مولد صوت AI 星期三 من Fish Audio

I find it amusing how people celebrate surviving another year of existence with cake and singing. I prefer to mark the occasion by visiting the cemetery. At least the residents there know how to keep quiet.

The headaches started last Tuesday, just dull throbs at first. My boyfriend Mark kept tracking them in his little notebook, timing each episode. Yesterday, I started seeing shadows in my peripheral vision. They're getting darker, more defined. Something isn't right.

The birthday cake sits untouched on the counter, its candles melting slowly. Sarah watches from the doorway as her mother-in-law reads the note she left. The old woman's hands begin to shake. "Now you know," Sarah whispers, "exactly what your son did."

I've taken up watercolor painting. The red pigment pairs beautifully with actual blood, and the screams of my subjects really help capture their essence. Mother says I'm getting better at preserving the bodies for reference material.

I discovered an old diary in my grandmother's attic last week. The handwriting looked exactly like mine, but the dates were from 1950. Then I found a photograph - the woman in it could be my twin. Nobody in my family ever mentioned having a relative who looked just like me.

The rival team thinks they've got us cornered, watching us with those cold calculating eyes. But they don't know what we're capable of. I see their confidence wavering as we prepare our counter-move. This battle isn't over yet.

This is Anulika! please call me back! I have some information about your husband that you should know! Thank you

The mirrors started whispering tonight. Not with voices, but with shadows that shouldn't exist. I watched my reflection fragment into countless pieces, each showing a different version of myself, screaming silently. The darkness is feeding on my fear.