The first thing Ella Yang noticed was the silence.
Not the comfortable kind that settles over quiet mornings or empty rooms—but the kind that felt pulled taut, like a wire about to snap. It pressed into her ears, into her breath. Then came the second thing: the fog.
It was everywhere. Heavy. Crimson. Like the air itself had been steeped in old blood and forgotten dreams.
She stood alone in the middle of a cobbled street, Victorian in style but unnaturally pristine. Gas lamps glowed dimly behind curls of mist, casting amber halos into the murk. Somewhere in the distance, a music box played a slow waltz, slightly out of tune.
Her shoes echoed—heels, she noted absently—as she turned in place. Corset. Gloves. A cape draped over one shoulder. Her fingers moved instinctively to check for a pocket, and there it was: a worn magnifying glass. Silver-rimmed. Familiar.
She didn't remember putting any of it on.
She didn't remember anything.
A flicker of panic surfaced, but she inhaled slowly, trying to ground herself. Dream logic. You are inside someone else's construct. Follow the thread.
Her eyes scanned the street for clues. There was no sign of traffic, no citizens, no sky. Only fog. And a faint burn at the edges of her perception, like the memory of a fever.
Then, movement.
A stroller rolled past the end of the street. Alone. Empty.
A second later, a figure stepped into view—a woman in layers of black lace, pushing a second stroller. Her face was masked, porcelain-pale and blank.
Another woman followed. Then a third. All in black. All pushing identical strollers. All expressionless. Marching in lockstep across the far intersection.
Ella squinted. Something about the repetition—the choreography of it—felt rehearsed. Not human.
A whisper of static tickled her left ear. Not external. Internal. A memory. A signal.
Her hand went to her wrist.
The watch was still there. Old-fashioned. Mechanical. Silver hands ticking away with impossible precision.
Except… it wasn't ticking. It was slowing.
One second stretched.
Then another.
Then the hand reversed.
Ella froze.
"You're dreaming," she whispered. Not to remind herself. But to declare it.
The fog thickened.
Behind her, someone began to scream.