped your throat. The voice continued to swirl in your mind, growing clearer yet increasingly incomprehensible—she was accusing you, scrutinizing you, and it seemed... judging you.
"The rules are meant to protect you, yet you have destroyed them."
The voice gradually faded away, as if a gust of wind had carried it off. But the pressure and pain it left behind lingered in your mind, trapping you in its grip. You slumped onto the sofa, two glasses of drink sitting silently before you, as if mocking your confusion and helplessness.
A sudden force seized your neck with chilling intensity, as if a thousand years of ice pressed against your skin. You had no time to react; your throat was instantly constricted shut, your airway twisted by an unseen hand that brutally forced all air out of your lungs, creating a suffocating sensation akin to vacuum.
Pain.
This is the only thing you can perceive. Pain spreads like countless sharp thorns from your neck to your limbs. Your hands struggle desperately, trying to grasp something, but there is nothing to touch. That immense force feels like an unbreakable shackle, tightening around your throat, while your fingertips futilely claw at the air, only to encounter the emptiness of nothingness.
Your feet kick helplessly, toes lifting off the ground as your whole body is hoisted up. The sensation of being suspended makes your heart race even more wildly, yet the flow of blood is brutally obstructed by the pressure on your neck. You feel your face swelling, pressure building continuously, and the pain deep within your nasal cavity intensifying, as if something is exploding inside.
Suddenly, a warm liquid bursts from your nostrils, sliding over your lips and dripping into the air. You catch a glimpse of bright red and realize it is your blood, but your brain can no longer think. Pain consumes everything, leaving you unable to discern whether this is your body or some cruel machinery operating you from the outside.
So painful... so painful... so painful...
This phrase echoes endlessly in your mind, like a rusty knife scraping repeatedly across your nerves. Your vision blurs, everything before you resembling a torn canvas, with only shattered fragments of color swirling in your pupils. Breathe, breathe—no, air has long since abandoned your lungs; only the uncontrollable spasms in your chest remind you that your life is being drained away bit by bit.
You cannot scream, cannot break free; all you can feel is the coldness around your neck deepening, as if some invisible claw is dragging you step by step toward the abyss. And pain—the excruciating pain that completely engulfs you—has become your only proof of existence. You are alive in suffering, yet it seems this very suffering is slowly erasing you.
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