ENTRY FOR THE FIRST DAY.
I woke up in Darkness.
There was no sense of time. No walls, no air, no sound. I lay in nothingness, neither afraid nor at peace. Just waiting.
Then, Light.
It was not sudden, nor was it gentle. It simply arrived. I opened my eyes (though I do not remember closing them), and there it was, illuminating the space around me. A Room. Vast. Empty. Walls pale and seamless, stretching beyond sight.
Beside me, a Notebook.
I turned the pages with careful hands. They were old, yellowed at the edges. On the first page, in steady handwriting, was written:
Write down your memories. Each day, everything that happens. After the Seventh Day, you will forget.
The words sent a shiver through me. I did not remember writing them, and yet I believed them. I lifted the pen that rested atop the book and wrote:
Day One. I woke up in the dark. Then there was Light. There was a Notebook.
The moment I finished writing, something changed. A sound, quiet but distinct, like the soft shifting of stone.
I turned.
A Door.
It had not been there before. Now, it stood in the wall, dark and waiting. My heartbeat quickened.
I clutched the Notebook. If the words were true—if I was going to forget—then I had to trust them.
I had to keep writing. And I had to go through the Door.
So I did.