Cocoon Room

When I woke up, I was holding a fading Polaroid in my hands. The camera is going white, and when it goes completely white, I will disappear. I escaped into a mirrorless cabin. It always stays at dusk here, and thousands of my shadows stand in the gray fog outside the window. "Stay here and you can survive," she said. She gave me a bowl of hot porridge and gave me eternal stability. But I found that there was no reflection in this room. The cracks in the walls were growing and the basement was filled with my own corpses. It turns out that the stability here is a gentle anesthetic. It turns out that she is the last bit of my sober self that I threw away with my own hands. "If the yellowing continues, the residence will no longer exist. If you want to continue to exist, go out and purify." The moment blood words appeared on the wall, I knew I had to walk into that man-eating gray fog again. This time, it is not to escape, but to pick up the souls that I have lost one by one.