Press any key to continue. If on mobile, go into the code and go into costumes. Otherwise, read the transcript below.
TRANSCRIPT. - A dusty note with stains in typewriting, reading the following: This is a letter from me. Or what’s left of me. I never truly left. Not in the way one disappears, not in the way absence is noticed. I was always here, watching, waiting, wandering back like a moth drawn to a place that once held warmth. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I wasn’t supposed to return. But I did. Again and again. And every time I had forgotten about this place, about everyone inside of it, they had wondered. But why? I owe an apology—though I don’t know if it matters now. I left. That much is true. But I cannot explain why. The reasons are not mine to share. They would not be pleased. They watch, they listen, they know. You might wonder who "me" is. I wish I could tell you. But I can’t. The name, the identity—it’s a tether to something best left unspoken. If you know, you know. If you don’t, then perhaps it is better that way. There was a fight. But that’s not the part that matters. It’s what came after. It’s the part that nobody saw, the part that nobody speaks about. That’s why I left. That’s why I had to leave. And that’s why I should have never come back. This place is not what it seems. It never was. It holds people like a dream that twists into a nightmare the moment you wake up. And yet, they stay. They call it home. I don’t know how. The ones above, the ones in control—they do not care. They never did. They smile, they promise, they pretend to protect, but it’s all a game to them. A game where the rules suffocate, where the walls press in, where every step must be careful, measured, rehearsed. Because someone is always watching. Someone small. Someone big. Someone who decides what stays and what disappears. For those who followed, for those who played along—you saw the cracks. You heard the whispers. I am sorry I could not be direct. I am sorry for the things I cannot say. But you must understand. “They” do not like loose ends. “They” do not like those who speak too much. “They” have already erased me once. And they will do it again. But I am someplace better, some place where I can be myself. - End of transcript.
