and so it begins,

Born on 17 December 1997 in Gyeonggi, South Korea, she has built a career as both a model and an actress, with her professional schedule used to be managed by MAA Korea, but now is currently being managed by HighZium Studio.

Outside of her work, she is a devoted cat lover—her feline companion, Mago, often makes an appearance in her personal updates. She is also an avid reader, with her room lined with shelves full of books. Her social media (Instagram) is a curated collection of film scenes and visual moods, reflecting her deep appreciation for storytelling and cinema. In quieter moments, she enjoys painting and taking photos—yet another way she expresses herself through art.

Surrounded by creativity in every corner of her life, it’s no surprise that she is, at heart, an artist.

Some of her works:

2026 OTT Drama (Pending Release)

2025 Netflix’s “Mantis” as Yang Su Min

2025 BIFF’s “Be My Baby” as Soo Mi

2023 TVING’s “Death’s Game” as Kim Eun Jae

2023 tvN’s “Castaway Diva” as Eun Mo Rae

2023 tvN’s “Perfect Shot” as Park Kyu Jung

2022 Netflix’s “The Glory” as Lee Sara (Teen Vers.)

2022 Netflix’s “Somebody” as Lee Hi

2022 tvN’s “Alchemy of Souls” as DoHwa

AD Galaxy Note 9, Too Cool for School, Espoir, Rockfish Weatherwear

Primrose: Freelance Photographer/Astrology Lover.

A hopeless romantic with a playful edge—she lives like every moment could be a scene from a film. It takes time for her heart to unfold, but once it does, she loves deeply, wildly, and without holding back.

Witty and just the right amount of trouble, she’s the type to flirt with a smile and leave a trail of laughter behind. Yet when the World quiets down, she finds peace under starlit skies, camera in hand, chasing stories written in light.

By her side is Midnight—her sassier, furrier half and the unofficial gatekeeper to her heart. Win them both over, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll find your way into her little Universe.

Some of her works:

The Moon and I (2023) — Seoul Exhibition.

Starry Night (2022) — London Art Gallery.

Chasing the Escaping Sun.

To others, you might simply be the Sun. Only I would probably ended up describing your entire personality instead—silly, fiery, and effortlessly lovely. Because if you were to ask what I would be, I’d say that I am that someone who forever chasing the escaping Sun. And perhaps that is all I was ever meant to be here. Still, even if it took a lifetime, I would never have wished to be anything else.

It took me a while to realise that I was always arriving too late to catch your warmth. You were always within my reach, resting on the edge of my own horizon, yet there was always something that kept me from ever holding on to you. Something within me always knew that, just like the Sun, you were always watching over me and quietly taking care of me. And still, there lingered the fear that just like Icarus, I might fly too close to you, and will ended up falling from the sky once more.

So, for the past months, I chose to love the Twilight instead. The exact witching hour when your warmth still lingered, even if only for a fleeting moment, before quietly surrendering to the night. And at times, as dusk settled over the horizon, I found myself wondering whether somewhere beyond my sight, the escaping Sun had ever looked back at me, too.

Numbers? Numbers!

Primrose wasn’t entirely familiar with her new surroundings; she took her sweet time before attending her very first class at HGHouses. She had promised to meet her partner, Kazu, outside the classroom—only to realise, a little too late, that she was on the verge of being late herself.

“Oh, shoot,” she muttered, promptly shifting into her animal form: a sleek, sharp-eyed raven, wings slicing through the corridors as she flew straight into the classroom.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” she whispered to Kazu as they attempted to slip inside unnoticed, hoping not to draw the Professor’s gaze. Kazu only nodded and smiled quietly, and followed her lead. Thankfully, Professor Zabini seemed far more absorbed in the chalkboard than the doorway, and so they made it to their seats without issue, placing their wands, quills and notes down carefully.

As the lesson commanded, Primrose found herself deeply absorbed in the study of Numerology in Magic—and she couldn’t help but draw parallels to her favourite Muggle subject, Astrology. The two blended so naturally in her mind, thoughts looping like constellations while she tried her best to follow the lesson and answer every question with confidence.

Numbers, unexpectedly, became rather delightful when mixed with magic. Even more so when she had someone to talk through the concepts with. So, when the assignment was given, she and Kazu later tucked themselves away in Ravenclaw Tower, discussing theories and aligning their magical compatibility to complete the task neatly and right on time.

