slammed the heavy oak door shut behind her, the abrupt sound echoing through the dimly lit room. Her breath hitched as she leaned against the doorframe, the cold wood seeping through her thin robes. It had happened again. Just like before. The betrayal, the pain—the memories flooded back with a vengeance, each one sharper than the last.

"Am I dead?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. The air felt thick, almost tangible, pressing against her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the images of the past. But they wouldn't go away. They纠缠不休, like a nightmare she couldn't escape.

Slowly, she pushed herself upright, her legs trembling beneath her. The room was unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar too. Old furniture stood hunched in the corners, draped in faded cloths. Dust motes danced in the single beam of sunlight that slanted through the window, making the air shimmer like a heat haze.

Wait. Dust motes? How could there be dust motes if she was dead?