The passage opened with a faint creak, almost timid, as if this door hadn’t been meant to open often.

A breath of icy air escaped from it, heavy and saturated with the weight of unspoken things.

Oizys stepped through.

She blinked.

The darkness gradually filled with blurry, shifting shapes.

Walls floated without real structure, made of glass or water—she couldn’t tell. Sounds bounced strangely, distorted and slippery, losing their meaning the moment they were born.

A vast room with no clear color.

A world of echoes, where every word became a labyrinth.

She walked forward.

Her boots barely made a sound on the invisible floor.

At the center of the room, resting on a black cushion, stood an old rotary phone.

Disconnected.

Its torn cord dangled in the air like a broken promise.

Curious, Oizys opened her mouth:

> — Is anyone there?

Her voice went out.

But it wasn’t her voice that came back.

> — Is anyone there?!

— You think you're someone! You think you know everything!

— You're just trying to manipulate everyone!

— You never listen!

The words came back twisted, mocking, accusatory—barely recognizable.

Each syllable bent, fractured, turned against her.

> — That's not what I said, she whispered.

But every time she tried to speak, the echo warped her intentions, turning her truth into weapons used against her.

And then... the memory surfaced.

She had been living with them for a few months.

The Family Friend. The one everyone had described as kind, supportive, “like an older sister.”

Oizys, cautious by nature, had tried to do things right.

Communicate. Avoid tension.

> "Maybe we could set some house rules so we don’t step on each other’s toes?"

she had gently suggested one evening, almost timidly.

"Just to keep things clear, you know?"

She thought she was being respectful. Seeking peace.

But what she didn’t know…

Was that every word she spoke was twisted.

Distorted.

Amplified.

And passed along to the family like a slow-acting poison, carefully administered.

Heavy silences started to fall.

Avoidant glances.

Sighs thick with judgment.

And she didn’t understand.

She thought—maybe she had said it wrong.

Maybe she had been awkward.

So she tried harder.

More kindness. More caution. More diplomacy.

But nothing changed.

Until the day she stumbled across the messages.

Proof.

Words she had never said, rewritten in her name.

Accusations. Lies.

And the face of that Friend—still smiling—while silently isolating her from those who mattered.

A soft betrayal.

Silent.

Wrapped in affection.

That day, the floor collapsed beneath her.

She had defended the enemy.

Fought her own family in the name of a mirage.

She had spoken—but never been heard.

---

Back in the echoing room, Oizys felt tears rising.

She opened her mouth to say “I meant well.”

But the echo answered:

> — You wanted to control everything.

— You wanted to divide them.

— You’re nothing but a façade.

She covered her mouth.

Silence returned.

Thick. Dense.

But peaceful.

And she understood.

Sometimes, words aren’t enough.

Sometimes, they’re twisted, misused, lost in someone else’s mouth.

Seeking to be understood becomes an invisible prison.

And in this room, speaking was the trap.

Silence, instead, was the path.

She stood still.

Mute.

And walked.

Not a word.

The voices faded.

The echoes stopped.

And the phone dissolved into the air—an obsolete relic.

A new door appeared.

Simple. Thin.

Silent.

She opened it.

And for the first time in a long while, she felt she no longer needed to explain.

She was.

And that was enough.