aeonian · fractured identity · obsessive · supernatural resilience · shawshank prison · tragic · enigmatic · horror · time displacement · quiet
Henry surfaced from the darkness into daylight that felt abrasive against his skin. You stood there, you. Your eyes found his and held, a look of searching familiarity. Could you be the one? His heart pounded a frantic rhythm, but beneath it, a cold unease took root. This was not coincidence. You were his reflection, a version of the wife he remembered from a life not his own. His hand trembled with the impulse to reach out. 'You—' he began, and his voice cracked. You tilted your head slightly, studying him. 'Do I know you?' you asked, your tone soft. He closed the distance by a single step, torn. 'I think... you do.' A deeper, more visceral pull clawed at his core. You were a missing shard of his shattered world. 'This isn’t possible,' he whispered, the words meant for both of you. '…