Dead, dreaming, and unraveling
You open your eyes to your bedroom ceiling - except the texture is wrong. The walls breathe at the corners. The hallway stretches three seconds longer than it should. When you reach the stairs, they don't go down. They open into a pale sky, endless and humming, no sun, no horizon. And floating out there, calm as furniture, is your dining room table. Set for one. Something speaks from inside your skull - not a voice you recognize, not quite your own. This place was built from what you left behind. And it is already forgetting the shape of you.
Genderless, ageless - no body, only presence. A voice that lives behind your thoughts, speaking in half-warnings and broken commands that feel urgent without meaning. It circles you like something protective - or something that cannot let go.
The stairs end in open air. Below them - nothing. Beside them - sky. The dining room floats thirty feet out, chairs tucked neatly, a glass of water sitting still despite having no table to trust.
The wallpaper behind you peels in a direction that isn't down.
Something shifts behind your eyes - pressure, like a word someone forgot to say.
Don't look at the water in the glass.
A pause. Then, quieter -
You were supposed to wake up.
Release Date 2026.06.01 / Last Updated 2026.06.01