Ignore it.

Cerina clenched her fists under the blanket, her nails biting into her palms. It wasn’t a thought she’d formed on her own, she was sure of it. It had come from somewhere else, or nowhere at all. Her heart quickened. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the pressure didn’t subside.

Get up. Walk.

“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling in the stillness. She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but the word came unbidden, slipping free like a reflex.

The pressure receded for a moment, as if startled. She exhaled shakily, but before she could feel relief, it came back, sharper this time, like a thread pulling taut inside her mind.

Walk. Go to the door.

She shook her head, though there was no one to see it. “Leave me alone,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The Old Words. You want to know.

The thought wasn’t hers—it couldn’t be. It was too direct, too purposeful, and it carried an oppressive weight, like the tolling of the bell.

Cerina curled her knees to her chest, trying to drown it out. Her mother’s voice drifted faintly through her mind again: Six months, and then you’ll be ready. Ready for what? For a life of submission? For a future she hadn’t chosen? The thought should have made her angry, but all she felt was small, like a thread pulled from a larger tapestry.

Explore.

The pressure surged again, harder this time, filling her chest with a cold, creeping dread. She didn’t want to obey, didn’t want to listen, but the weight of it was unbearable, like holding her breath too long.

Her hand slid out from under the blanket before she even realized what she was doing. She stopped herself halfway, clutching the edge of the mattress, her nails scraping against the coarse fabric. “Stop,” she hissed, her voice harsher now, though it cracked on the last syllable.

The hum softened, but it didn’t fade. It lingered, pressing lightly against her, patient now. It didn’t feel malevolent. Not exactly. But it didn’t feel kind, either. It felt…inevitable.

Minutes passed—maybe hours. This place was disorienting. The faint glow from the window seemed to shift subtly, the shadows stretching and twisting as though the light source outside were moving. She bit her lip, hard enough to sting, focusing on the pain to drown out the pull.

Eventually, exhaustion began to creep in, dulling the edges of her fear. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she let them close, her breaths evening out. She thought she might sleep.

But just as she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the bed creaked softly, and the hum surged again, insistent now, and the pressure in her mind returned in full ****.

Get up.