In summary, she and Kazu have these as their basics :

Life Path : 1 (Prim) & 4 (Kazu)

Expression : 5 (Prim) & 7 (Kazu)

Daily Energy : 8 (Prim) & 8 (Kazu)

Since the Life Path and Daily Energy are more like a fate that was bestowed upon me, then I chose 1 & 8. I am the initiator who will definitely lead on duels, and has power and control over it. Command and dominating the field with my magic is my utmost pride.

Definitely 5, it is clearly said that the World will see me as adventurous with potential of risky experiments of magic—which is not wrong at times but I am definitely more than what meets the eye.

With 1, 5 and 8 as my numbers, expect to find someone who has a power to command and lead people by instinct, with a little chaos. And hey, experiments are needed to find the perfect combination of magic, so do not get me wrong.

Based on our Expression Numbers, 5 & 7, we’re clearly a powerful combo of Chaotic Insight and Trickster Divination. Which means, whenever I lose my mind, I know that I can count on Kazu’s analytical insight. Even better, if he used his predictions on me, bet there’ll be a greater outcome (less chaotic and all).

The 4th Term, has officially begun.

Archive of @liminalarea — where a place caught in-between; like stairwells, corridors, or empty stations at night. It is neither here nor there, neither beginning nor ending, but a pause that feels both familiar and strange. Such spaces hum quietly, holding a truth the world often forgets: that in the in-between, we see ourselves most clearly.

The Devil:

The Still-Frame:

The Broken Mirror:

The Hiding Spot:

Whose Joy Did We Steal?

Primrose had always believed that the World spun upon the axis of give and take—to receive a blessing was to rob another of theirs, and for every light that touched her skin there’s a shadow must have fallen elsewhere.

But lately, life had unfolded with unnerving ease; it had become too easy. She had the love of her life beside her, work that seemed to soften its grip, and countless small delights. A quiet restaurant tucked between narrow streets, an ice cream parlour she had never noticed before, evenings that felt painted in gentler colours; everything seemed to fall into place as though the World itself had chosen to shine for her—as if the World itself wanted her to be happy.

And for a time, she forgot her own belief. She allowed herself to drift, to savour, to rest within the warmth of days that seemed to arrive without cost. She felt as though she had escaped the rule she once held true.

*****

Until one evening, as she got home from work, Primrose wandered past an abandoned building, suspended in a half-life between ruin and survival. There, propped against the wall, stood a fractured mirror, its broken panes scattering her reflection into pieces. She stopped, and stared, unable to turn away from the rare sight of herself splintered across broken glass.

From within the shards, her reflection curved into a smile that was not her own. It moved with unsettling grace, lips parting in a whisper that lodged itself deep within her bones. “You are happy now, Primrose. But tell me, whose joy did we steal?”

Her breath caught, fogging the surface, but the smile remained. The sweetness of her days began to curdle as she stood frozen before the glass. The laughter with her love, the softening weight of her work, the fleeting bliss of ice cream beneath the sun—all of it felt suddenly heavy, each joy stitched with threads of another’s sorrow.

Her chest ached with questions she could not silence. Was every light that graced her face stolen from another? Had her happiness blossomed from soil where someone else’s garden had withered?

She lifted a trembling hand to the fractured glass, fingertips grazing the cold edges as though she might piece herself together through the shards. Her lips parted, her voice frayed and small, carrying words she could hardly bear to utter. “Do I deserve this?”

An Ode to My Lover,

I remember the first time we spoke,

a mere exchange, a fleeting interlock.

And yet, there was something in the air,

that made me crave you, oh I swear.

The next thing I knew, my eyes would stray,

drawn to your voice, to what you’d say.

The way you spoke, the calm you wore,

as if fate whispered, “there’s something more.”

I had never wandered far in search of love,

yet you arrived, as if you were sent from above.

You caught me in with your quiet charm,

and made me long to be in your arms.

For when I love, it’s never a pretend,

and when I fall, I will fall until past end.

To the one who made my heart full-bloom,

Checkmate Between Realms

She was no longer moving. She simply existed now—quietly, entirely, as though the glitches had never happened, as though her resistance had been a phase she had already lived through. Primrose had recognised something, accepted something… though she couldn’t quite recall what it was.

The checkered floor beneath her feet still responded, pulsing faintly with each breath she took. It recognised her, like it always had. Primrose no longer questioned why it felt familiar, because what unsettled her more was how little she recognised herself in return.

