The corridor stretched endlessly.
Dim lights flickered overhead, illuminating doors on either side. Sarah stood barefoot, wrapped in white. Her hospital gown fluttered against unseen wind, but she felt neither cold nor warmth—only the ache of indecision.
One door glowed gold.
**Return.**
The other shimmered in silver.
**Release.**
She turned in slow circles, unsure of which way to go.
A child's laughter echoed down the hall.
Her own voice, younger. “Daddy, look at me!"
She turned toward it instinctively—but the memory evaporated before her eyes.
Another door cracked open.
Inside: Helena brushing Sarah's hair on a sunlit balcony. Her real laughter ringing in her throat.
Then—gone.
She stood again in the corridor, breath shallow.
Then came the voices.
Real ones.
Seeping throu
