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It bore the undeniable chill of a sterile room.
The ground underfoot was cold, hard concrete.
My senses heightened, I could feel the prickling sensation on my skin and hear the distant echo of droplets, like the residual sound after a rainstorm.
In the center of this desolate space lay a slab, and on it was a female.
It took a moment for me to recognize her as her face continued morphing in and out — it was Isla.
Her usually vibrant eyes were clouded with fear, and her body was tense, betraying her distress.
Hovering over her were four shadowy figures, each adorned with ornate masks.
The masks were of a design I had seen many times before — they seemed both ancient and otherworldly, a combination of shimmering stones and luminous filaments.
Their sight was disconcerting, and a faint scent of ozone and burnt wood emanated from them.
Murmurs floated through the thick air, each figure chanting in a cadence that was both hypnotic and unnerving.
The syllables were alien, a language I did not understand, but the aura they exuded was unmistakable — it was the energy of a spell.
Suddenly, a sharp scream pierced the atmosphere.
Isla.
Her anguish sent a jolt through me, electrifying every nerve in my body.
The sight, the sounds, and the heightened emotions melded into a sensory onslaught that threatened to drown me.
“Why?” I whispered, the word escaping my lips, though I hadn’t intended to speak.
The scene before me was both familiar and foreign.
It was as if I was witnessing a dream, one that I had forgotten upon waking but was now coming back with heart-wrenching clarity.
The figures continued their chant, unfazed by Isla’s distress or my presence.
I felt a burning need to intervene, to break the chain of events that seemed predestined to unfold.
But the ethereal nature of this vision held me back, rendering me a mere spectator to the unfolding drama.
Just when I felt despair threatening to consume me, a change rippled through the room.
The chant grew louder, the air heavier.
The masked figures began to shimmer, their outlines becoming blurry and indistinct.
In a desperate bid to reach Isla, I lunged forward, my hand outstretched.
But before I could touch her, the world around me started to crumble, like a painting being washed away by a deluge.
And then, with a jolt, I was back in my office, the familiar hum of the prison around me, the plush carpet underfoot, and the intoxicating aroma of my interstellar brew in the air.
Gasping for breath, I looked around, half-expecting the masked figures to be lurking in the shadows.
But all was as it should be.
The only remnants of that haunting vision were the cold sweat on my brow and the rapid beating of my heart.