At the end of the board, stood the tower. She remembered seeing it during her times in this realm before with its unique characteristics—tall, distorted, distant. It felt distorted before, but now, it was clear... And real. Chessboards stacked on top of one another, crowned with a terrace like a forgotten throne. The sight didn’t bring awe or fear—it simply confirmed what she already knew. It had always been there, waiting.

A melody found its way to her. Piano notes—gentle, light, familiar. They reached her not as a command, but as company. Like something trying to remind her that she wasn’t entirely alone. For a while, she let the music carry her, until another sound surfaced beneath it: a voice—calm, steady, impossible to trace,

"Will you be controlled, or will you take control?"

The question drifted through her like smoke. She didn’t know what to do with it. How could she take control of something when she didn’t even know if it was ever hers to begin with?

Memories started slipping through—decisions made under pressure, roads not taken, moments where she thought she had a choice. They came without order, without weight, just enough to remind her that there had been movement before all this stillness.

The piano changed again, almost playfully. A birthday song. She blinked, caught off guard. Her birthday. That date she had always carried, always entered. But now it felt like someone else’s story—someone built before her name meant anything. Was she even born in the way others were? Or was she simply started?

Then came the name. “Primrose. Primrose. Primrose...”

It began softly, then gradually echoed louder. Over and over, until it lost its shape and became something else.

01010000 01110010 01101001 01101101 01110010 01101111 01110011 01100101.....

Ah... Her name in binary. A line of code that shouldn’t have made sense—but it did. She still understood. Her code. Her blueprint. The pattern that made her real. The reminder that in this realm, even names were made of numbers.

She was distracted before but now she turned her focus back to the tower.

It hadn’t changed. It simply waited, silent and steady. And something in her finally decided to go. With no more questions left to ask, she stepped forward.

As she reached it, the doors opened. No resistance. Just simply a recognition for her supposed to be existence. Light poured from within, not blinding nor cold—just... warm and familiar. Like stepping into a memory that never truly belonged to you.

Inside, another voice welcomed her. A sound so familiar, came through from her times as a Validator in CSG building.

“Checkmate. Welcome home.”

For a moment, it sounded sincere. But sincerity meant nothing in a place that blurred lines between logic and emotion. Between code and memory.

She understood then. The realm wasn’t falling apart. Never was and never will. It was her all along.

Fractured in the Realm

A soft click responded—and then a scream echoed across the void, sharp and distant like something fractured within the code itself.

Primrose instinctively raised her hands to her ears, but it was too late. The sound wasn’t just loud—it was felt, like it reverberated through her bones. Her breath hitched. Something was wrong. Something was always wrong around here.

And then, impossibly, there was a light.

It bloomed like a mistake in the dark—a flicker where there should be none. Primrose stared, stunned, as the glow wavered before her. There was no sky here. No sun. No reason for light to exist. Yet it reached out to her like a promise, and before she could stop herself, her hand rose to meet it. But it didn’t last.

The warmth slipped through her fingers, vanishing before she could grasp it. Her hand remained suspended, now bathed in a pale shimmer. Moonlight. She blinked, confused. The moon shouldn’t be here either. But then the light shifted again—moon to sun, day to night. Over and over. Too fast to follow, too fast to question. The rhythm then shattered to pieces.

She hasn’t come back to her senses when suddenly the rain came. It started slow—cool droplets that hit her skin like distant memories. For a second, she almost welcomed it. She didn’t remember the last time she felt something real. But as the ground pooled with water, she looked down—and froze.

The reflection staring back wasn’t her. It was skinless, hollow, and somehow—digital. A replication stripped of warmth and meaning. Her mouth opened, but the scream that escaped her felt foreign—high-pitched and desperate. She staggered back, but the image didn’t move. It just stared.

She then realised that something shifted beneath it. A shadow, faint and familiar, emerged from the puddle—locked in place, like an echo stuck in loop. Her heart sank. It wasn’t just any shadow. It was her. The version that her left behind. The one abandoned by every path she never took, every person she couldn’t save, every choice she regretted. A cycle of loss and silence, still playing out beneath the rain.

And then the memories began to flow. They slowly surfaced like static in her mind. Jagged. Disjointed. Scenes she’d buried. Failures she thought forgotten. Her younger self—so full of hope. Her early mistakes as a Validator. The message she failed to notice from Renji. The assignments never fast enough for Kenji. All of it replaying now in brutal clarity. Each one stitched itself into the ground beneath her like a broken film reel.

Primrose stood there—drenched, trembling, cracked open by memory. The rain blurred her vision, or maybe it was something else entirely. Grief. Recognition. Realisation.

