"Have you forgotten me?"
A voice awakened Rozen from the depths of sleep.
At the center of an empty chamber, his body lay trembling against the merciless cold of the marble floor. He stirred at last, his back stiffened by long stillness, releasing a strained cry driven by an instinctive need to stretch and exist.
His legs refused him. They would not move. Pain spread through his body as he forced himself forward, dragging one foot after the other toward an iron door engraved with symbols from a language he did not understand. His eyes lingered on the markings without relief. Long strands of hair lay across his eyelids, dulled and numb from the weight of prolonged sleep.
For a full hour of torment, he wrestled with the door. When strength finally abandoned him, exhaustion claimed his limbs. He leaned against one of the chamber's walls, his body growing unbearably heavy, until sleep overtook him once more.
A strange comfort washed through his flesh as consciousness loosened its grip, a hollow refuge where the mind dims the nerves and extinguishes the compulsive transmission of pain through a body pushed to ruin.
The moment his senseless form touched the cold waters of sleep, as frigid as the marble beneath him, the feminine voice returned, whispering into his ear:
"Why? Why? Why?"
(Rozen): "Two weeks. Two weeks of this cursed whispering. I am starving. My body will not stop throbbing. Let me sleep for a while, and I will find a solution to this door."
The voice vanished.
Rozen accepted the silence as a fragile truce. His eyes closed, and he drifted once more into the cold waters.
Hours passed. When wakefulness returned, his body felt slightly restored. He rose and approached the door again. Fingers traced the unfamiliar symbols as he pushed. Resistance answered him. He pushed harder, until he felt a subtle recoil.
The door was not locked.
It required pulling.
Frustration drove him to shove it violently. One edge shifted. Fingers clutched the iron, pulling with all the strength left in his arms. His grip slipped, and he crashed heavily onto the floor.
He rose again, resolve fiercer than before. Something had been learned.
Another attempt followed, steadier and more deliberate. For a full minute he held on, certain now that the door yielded only to pulling. Sweat betrayed him, his fingers slipping again and again. Gasping, he wrapped the edge of his heavy garment around his hand and tried once more.
With grim composure and gathered will, he pulled.
The door opened.
Rozen stepped into corridors washed in pistachio green, their surfaces adorned by the deep blue of a starless night. He spared the beauty no glance. The grievous wound at his neck still pulsed with pain, reminding him of its presence without mercy.
He began searching the surrounding rooms for something to defend himself with. An iron rod. A blade. Anything. In one of the storage chambers, he found a cleaver. Relief flickered briefly in his chest.
Then a sound emerged.
A sound that froze the blood in his veins.
It resembled sobbing in its disturbance and breath in its fevered rhythm.
Rozen turned toward the shadow approaching his chamber, gripping the cleaver as sweat soaked his palms. His legs trembled violently, a reaction his mind could not yet explain. Fear had not settled in his gut, yet his feet shook as though they understood something his thoughts did not.
Then the girl laughed.
A shy laugh.
From the darkness emerged a creature, disheveled and massive, its white fur threaded with coarse brown strands. A scent clung to it, reminiscent of burning sandalwood.
Rozen collapsed onto the floor, trembling, then forced himself upright as the girl's murmurs echoed faintly. His eyes widened as he took in the ghoul's grotesque face, its concave mouth carved into something profoundly wrong.
Without warning, the creature lunged on all fours. Rozen drove the cleaver into its neck.
No blood spilled.
No convulsion followed.
The beast continued its assault, tearing into him with savage ferocity. Teeth sank into his shoulder, ripping flesh without restraint. A piece of muscle was torn free and flung aside. The creature abandoned him only to consume it.
Rozen screamed.
He fled through the corridors, blood erupting from his ruined shoulder, saliva spilling from his mouth as terror devoured reason.
(Rozen): "What is happening here? What is this place? Answer me, you damned girl!"
His body collided with stone walls. In fleeting glimpses, he saw countless monsters, ghouls, ghosts, and madness itself inhabiting the ancient palace. Their forms repelled the body and violated the soul.
His eyes shut.
