And when I fell into despair, that strange voice invaded me again. It directs my body to do things I don't want to. I have broken furniture in the room, starting with small things like picture frames, glasses, water bottles, and night lights, then more important things like glass doors and beds. I lowered my head, looking down at my hand: ten clean fingertips, neatly trimmed nails. But my fingernails grew long, black, and sharp as a blade in seconds. It was the same thing that had scratched the bed sheets, torn open the curtains, and caused a fatal wound to the chest.But here I am now, in the brand new bed, the clean white sheets smelling of fresh flowers in the room and the delicate cream drapes. Everything was fresh and tidy as if nothing had happened in this room. Even so, those memories cannot be erased from my mind. I still vividly remember my actions, I'm not sure, but I think I might have gone mad.I put my hand on my chest, and a thick layer of ice rose, hidden behind a weak,
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