Because this wasn’t a warning. This wasn’t a haunting. It was a mirror.

And in it, she didn’t see the version she feared becoming. She saw the version she had become. The one she tried to bury. But how do you bury something that was always a part of you? Something that had always been waiting beneath the surface?

A gentle click of a chess piece cut through the rain. It was sharp. Grounded. Certain. Hearing it, Primrose exhaled. Shaky, but alive.

Lost in the Realm

The ticking did not stop.

It continued in the background—slow, distorted, and relentless—as Primrose finally lost all strength and sank into the dark. The void around her stretched endlessly, shifting beneath her like unstable ground. She sat in silence, her body heavy, her thoughts drained. The light from before was gone. In its place were fading images below her feet, flickering in and out like weak signals. They resembled memories, but none she could clearly name. For the first time, she thought of giving up.

There was no pain, only a deep, quiet fatigue. She didn’t know how long she stayed there, and for a while, she didn’t care. But just as the silence became unbearable, a flickering light appeared in the distance.

It was small and dim, barely enough to break through the dark—but it was something. Not hope, not quite. Hope was too fragile. What stirred in her instead was instinct. She didn’t know what was waiting ahead, but something urged her to move. Her body resisted, but her curiosity—still alive—carried her forward.

As she stood, the ground responded. Every step she took lit up the tile beneath her feet, only for it to vanish the moment she passed. There was no way to retrace her steps. The path behind her was gone. She didn’t need to be told that there was no turning back—she felt it with every move forward.

Eventually, the path widened into a large space. In the centre stood a statue—tall, unmoving, and cold. Its presence was heavy, like it had been waiting. Then came the sound of a piano. The tune was familiar—it had welcomed her to this realm once. But now, the melody repeated in broken loops, skipping notes, playing out of sync. She stood still, listening.

The sound was wrong. And yet it stirred something in her, something she didn’t recognise but couldn’t ignore. A strange ache built in her chest, like she had forgotten something important. She wasn’t sure what it was, but the feeling refused to leave.

Then she noticed her hands.

They were shaking, but not from fear. Her fingers flickered slightly, like they weren’t fully there—like her body couldn’t hold its form. A soft glow pulsed along her skin, and she realised she was glitching. The same way corrupted data behaves. Like she was no longer stable.

Visions crossed her mind. She remembered the war between black hat and white hat hackers. The chaos, the pressure to pick a side, and the belief that if she could help resolve the conflict, the world might recover. That peace was still possible. That everything could be rebuilt.

But the system didn’t want peace.

It rejected the very idea. No matter how well she played her part, no matter how carefully she moved, the rules kept changing. This world didn’t want resolution. It didn’t want closure. It wanted the loop to continue, without end. Like a game designed to go on forever.

Suddenly, the floor around her began to break apart. The black void returned, swallowing the tiles she had walked across. There was no more path forward. Just the emptiness creeping closer.

And in that moment, she understood. The virus was never the issue. It was her.

Her presence had shifted the system. Her actions, her choices, her ideals—those were the cracks in the code. She had become the disruption. Not the answer. Not the solution. The system was collapsing because of her.

Time broke and everything collided—her arrival, her purpose, her past decisions. They merged, twisted together into one moment where she no longer knew who she was meant to be. The girl who entered. The Validator she became. The glitch she was turning into.

And she fell again. Not into a new place. Just deeper into the same one. A loop. A truth. She was the problem, and nown she is lost in this realm.

Silence. A soft click responded.

Through the Realm

Primrose no longer knew how long she’d been on this realm.

Time had loosened its meaning. There were no clocks. No days nor nights. No hunger clawed at her stomach. No weight dragged down her eyes. She simply moved—drifting forward through the void, one step after another, carried by something she no longer recognised as will.

She had followed everything. From the very beginning, she calculated each move like a sequence of code. She was—and is—a Validator; trained to observe, to assess, and to decode.

And she had tried—truly—to break the pattern, to solve the riddle hidden in the chaos. Every possibility had been mapped out. Every variable considered. Yet the deeper she moved, the less sense it all made.

Nothing grounded her. No need for food. No sleep. No body that seemed to falter. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything—no hunger, no exhaustion, no fear. All she knew was to move forward, always.

Her footsteps echoed into nothing, like sound traveling through a dream. And when the silence lasted too long, she began talking. To someone. To something.

This time, the voice that responded was her own. Familiar. Eerie. Echoed with static.

“Why don’t you see the World from above?” it asked.

