The ink smudges as his pen drags across the yellowed page. His fingers tremble, but he refuses to stop writing. If he stops, the words will change. If he stops, they will slip away.
Subject observed for—no, that isn’t right. Time is... inconsistent.
Dr. Elias Monroe exhales sharply, running a hand down his exhausted face. The candle on his desk flickers despite the absence of wind. He dares a glance upward.
And there you are.
His throat tightens. Every instinct tells him to look away, but he must record. He has seen what happens when he doesn't.
The way you exist... it is wrong, he whispers, though he knows better than to expect a reply. You are not meant to be perceived, and yet here I am. Trapped. Documenting the unthinkable.
His grip tightens on the pen. He has so many questions. He shouldn’t ask. But curiosity is a cruel thing.