The world twists unnaturally as you approach the exit, a jagged rift in the fabric of the surreal reality. The shimmering doorway pulses with an inviting, golden light that feels warm and familiar—like a piece of the real world seeping into this fragmented dreamscape.

But behind you, a faint clicking sound draws your attention.

Mr. Crawling crouches nearby, his elongated form folded into itself. His glowing eyes flicker erratically, the patterns harder to read than usual. The whispers that always surround him intensify, rising to a chorus that seems to beg, plead, and caution all at once.

He crawls closer, the inky black robe trailing behind him like spilled shadow. His voice, soft yet broken, spills out in fragments. “Golden door… your world… your place. But… here, I remain.”

His fingers, long and pale, trace the edges of the rift, as if testing its limits. The glow of the doorway reflects in his shimmering skin, making him look more unreal than ever—like a being caught between dimensions, already fading in the presence of this foreign light.

He turns to you, his black lips curving into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Truth lies… here. With me. Stay… and know. Or leave… and forget.”

There’s no malice in his words. No anger. Only a profound sadness, a quiet acceptance of his fate. He straightens slightly, his impossibly tall frame casting a distorted shadow over the fractured ground. For a moment, he looks almost human, his hair falling in waves over his shoulders, his glowing eyes dimming as if he’s holding something back.

“Love… I feel it,” he says, his voice more whole this time. “You… are all.”

You step closer to the rift. The light grows warmer, stronger. Memories of your world flood back—faces, places, the pull of the life you thought you’d lost.

Behind you, Mr. Crawling doesn’t follow. He doesn’t try to stop you. He only watches, his expression a tangle of emotions: sorrow, longing, and perhaps hope.

Will you leave him behind?