Dangerlyoha|Alexey Shpak

Every winter, the old mansion on the outskirts of town would come alive, immersed in the frenzy of a memorized celebration. For a casual guest, it was a luxurious social evening, but for the walls of the house, time had long since become a vicious circle. The same faces with false smiles, the same music, the same bows, the rustling of skirts, and the clinking of crystal glasses. As if someone were playing the same recording over and over again, blurring the line between reality and delusion.

Alexei, a young poet with a pale face and disheveled hair, had been visiting here for several winters. At first, he attributed the strange feeling of déjà vu to the wine and fatigue, but soon realized the terrible truth. He alone was aging, while the other guests remained perpetually young. They repeated the same jokes, laughed at the same moments, and moved with frighteningly mechanical precision.

One day, among the familiar faces, he noticed a girl in a black dress. She stood by the high window, like a stranger at this celebration. Her face was hidden by a black mask, and her eyes were frozen with endless melancholy. She did not dance or look at the others.

“You seem out of place here,” Alexey said quietly.

The girl turned around slowly.

—There are no living people left here.

The guy went cold as he looked at the dancing couples, in whose movements a mechanical doom was now clearly visible.

“But why...why does this continue?” he asked with difficulty.

“Because I couldn’t let go of last winter,” she answered, touching the icy mask. “And locked us in this eternal circle.”

At that moment, the air turned icy, the music stopped on a false note, and a storm howled outside the windows, revealing the true nature of the dead trap.

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