Stella
I went back in alone.
Not by accident. Not dragged. Not stumbling into it in panic.
This time, I chose the battlefield.
It felt wrong at first—like turning a blade toward my own ribs.
I'd spent my whole life treating the inside of my mind as something to guard: patch what was bleeding, board up what was broken, keep moving. But returning meant admitting there were places I'd avoided for a reason.
I let my breath slow. Let my heartbeat become a metronome.
The space opened around me with familiar dread. Not because it was unknown.
Because it was mine.
The first time I had done this, it had terrified me.
Now—
Now it felt like war.
I stood in a dim version of myself. The space wasn't gray like the visions. It was layered. Corridors of memory branching off into light and shad
