The door sighed open.
Inside—no furniture.
No dust.
No time.
Just walls,
each carved with spirals.
Some shallow, fresh.
Some deep, old, bleeding shadow.
Amelia stepped in first.
The air was thick,
like breath held too long.
Alexis followed,
touching the wall.
> "It's warm."
> "It's remembering us,"
Amelia said.
"Or maybe… it never forgot."
A spiral on the far wall began to turn.
Not physically—
but in their minds.
And suddenly,
they saw—
Children,
barefoot and blindfolded,
planting seeds in a silent circle.
Women dressed in black,
speaking in languages made of wind.
A man with two voices,
saying:
> "Some girls are born.
Others must be grown."
Alexis stumbled.
> "That was—"
"Us," Amelia finished.
Room 303 pulsed once.
Then spoke:
> "The garden was never outside.
It was you."