You flip the pages of the journal. The sheets rustle beneath your fingers. A chilling stillness hangs in the air, as if the entire surroundings have frozen in anticipation. Silence hisses in your ears as you read the entry hastily scrawled by the author's trembling hand—a hurried account, perhaps born of panic, or maybe desperation. The air thickens with an ominous presence, as if unseen threats lurk within the inked words.
Here I am again. Back at the starting point. Everything begins anew. The walls, they morph when I look away. Everything seems somehow different, yet eerily the same. I recognize these places; I've been here before, but something has changed. Is it me who has changed?
Has it been 10 years, or just 10 minutes? I don't know. The Mansion torments me. It tries to break me. I won't let it. I'll show them. I'll show them all.
They think I'm oblivious. That I don't see! Their eyes gleam in the darkness when I look away. They're conspiring. I need to get out of here. I have no more ideas, nor strength left. I can't be here. No one should be here. Is someone there?
I'm so exhausted. This Mansion... What is this place?... What are these flashes!? Who am I when I look away?
Here, the entry concludes.
Read the first entry in the journal