Choose. —Margot
Panic is a slow poison. It started as a prickle on her neck, then became a full-body vigilance. She began speaking aloud, narrating her actions, challenging the silence. alina lopez
Her blood chilled. She checked the lighthouse’s single door, the heavy iron lock. Both were secure. She checked her own stationery box. All her paper was crisp, white, and unmarked. Choose
“I’m making tea,” she announced. “Earl Grey. The tin is on the counter. If you’re real, rattle the spoons.” She began speaking aloud, narrating her actions, challenging
The final photo was dated the previous year, and the location was typed: North Lighthouse.
If you want to see me, stand in the center of the room at midnight, when the new moon hides the sea. Hum the note you heard the first time. I will be there.