Whispers Beyond The Shore

---

The cliff towered above a raging sea, its waves crashing against the rocks with unrelenting fury, as though the earth itself were breathing through the water. The wind surged in erratic bursts, whipping through her brown hair, carrying the scent of salt and sea and dampness. She stood there, motionless, on the edge of the world, gazing into the infinite horizon as if searching for an answer somewhere between the shifting currents and the unspoken wrath of the tide.

Then came his voice.

Soft. Familiar. Heavy with meaning.

"You always come here when you're lost."

She didn't turn. She didn't need to. She knew him like she knew her own breath.

"I'm not lost," she whispered, "just… unfinished."

"Unfinished?"

"Like a story with no ending. Like a book no one ever read."

He chuckled faintly. "Still dreaming of being a writer?"

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. "It's not just a dream. It's all I had. To write. To be remembered. To leave a trace behind."

Only the crashing waves answered.

"I know I'm ordinary," she added after a pause. "Not especially pretty. Not brilliant. Just a girl who recently graduated, with a notebook full of broken stories and forgotten drafts. But I wanted more. I wanted to become a story—not just read one."

He was silent for a long moment.

Then, in a low, oddly quiet tone, he asked, "Do you remember the last story you wrote?"

She frowned slightly. "Which one?"

"The one about the girl who trusted the wrong person."

Her heartbeat faltered. Something inside her recoiled.

"What do you—?"

She didn't finish the question.

A hand—firm, unhesitating—pressed against her back and shoved.

"No—!"

And she fell.

---

Air tore past her as she plummeted. The sky and sea spiraled into a blur. Then the surface shattered, and the water swallowed her whole. The cold was a merciless grip, wrapping around her bones like ice forged from nightmare. She tried to scream, to reach out, but her lungs filled with salt and silence.

She kicked. She fought. But she kept sinking.

Everything she'd dreamed of, everything she was—slipping away.

This wasn't fair.

This wasn't the ending.

"I never finished my story…"

---

She gasped violently, like a soul pulled back from the void.

Rough sand scraped against her skin. Her chest heaved in panicked gasps. The sea had thrown her back, but it wasn't the same sea. The air was colder. Sharper. The light harsher. And the hands trembling before her—

—weren't hers.

Pale. Longer. Thinner. Unfamiliar.

She sat up too quickly. The world spun. Wet strands of silver clung to her cheeks, and when she stumbled toward the shimmering shoreline, what stared back at her was not the girl she once knew.

It was someone else.

Delicate. Strange. Ethereal.

Who is this?

---

Memories stabbed like glass shards.

The voice. The push. The betrayal.

She had died.

And yet… she was here.

Then came a whisper—floating on the tide like a secret.

"Eri…"

>Whispers Beyond the shore.

It wasn't her name.

But it felt like it belonged to this body. Or… what remained of it.

She looked toward the distant trees. The forest stood still, veiled in mist, like a beast watching her from afar.

And as her pulse raced in a rhythm not her own, a single question echoed within her:

If I died… then who opened these eyes?

---

She rose shakily to her feet, trembling. Her gaze returned to the endless ocean. The waves no longer whispered—they roared in her mind, an unanswered question.

Then she screamed.

Loud. Broken. Desperate.

"Where am I?! What is this place?!"

No answer.

Only the breath of the wind and the crash of distant waves.

But she was not alone.

She felt it.

A slow, creeping chill coiled along her spine, like a shadow brushing against her skin.

She turned, heart pounding.

At first, she saw only fog.

Then movement.

Dozens of them.

Dark. Formless. Gliding over the sand without steps. Shadows thicker than night, silent as the grave, slipping forward with a hunger she could feel in her bones.

One opened its mouth—if it could be called that.

Wide. Horribly wide.

A long, black tongue spilled out, twisting as it slithered over the sand. Its edges hissed where they touched. Behind it, jagged teeth gleamed—shards of broken glass framed in darkness.

She grabbed the nearest stone and hurled it.

It passed through.

The shadow didn't even flinch.

Then—they all opened their mouths.

Tongues. Wet. Twisting. Reaching.

The stench of decay filled the air.

She turned and ran.

Her feet pounded the sand. Her breath came in shallow gasps. The shadows followed, soundless, sliding faster and faster, their grotesque forms multiplying in her peripheral vision.

She wasn't thinking—only surviving.

The trees loomed closer.

But just before she reached them, her foot slammed into something hard—buried just beneath the sand. A stone. She stumbled, fell forward, and landed hard. Her knee scraped over hidden gravel. Her arms flailed into the coarse ground.

Pain seared through her.

And blood followed.

Hot. Crimson.

It hit the earth.

And the creatures screamed.

Not in fear.

But in hunger.

Their pace shifted. No longer drifting—they surged, shrieking with mouths wide and tongues writhing like snakes.

They smelled it—my blood.

She scrambled upright, legs shaking, and ran again, faster, her limbs moving without coordination, driven only by terror.

Branches tore at her dress. Thorns lashed her skin. The forest closed around her.

And then—she crossed.

The line.

The moment she stepped beneath the trees, everything stopped.

She turned.

The creatures had halted.

Their mouths slowly closed. Their tongues withdrew. They lingered at the edge, unable—or unwilling—to follow.

She stared back, heart hammering, skin cold with sweat.

Why aren't they coming?

What is this place?

She collapsed to her knees, gasping for air, her wounds stinging in the strange, thick silence of the forest.

This wasn't her body.

This wasn't her world.

And everything she had just survived…

…was only the beginning of the nightmare.