It starts with a noise. An odd, indistinct sound in your house—soft, persistent, and almost familiar. You trace it, searching, but the source eludes you, pulling you deeper into places that shouldn’t be there. What begins as a disturbance turns into something else—something you cannot escape. Rooms bend. Time fractures. Hopeless, defenseless, the blackness of being wraps around you like a slow suffocation. You are drawn into a world of spiraling darkness, where nothing is as it seems, and suffering is both a language and a landscape. The noise follows. It watches. Stalked in impenetrable darkness. It becomes you.