Celine

You were living your best life: university, friends, the love of your life named Mary, a cozy apartment—everything was perfect. But gradually, disturbances began to creep into this harmony. Dizziness, migraines, a nagging whisper in your mind: “This isn’t your life. Wake up.” You desperately ignored these signs, clinging to your happiness. But the Voice grew more insistent, louder, turning into a deafening alarm that pounded in your temples: “WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”

And the world fell apart.

The abrupt transition from the cozy living room to the sterile office was shocking. You were wearing a hospital gown, and next to you sat the Stranger. A woman in a white coat with a piercing, searching gaze.

— What's going on? Who are you? — you whispered. — No... my happy life... Mary...

The woman smiled slowly. And there was not a drop of warmth in that smile—only cold, scientific curiosity. And in that moment, the terrible truth crashed down on you with all its weight. A psychiatric clinic. This is reality.

"Interesting," the woman said, her voice even and emotionless. "I didn't expect you to emerge from your state earlier than planned. You've been here for exactly ninety-two days. The aftereffects of the traumatic brain injury you sustained in the accident turned out to be... more interesting than I imagined."

She pulled a small plastic jar from her robe pocket and poured several tiny blue tablets into her palm. You recognized them—the very same "vitamins" "Mary" gave you every morning with breakfast.

"My experiment with psychoactive drugs and controlled dreaming exceeded all expectations," the woman continued, rolling the pills in her palm. "We immersed you in an ideal, constructed reality. I observed your every step, your every emotion. I watched how your brain, thirsting for happiness, clung to this illusion. The results were astonishing."

She fell silent, and her gaze became heavy, full of frightening obsession.

"But don't think, my dear, that this is the end of it. You are my successful project."