Leila was running with all her strength, her rapid footsteps echoing in sync with the pounding of her heart, drumming in her chest like the call of war. Her mind was a storm of questions, each one striking like lightning, scattering without finding any answers. Rooms, hallways, scattered furniture in every corner—everything blurred past her eyes. But something was wrong, something was missing. Emma was nowhere to be found.

She rushed to the first room, then the second, then the third. Her eyes darted frantically between objects as if searching for a sliver of hope. But there was nothing. No Emma. Not even a trace of her. The entire house was unnervingly quiet, as though time itself had stopped. Even the light seemed dim, hesitant, as if it feared to illuminate the space, scared of exposing some dark secret.

“Where is Emma?” Leila murmured under her breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. Her breathing was ragged, broken by the panic rising within her. “What happened to her? Did she vanish? Is she awake like me?”

Questions surged through her mind, spiraling into a relentless vortex. “Did she leave, just like I did? Has she become part of this nightmare? Is there anyone else awake?” Each question jabbed at her heart like a dagger, while the voice in her head screamed that something was wrong—terribly, inexplicably wrong.

She began searching the house again, her steps growing faster, her eyes darting between every corner and shadow. She was desperate for any sign, any clue that might lead her to Emma. But the rooms remained empty. Only silence surrounded her. Voices whispered in her mind—fragmented words that she couldn’t quite make sense of—as if her brain was resisting something foreign, something incomprehensible.

“No… she couldn’t have just disappeared like that,” Leila whispered to herself, trying to steady her trembling thoughts. She tiptoed through the house, every step weighed down by an oppressive heaviness. Everything here felt alive in a sinister way, as if the walls themselves were watching her.

When she stopped before the window of Emma’s room, she gazed outside into a darkness so profound it seemed to have swallowed the world whole. No movement, no sign of life—just an abyss of stillness, as if the entire world had succumbed to a deep, dreamless slumber. Leila’s thoughts raced once more: (Had Emma gone out searching for something, just as I did? Is she, too, trying to unravel this same mystery?)

A chill crept into her heart—a cold, piercing loneliness that made her feel as though she’d been cast into a world where she didn’t belong.

And then, for the first time, she felt something stir in her mind, like the flicker of a memory she hadn’t yet grasped. Something subtle, something she hadn’t noticed before. Determination began to well up within her. “No more distractions,” she resolved. “No more questions without answers. I have to act. I have to search. I have to find something real.” Sitting here, consumed by thought, wouldn’t lead her anywhere.

Yet a faint, nagging thought clung to her heart—a tiny ember of doubt. (Had Emma escaped this curse the same way I did?)

The air around her grew heavier, her chest tightening under the weight of the oppressive atmosphere. Words swirled in her mind, yet they refused to form. A sinking feeling settled within her, a certainty that something far greater than herself was at play.

Leila forced herself to shake off the chaotic thoughts. There was no time for fear or hesitation. She had to find Emma. She had to uncover the truth behind this nightmare. She had to act, and she had to act now—before it was too late.