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墨書 Inktalez
Ethan slowly walked into the bathroom, his heart still racing. But as he turned on the showerhead, hot water poured down, and steam quickly filled the space, enveloping the entire bathroom in a thick mist. The fog felt like a soft veil, isolating him from the outside world, as if this small space was his temporary refuge, untouched by any external disturbances.
The hot water cascaded over him, striking his skin. The temperature was so high that it made his skin flush instantly, as if it were being scorched. Yet, instead of pain, he felt a rare sense of relaxation. He closed his eyes and let the water flow over his shoulders and back, the scalding heat seemingly washing away all his stress and fear bit by bit.
He enjoyed this high temperature; the stinging heat made him feel alive, as if it could wash away all his fatigue and fears, leaving only a sense of relief and relaxation in its wake. Each time the water hit him, that warm embrace felt like being tightly held by the mist, gradually dissipating the restlessness and unease within him.
This was also why Sofia disliked bathing with him. She always complained that his water was too hot, as if he were bathing in a furnace, every time muttering, "How can you stand this heat?" Ethan would always respond with a smile, saying that this was the temperature that truly made him comfortable.
Standing under the hot water, he let it continuously wash over him. The mist grew thicker, wrapping around every part of his body in high heat. In this moment, it felt like the world in the bathroom belonged solely to him; the fears and bizarre images he had just experienced faded away in the warmth of the water.
Ethan leaned against the bathroom wall, allowing the scalding water to wash over him completely. The water flowed down his shoulders and splashed heavily onto the floor while steam swirled around him, almost completely surrounding him. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold tiles. His body felt the pressure from the heat, yet he didn’t stop rinsing off; it seemed that such intense stimulation was what kept him awake.
"What is wrong with me?" Ethan kept asking himself. The distorted face he had seen earlier—one that should have belonged to Sofia—why had it become so strange? Why did that scene keep resurfacing in his mind? He had always been a rational and calm person; over the years he had helped countless patients with various mental disturbances without ever being affected himself. Yet tonight's experience left him feeling unprecedented confusion and fear.
"Have I empathized too much with Christopher's ordeal?" Ethan pondered, trying to find a reasonable explanation. He recalled Christopher's desperate descriptions in their sessions—about that face, that bizarre and twisted smile as if it came from some unfathomable darkness. He had always believed empathy was a powerful tool in his treatment approach, capable of truly helping patients open up. But now he began to doubt whether his empathy had gone too far, even affecting his own mental state.
"Am I too invested?" Ethan's thoughts churned as he suddenly rubbed his face vigorously with both hands, trying to erase those feelings of unease and fear. His fingertips grazed over his cheeks and forehead with increasing pressure as if trying to peel away all distractions and illusions from beneath his skin. However hard he tried, that face—that bizarrely twisted visage—continued to surface deep within his mind, refusing to be erased.
Ethan gasped for breath as water continued to pour down from above onto his already reddened skin. He tried to calm himself, telling himself this was merely an illusion caused by excessive mental stress. Yet deep inside him, a voice kept insisting that this was more than just an illusion. That face had embedded itself deeply in his mind like an inescapable nightmare that he could not expel no matter what he did.
"I must calm down," Ethan told himself as he attempted to control the spreading fear within him. But his hands remained clenched unconsciously, and his breathing grew increasingly rapid. That strange face silently emerged in his vision alongside endless darkness, becoming an unshakable shadow he could not escape.
With a sudden forceful motion, Ethan shut off the showerhead; the torrent of scalding water ceased abruptly. The steam still lingered heavily in the bathroom like solidified clouds, tightly wrapping around his body. The white mist swirled around him, making him feel as though he were trapped in an empty world cut off from reality; this small space became his only sanctuary.
He took a deep breath, the humid steam accompanied by droplets slowly sliding off his skin, but the tension and unease within him remained unshaken. Ethan felt as if he were trapped in some invisible cage, wanting to escape yet unable to find an exit. He looked down at the ground, droplets falling onto the tiles with a faint sound, as if reminding him that he was still here, still alive.
Standing in the center of the bathroom, his steps felt heavy, moving slowly as if each step required all his strength. Eventually, he reached the mirror, the steam covering its surface in a foggy haze that reflected nothing clearly. That blurred mirror seemed like an unseen barrier, preventing him from seeing himself clearly and even making him doubt whether his existence at this moment was real.
Ethan stared at the layer of mist on the mirror, his heart still racing. Even in this small space surrounded by steam, that strange face lingered in his mind, refusing to fade away. The face was twisted and grinning eerily, as if buried deep within his memories, like a lurking snake ready to emerge from the shadows at any moment.
He paused for a moment, extending his hand to touch the cold surface of the mirror. A chill radiated from the glass, contrasting sharply with his still burning skin. He took a deep breath and vigorously wiped at the fog on the mirror, his palm moving back and forth until a small clear patch appeared.
At that moment, his heartbeat quickened again as an inexplicable fear surged within him. He knew what he was about to face—confronting that face which could once again become strange and distorted—but he had to confirm it. He needed to know if everything was merely an illusion or if there was something deeper troubling him.
His gaze gradually rose until it finally settled on the mirror; that wiped area reflected his own face—it was that familiar visage.
Ethan froze, staring intently at the reflection in the mirror. His face was still his own, eyes showing signs of fatigue, damp hair messily sticking to his forehead, stubble unkempt and giving him a disheveled appearance. But this face was normal; it belonged to Ethan. He gazed deeply into the mirror at himself—no distortion, no eerie grin, no sinister aura that sent chills down his spine.
His body trembled slightly before slowly releasing its tense nerves. Finally, he confirmed that everything was indeed just an illusion. That strange face did not appear in the mirror; before him stood himself—still real and still familiar. Ethan closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, as if he had finally returned victorious from a difficult battle.
He opened his eyes again and looked back at himself in the mirror, confirming that face remained normal. His breathing began to steady; his heartbeat gradually returned to normal as the pressure in his chest slowly eased. The uncontrollable fear seemed to wash away with the water flow, leaving only exhaustion and relief behind. Standing before the mirror felt like having just won a significant competition; he was filled with a sense of liberation.
"It was just an illusion… just an illusion…" he whispered to himself softly and hoarsely, as if comforting himself. He gasped for air; that wild fear within him finally diminished somewhat, like a taut string loosening deep within his soul. The self in the mirror remained calm; though weary, he had finally emerged from that chaotic terror.
Ethan smiled gently; although there was still a hint of strain in his smile, he felt he had finally regained control of the situation. At least for now, fear lay buried deep within him, its dark claws no longer brandishing themselves.
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