A spiraling staircase swallowed his momentum. He fell face first, his nose shattering against the stone. A roar erupted behind him, unseen, as blood flooded his vision with burning red.
Blind, Rozen staggered onward, guided only by scent. Blood. Rusted iron. Suffocating dust. His skull struck every corner as he fled.
Another corridor opened.
A small girl stood before him, wearing a white robe embroidered with pink flowers. Behind her stood a young boy clad in black, his garment adorned with golden autumn leaves. They regarded him in silence.
(The Girl): "What is someone like this doing here?"
(The Boy): "That question serves no purpose."
(The Girl): "Would anything be of use to him?"
(The Boy): "I do not believe so, nor do I have faith."
(Rozen): "Where am I?"
They vanished into the wall itself.
Silence followed.
Then laughter burst from Rozen, hysterical and unrestrained.
The world spun violently.
"What are you doing? Stop moving. Calm down. Calm down, or kill yourself."
(Rozen): "If a hundred thousand mountains were to crush me, I would never kill myself!"
A massive staircase revealed itself at the heart of the floor. He descended it in madness, collapsing at its base and leaving a trail of blood behind him.
He lifted his head. His eyes shed no tears, only blood.
Before him rose a colossal door stretching to the palace ceiling. Two towering guards stood watch, their heads encased in wild rabbit helmets.
Rozen ran toward them, consumed by a feral hunger for freedom. His wounds no longer mattered. In his mind, he had been born into this nightmare, and escape lay beyond that door.
Bloodied hands pressed against the steel. Only then did his weakness become undeniable.
Still, he tried.
He screamed.
He pushed.
Again and again.
The guards did not turn.
In the steel's reflection, hundreds of creatures descended the ancient staircase. Panic seized him. He grasped the left guard's arm.
The blow came instantly.
Bone shattered. His cheek collapsed. His left eye sank from its place. Rozen fell as colors erupted within his skull.
The guards raised their spears and tore the creatures apart.
Stunned nearly mad, Rozen returned to the door.
He pushed and screamed until his throat bled. Dust fell from above. Hope ignited. The steel cried out with a sound resembling the distant call of whales. The creatures fled. The rabbit guards lowered their heads.
By a miracle beyond reason, the door opened.
Rozen stepped forward, convinced this step would awaken him.
(Rozen): "Why am I still asleep?"
Cold air struck him.
He stood in the outer courtyard of the palace, swallowed by darkness. Without thought or direction, he crawled forward.
He reached the entrance of a garden bearing an inscription:
Garden of Zaher
For ten minutes, he stood motionless.
The wind rose, cold and deliberate.
(The Girl): "Do not worry. You have reached your desire."
(Rozen): "Be silent. Leave me alone."
(The Girl): "I am only sorrowful for your state. I wish salvation for you."
Silence followed.
Rozen entered the garden.
Trees rose around him, blackened and twisted, resembling human figures that had endured ancient suffering. The sight chilled his body. He tightened his resolve and pressed onward until a crushing headache seized him. Sweat poured as he wiped his palms again and again.
A freezing wind lashed his soul and sickened his flesh. Mint scented smoke spread through the air. Rozen inhaled it, and the world began to spin, as though consciousness itself swayed within a pool of cold gelatin.
Fragments of memory surfaced.
A drawing room in an art institute.
A painting of a woman with veiled eyes and a severed nose.
Dogs barking in relentless pursuit.
Rabbits leaping without rest.
Grass danced.
The wind sang.
(The Girl): "Rozen, do not forget me."
(Rozen): "Who are you?"
(The Girl): "Do not forget me, Rozen. Do not erase my memory."
(Rozen): "Please, let me go."
(The Girl): "Rozen, do not leave me. Do not leave me to the folds of oblivion."
His skin blanched. His body folded inward, curling violently as seizures tore through every cell.
(The Girl): "Rozen, no. I was used to seeing you as a strong man, a stallion who feared nothing. Do not prove your cowardice. It is still only a hypothesis. Do not give us proof."
Convulsions wracked him. Saliva spilled from his mouth. His legs locked in unbearable agony. His eyes rolled upward.
Then darkness claimed him.