The first time Emily woke up in an isolated room, she thought she was dreaming.
The walls were bare, the air sterile, and the only sound was the distant hum of machines. Her body felt heavy, her mind sluggish, as if she had been disconnected from reality for too long. But this wasn't a dream.
This was her reality.
The doctors had told her she had Dissociative Identity Disorder. She remembered sitting in that cold office, hands clenched in her lap, as they explained how the episodes, the memory gaps, and the voices she heard weren't just stress or anxiety. They were part of a fractured mind, a survival mechanism born from trauma.
At first, she refused to believe it. She told herself they were wrong—that she was just tired, overworked, or maybe losing her mind in a way that could be fixed. But then the manic episodes came.
Unpredictable. Violent. Terrifying.
She would lose time—sometimes hours, sometimes days. When she came back, she would find herself in unfamiliar places, her body aching, her knuckles bruised, or her voice hoarse as if she had been screaming. No one could tell her exactly what had happened during those missing moments, but the fear in the eyes of the people around her was enough to tell her it wasn't good.
And then there was the room.
Every time an episode hit too hard, she would wake up there. A place that wasn't real but felt more tangible than anything in the outside world. It was dark, empty, and suffocating, yet she wasn't alone.
Someone else was there.
A presence. An alter she never saw but always felt.
The others in her system never spoke of them, and whenever she tried to ask, Eli or Demi would deflect, their voices tight, their energy uneasy.
Who were they hiding?
And why did she feel like whoever it was... held the worst parts of her?