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墨書 Inktalez
The terrifying face drew closer and closer, as if nothing could stop its advance. Ethan felt himself sinking into a cold darkness, fear wrapping around him like an invisible shackle, rendering him immobile. His limbs felt as if they were bound by some unseen force; he wanted to break free but was weighed down, as if his entire body was pressed deep beneath the earth, unable to breathe.
The face was now right in front of him, its distorted lips moving as it emitted a low, sinister whisper. "Ethan... Ethan..." The voice was soft like fragmented whispers, yet it carried an endless curse and resentment, as if it were coming from the depths of hell. Each word pierced Ethan's mind like sharp needles, tightening his nerves to the brink of collapse.
"You cannot escape... you cannot evade me... you cannot rid yourself of your fear..." The eerie voice echoed in his ears, hoarse and deep, filled with malice and chill. Ethan's heart raced; his entire body felt as though it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, making it hard to breathe. Fear completely consumed him. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but no sound emerged from his throat—only gasps and the desperate pounding of his heart reverberated in his mind.
"You will lose everything... you will eventually be devoured..." The face drew even closer, nearly pressing against his skin. Ethan could feel its cold breath wash over him, carrying a damp, decaying scent as if death itself were enveloping him. His eyes widened in terror and helplessness; the feeling of powerlessness spread through him like a tide, dragging him deeper into despair.
"No... no... go away!" Ethan screamed inwardly, trying to resist the indescribable horror with the last remnants of his sanity. Yet his body refused to obey, as if it were locked in place and unable to move. He wanted to wave his arms to push the face away, wanted to stand up and flee, but his arms felt numb and heavy like lead. His legs wouldn't budge; he felt trapped in a quagmire, helplessly watching that twisted face draw nearer.
Finally, the face was right against him; its cold, damp skin touched his cheek like a chilling mask of death covering him. Ethan felt his soul being gradually consumed by this darkness, like an inescapable nightmare pulling him step by step into the abyss. His breathing quickened; the world before him began to blur as all fear and oppression overwhelmed him like a tidal wave.
"You will become a part of me..." The cursed voice whispered, as if an invisible force were tearing apart Ethan's sanity from within. His mind shattered completely, plunging into endless despair.
Ethan howled in agony, his voice hoarse and desperate—a wail emanating from the depths of his soul. Just when that horrifying face seemed ready to swallow him whole, the world suddenly jolted violently. Ethan opened his eyes wide in shock and woke up. He lay on his bed with rapid breaths, gasping for air as if he had just struggled out of water. His forehead and body were drenched in cold sweat; the wet sheets clung to his back, leaving him feeling icy and suffocated.
"What... what just happened?" Ethan's mind was a chaotic whirlwind; he stared wide-eyed trying to return to reality, but that terrifying nightmare remained vivid like a blade cutting through his consciousness. He felt his heart racing uncontrollably; the violent thumping echoed in his chest as if it would tear him apart. It felt so real—as if he had truly struggled before that twisted face.
The room was pitch black except for the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting soft shadows. Beside him, Sofia slept peacefully; her breathing steady and quiet as if everything in this world had nothing to do with her. Yet Ethan felt as though he were trapped in a vast abyss of darkness; apart from his own frantic heartbeat, he sensed no other living presence around him. That heartbeat seemed to be the only signal of life he could grasp—reminding him that he was still alive.
Ethan gasped for air, trembling all over; instinctively wiping his forehead with a hand slick with cold sweat. He felt as though his brain was still occupied by the terror from that dream—unable to escape its grip. That face and its cursed whispers echoed relentlessly in his mind like an unshakeable shadow. He tried to calm himself down but the fear within burned like flames—impossible to extinguish.
He threw off the covers and struggled to rise from bed; his steps wobbled as if he had not fully freed himself from the dream's hold. His feet touched the floor; the icy sensation brought some clarity but confusion and disorientation lingered stubbornly. He felt like someone yanked back into reality from a dream—his senses clouded by fear and uncertainty.
Ethan slowly walked toward the bathroom, his steps heavy as if each one was a battle against the fear within him. He pushed open the bathroom door and turned on the light, the blinding brightness instantly illuminating the room, granting him a fleeting sense of safety. Yet, even so, the fear that had just lingered in his mind still hovered like a shadow, refusing to dissipate completely.
He approached the mirror, placing his hands on the sink, lowering his head as he breathed heavily. His chest rose and fell erratically, his breathing still labored. He struggled to lift his head and look at his reflection in the mirror, trying to find a trace of reality to convince himself that this was just a dream.
In the mirror, Ethan's face was pale, his eyes filled with terror and exhaustion. He took a deep breath but still couldn't relax completely. The sense of oppression and despair from the dream clung tightly to his heart, like an inescapable curse echoing in his mind.
Standing before the mirror, Ethan's emotions were a tangled mess, impossible to calm. His breathing remained rapid, his chest rising and falling as the shadow of that nightmare continued to entwine him tightly, refusing to let go. He stared down at his trembling hands, knuckles turning white as anger and helplessness surged within him like an uncontrollable tide, nearly overwhelming him.
"How could this happen?" Ethan silently roared within himself, the anger gradually overshadowing his fear. At forty years old, he felt immense shame and frustration for still being haunted by childhood memories. He was a psychologist who helped others overcome their fears but found himself unable to combat the nightmares deep within his own heart. His face twitched slightly with anger; veins bulged on his forehead as his gaze turned cold and chaotic.
"Damn it..." he muttered under his breath, feeling the shame and self-blame slice through him like an invisible blade. How could he allow these old fears to resurface in his life? Moreover, he had taken on the fears of his patients as well, which only fueled his anger further. He should have been the one guiding them out of their fears but had instead become a slave to his own.
Ethan's gaze fell upon himself in the mirror, reflecting a weary and out-of-control face. His eyes were filled with complex emotions—anger, shame, helplessness—like a prisoner trapped in the cage of his own mind. His hands gradually formed into fists, knuckles stiffening and muscles tensing as if ready to explode at any moment.
He felt an inner fire burning fiercely; it seemed that only some extreme action could release this long-suppressed pain and fear. His fists slowly rose as he fixed his gaze on himself in the mirror. That face filled him with overwhelming anger and humiliation—he should be stronger than this; he should be able to take control of his life rather than be dominated by these foolish dreams and shadows from childhood.
His fist nearly touched the glass when Ethan's breathing grew even heavier; he could feel his heart pounding like a drum. The impulse in that moment almost compelled him to punch through the glass, releasing all the pressure with its shattering sound.
However, just as his fist was about to make contact with the glass, Ethan stopped. He stood there rigidly for several seconds in silence, his fist trembling slightly and knuckles aching from tension. At that final moment, reason pulled him back, reminding him that such an act would be futile. It would only provide temporary relief; shattering the glass would not truly break the chains binding his heart.
His fist slowly relaxed and dropped down, fingertips quivering slightly. He looked down at his hands before glancing back at himself in the mirror; the anger in his chest gradually transformed into fatigue and helplessness. He stood there silently, filled with contradictions and a sense of defeat.
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