RINA.EXE

The Wall That Breathes

The south hallway after curfew was like stepping into another world.

By day, it was just an old, disused corridor with faded portraits and chipped tiles. But at night, with the lights dimmed and the shadows stretching far too long, it felt like the spine of some sleeping beast—alive, but pretending.

Rina waited, her breath tight in her throat.

Every creak of the wooden floor made her flinch. Every echo from the pipes above felt like a whisper directed only at her.

Then, Lala appeared—hood up, flashlight dimmed to a sliver.

“You came,” she said, almost surprised.

“You said you found something,” Rina replied. “Behind the chapel?”

Lala nodded and gestured down the corridor. “Follow me. Quietly.”

The old chapel was sealed off—at least, officially.

“Structural damage” was the excuse. But as Lala pushed open the half-rotted door behind the altar, Rina realized it wasn’t abandoned.

It was hidden.

Beyond the door was a narrow crawlspace. The air smelled of mildew and secrets. They ducked inside, crawling between pipes and dust-choked beams, until they reached a wall of stone at the far end.

Carved into the surface were symbols—Latin words. And hands. Hundreds of handprints, burned into the wall like shadows.

Rina’s skin prickled. “What… is this?”

Lala handed her a photo—faded, torn at the edges.

It showed Amelia. Standing in front of this exact wall. Smiling.

Behind her, in the shadows, was another girl.

Blurry. But unmistakable.

Rina.

“This is from two years ago,” Lala said softly. “You’ve been here before. More than once.”

Rina stared at the photo, her stomach turning.

“How is that possible?” she whispered. “How could I forget something like this?”

Lala didn’t answer at first. She ran her hand across the stone wall. “Because this place doesn’t just trap people. It traps time. Memory. Identity.”

“It’s like... you exist here only for as long as the school allows you to.”

Suddenly, a low thrum pulsed through the wall—like a distant heartbeat.

Rina stepped back.

“The wall,” she said. “It’s warm.”

They both pressed their ears to it.

At first, nothing.

Then—a whisper.

Not in Latin. Not in English. But in Rina’s own voice.

“She shouldn’t have remembered.”

“She wasn’t supposed to remember.”

“Now we have to start over.”

Rina gasped and backed away.

The wall pulsed again, more insistent.

Suddenly, one of the handprints glowed faintly—hers.

Exactly her size. Her fingers. Her scar from the bike accident she barely remembered having.

It was already there.

She had touched this wall before.

“Rina,” Lala said, panicked, “I think this place resets you. Every time someone gets too close to the truth, it puts them back into the system. Like a record on loop.”

“Then how do we break it?” Rina whispered.

“We don’t,” came a voice behind them.

They turned—

—and saw Headmistress Althea standing in the crawlspace doorway, her face unreadable, her presence towering.

Her voice was soft. Kind. Almost maternal.

“I warned Amelia,” she said. “I told her curiosity was dangerous. I hoped you’d be smarter, Rina.”

Rina’s mouth went dry. “What are you?”

The Headmistress smiled. “A caretaker. Of this school. Of its... memory. Of the girls it keeps.”

She stepped closer. “You weren’t supposed to come back. But you did. Again. And now, unfortunately…”

She raised one gloved hand.

“...it’s time to forget.”