The sun rose —
But it didn't feel like morning.
The light was wrong.
Pale.
Sour.
Like spoiled milk spilling across a rotting sky.
And the house—
It's melting.
The walls bulge and sag like wax too close to a flame.
The floors ripple and slosh under Aika's feet.
The air stinks—
Of rust, decay, old blood.
Something final is happening.
Guiding Light has changed.
She isn't just a voice anymore.
She wears Aika's skin now—
A broken, twisted puppet.
She walks the sagging halls in broad daylight, humming that cursed lullaby, her head snapping at wrong angles, her arms too long, her bare feet leaving bloody prints wherever she goes.
When she passes a mirror, there's no reflection.
Only a throbbing, black halo.
Every time Aika dares to peek through the cracked door, Guiding Light is closer.
Watching.
Waiting.
Knowing.
The tentacles never left.
Even in this rotten "daylight," they churn through the walls like veins bulging beneath diseased flesh.
They don't even hide anymore.
Sometimes they just sit outside her door—
Silent.
Waiting.
Breathing.
They know tomorrow is the end.
They know she's alone.
Aika hasn't slept.
She can't sleep.
When her eyelids even flutter, the house howls—a terrible noise, like a thousand mouths screaming all at once.
ΔLight's doll is gone.
Nothing left but a dark, smudged stain on the wall.
Aika tried to leave once.
She gripped the doorknob with shaking hands, cracked it open—
And the sky outside split apart.
A black mouth yawned across the heavens, stitched together by writhing tentacles.
An Eye—vast and burning—gazed down at her.
The Eye.
The same one she had given to the priest.
It was waiting.
It had always been waiting.
Aika slammed the door and screamed until her throat shredded itself raw.
Now she sits by the diary.
Pen trembling.
Ink smudging from her shaking hand.
One day left.
Tomorrow, her father is supposed to return.
If he's even still human.
If he even still exists.
Maybe he's another puppet.
Another smiling mask stitched by Guiding Light.
Maybe he's just another piece of the lie.
Maybe there's no one coming.
Maybe there's no one left at all.
Maybe it's always just been her.
And the Eye.
And Guiding Light.
Watching.
Waiting.
Counting down.
One day.
One breath.
One chance.
[Aika's Diary – 8/19/20XX – One Day Remains.]
Countdown: 1.
The sun rose — but it didn't feel like morning.
The light was wrong. It was pale and sour, like spoiled milk spilling across the sky.
And the house...
It's melting.
The walls bubble and sag, like wax too close to a fire.
The floors ripple under my feet.
The air smells like rust and old blood.
Guiding Light has changed.
She isn't just a voice anymore.
She wears my skin now — but wrong.
A broken puppet of me.
She walks the halls during the day, humming that cursed lullaby, her head twitching at broken angles, her arms too long, her feet bare and bloody.
When she passes a mirror, she doesn't cast a reflection — only a pulsing, blackened halo.
Every time I peek out my door, she's closer.
And I think she knows I'm still fighting.
The tentacles never went away either.
Even in the so-called daylight, they writhe through the walls like veins under skin.
They don't even hide anymore.
Sometimes, they just sit there, wriggling and waiting — just outside my door.
They know tomorrow is the end.
They know I'm alone.
I haven't slept.
I can't sleep.
If I close my eyes even for a second, the house screams at me.
ΔLight's doll is fully gone now — nothing but a stain on the wall where he used to sit.
I tried to leave the house once today.
But the moment I opened the front door…
The sky cracked open.
A black mouth yawning wide, stitched together by the tentacles.
An eye larger than the sun stared down at me — the same Eye I handed to the priest.
I slammed the door shut and screamed until my throat broke.
Now, I sit by the diary.
Pen trembling.
My father's coming back tomorrow.
If he's even still human.
If he even still exists.
Maybe he's another puppet like me.
Maybe he's just another smiling face of Guiding Light.
Maybe… there's no one left to save me at all.
Maybe it's always just been me.
And the Eye.
And her.
Watching.
Waiting.
Counting down.
One day.
One breath.
One chance.
– Aika