⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ Unknown Proximity ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆ ~ Prologue ~

𝐀 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞? 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬-- 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞 (𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧, 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞.) 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

WARNING: MENTIONS OF BLOOD, VIOLENCE AND MILD GORE. DO NOT READ IF THIS BOTHERS YOU.

⋆˚｡⋆୨✧୧˚ PROLOGUE ˚୨✧୧⋆｡˚⋆

Young children often make mistakes, but I am no longer a child. I have no valid excuse—none whatsoever—for having fled and left them to face that raging fire alone. I should have stayed and perished alongside them. If anything, I feel like a coward for simply stepping out of my bedroom. But that reckless boy... why would he urge me to go to sleep? I knew better than to listen to him.

As I venture deeper into the woods, I can't help but be enveloped by a peculiar sense of tranquility that blankets the air—a gentle, soothing aura. The scents of the forest waft around me, a curious blend of pine and evergreen that intertwines like they have given birth to a new fragrance: everspruce. It's amusing how nature has the power to spark my imagination while everything else falls flat—it’s such a paradox. My emotions are a tangled mess at this point, but with my habitual “it is what it is” mindset, I wonder if I'm doing a disservice to myself by allowing these thoughts to surface.

Suddenly, the rustling of leaves breaks the serene stillness, sending an alarming chill down my spine. This can’t be good. Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that my erratic thoughts prompted me to bring a knife, though I never anticipated having to wield it. Just then, a soft sigh escapes from the dense thicket, and a figure emerges, standing before me, their eyes wide and unblinking like those of a colossal squid, their skin as pale as freshly fallen snow on a winter's morning. I feel my head spin, and flickers of memories rush back.

I'm sprawled on my bed, shielded from the world outside, cradling a small bowl of rich, creamy cookie dough ice cream on my lap. I flip through the pages of "Tender Is the Flesh," a harrowing novel my mother gifted me after noticing my fascination with horror stories. Each page unsettles me more than the last; so much so that my once-tempting treat has lost its appeal, leaving me nauseous and disinterested in the sweet indulgence.

I can hear someone moving around in the bathroom, scurrying about like a mouse trying to escape danger. They sound distressed, but I’m so engrossed in my novel that I can’t bring myself to move. I suppose it’s inevitable; I’ve read reports stating that many people stopped eating meat after reading this book. At this point, I might just give it up altogether.

The commotion in the room is starting to get a bit annoying, so I decide it’s time to see what’s going on. I set my ice cream down on my small bedside table and lay my book face down to mark my place. As I stand up, something feels off. Looking toward the door, I see my brother, Jeffrey Daniel Woods. He’s 13 years old—nothing particularly remarkable about him—but something seems wrong now. His face had blood running down on both sides next to his mouth, making him smile. Dried blood dripped from his eyes, leaving streaks on his face that resembled tears, and his skin was paler than his teeth. His once beautiful, thick brown hair was now thin and jet black, resembling tar. His favorite white hoodie was stained red.

"Jeff, what are you doing? Did you come up with another ridiculous Halloween costume? Because it's not going to fly with Mom and Dad." I stood next to the bed, feeling uneasy as I stared at my brother. "Hello?"

"Go to sleep." I was taken aback, and my heart began to pound as he stepped closer to me. With each step he took, I instinctively backed away, but there was only so far I could retreat with the wall just three feet behind me.

"Jeffrey, what the—" I was cut off as my younger brother pushed me, causing me to fall onto the bed. I felt a bit foolish; a 13-year-old shouldn't be able to push over a 22-year-old. I would have felt embarrassed if my adrenaline hadn’t been rushing. He pinned me down, and laid a finger to his lips, cocking his head to the side. I glared at him and protested. "I ain't going to sleep!"

Before I could fully process his reaction, he scoffed derisively and hurried out of the bedroom, leaving me in stunned silence. The last thing I remember was the heaviness in my limbs, and I must have passed out because when I came to, it was about 20 minutes later. My face felt wet, and my clothes were damp-- as if I had been caught in a sudden downpour. Confused and disoriented, I struggled to gather my thoughts when an acrid odor broke through the haze—a pungent, unmistakable smell of something burning filled the air, sending a jolt of alarm through me. I knew what the smell was. Flesh. Someone was burning. Someone was burning in my house. I jumped out of bed and rushed to my door, but flames had already engulfed the hallway, advancing toward me like a massive tidal wave.

Panic set in as I retreated into my room, quickly grabbing my scarf and the knife I kept in my drawer for protection. I smashed the glass in my window; it was taking too long to open it properly. Climbing out, I ran, my breaths coming in hot, heavy gasps. I stumbled a couple of times, and it was only when I saw Jeff in the bushes that I was brought back to reality.

"I can't believe you thought it was a good idea to set our house ablaze with Mom and Dad inside! Do you have any explanation for that?" I nearly shouted, my voice trembling with anger and disbelief. As I confronted him, an intense wave of pain shot through my cheeks, almost as if the weight of my emotions was too much to bear. I instinctively raised my hands to my face, my fingers trembling as they brushed against my stinging skin, but then I abruptly lowered them, and they were covered in blood as it was painted. I looked back at the bushes where my brother had been, but he was gone. I stood there for what felt like countless minutes, my mind blank and my heart racing. Finally, I sighed and let my hands drop back to my sides. "This is insane," I muttered.

I continued on my way, walking through the forest while pain occasionally seized my thoughts. I hummed a soft but sad tune to myself, wondering if everything was just a dream. If it is, when will I wake up?