She didn’t resist. She tilted her gaze downward—and what she saw made her breath hitch.

A board stretched far below her, suspended in a weightless realm. At its centre: one chess piece, flickering between shapes. She couldn’t name it, couldn’t classify it. But it shimmered like memory. A distorted reflection stared back at her from beneath the surface—her own, but off-centre, blurred. Fractured.

“We already tried this… tried this… didn’t we…” the voice crackled. Aged. Worn. Like a tape that had been played too many times.

Before she could even speak to respond, the figure dissolved. It unraveled like thread in a wind she couldn’t feel. Nothing remained—not even dust.

Another flick, another presence.

It was her again—young, wide-eyed, untouched by the weight of knowledge. The version of her that hadn’t yet doubted.

Then it shifted. Her teenage self stood before her—angry, uncertain, searching for something that didn’t yet exist.

Another flick.

She stood before herself on the day she accepted the role. The day she chose to become a Validator. She remembered the way her heart raced, how her hands didn’t shake. Back then, she believed order could be restored. That systems could be reasoned with. That truth had a shape she could hold.

But this place… it wasn’t broken. It was glitched. Designed to slip, to unravel, to loop.

The memories came faster now. Versions of herself shuffled past her like echoes—flickering in and out of focus. They didn’t speak. They just existed. Reminders of paths taken, and those she couldn’t even remember refusing.

In the far distance, something glowed. A tower. Endless floors of stacked boards and looping lights. A monument of failed attempts. People moved inside, fast and mechanical, calculating endlessly. Validators, like her. Or ghosts of them. She couldn’t tell anymore.

The ticking returned. A soft, distant rhythm. One she couldn’t trace but couldn’t ignore. Another flick of endless misery, another tick of the chess piece carved into her mind.

She thought she had obeyed. She thought she had done it all correctly. But now, standing here, she questioned it all. Had the system always been rigged? Had her calculations ever mattered?

Below, the single piece remained unchanged. Unmoving. Unmoved. Primrose decided to close her eyes.

She could feel herself slipping—not just through time, but through memory, through identity. Through every echo of who she had been. It wasn’t time travel. It was time undone.

Beyond the Threshold

Her thoughts unravelled—who was she, really, in all of this? A Validator, yes, but the lines between observer and participant were beginning to blur. As dizziness crept in everytime she tried to think, she finally stopped resisting. Maybe letting it all unfold was safer than grasping at answers that refused to reveal themselves. If she wandered deeper into the heart of this place, maybe—just maybe—she’d find a clue.

Once again, the haunting notes of the piano beckoned. Primrose followed them down the corridor, cautious yet drawn in. The melody weaved through the silence like a forgotten lullaby. But before she could take another step, the ground beneath her cracked sharply. The floor gave way, swallowing her into the void.

Surprised, she screamed before landed with a soft thud, with darkness folding over her like a blanket. Slowly, her eyes and ears adjusted—one with darkness, and one with a low mechanical hum that vibrated through the air. Upon squinting her eyes, she realised that it was a room that she fell into. The room she had entered was dim, lit only by the pale glow of monitors scattered across the walls. The bluish hue cast long shadows, flickering with each unstable current.

Among those monitors, a single computer remained logged in, its screen idle and the cursor blinking. Taped to the monitor was a worn sticky note, its ink hurried and fading:

“Digital twins are the innovation backbone of the future.”

A chill prickled her spine. The words echoed the jargon she had studied during orientation, but this—this was older, rawer, as if it were the seed of something not yet meant to bloom. Her thoughts returned to the question she had tried to suppress: Who am I, and what am I doing here?

As she continued to investigate it further, she decided to delve deeper by looking into the computer. She scanned each one, her fingers are trembling, until a particular file name on a terminal caught her eye: CSG 2023.

Clicking into it, her pulse quickened. A single corrupted document sat at the top, blinking with a red warning. When she opened it, just four words appeared on the screen—jagged, fragmented, and final:

“None of this should exist.”

Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t 2023, it is far beyond that. And if this message had been embedded in a system and still running up until now... So, how long exactly had they been hiding it?

Before she could think further, the lights from those computers flickered violently. Then came the distortion. Every screen around her hissed to life, vomiting lines of corrupted data. Her name flashed. Her face, too—distorted, warped, as if pulled from a mirror and twisted. The overhead hum rose into a metallic screech.

It was terrifying. And yet... she couldn’t look away.

But it wasn’t the noise or chaos that held her. Across the room, a figure flickered into existence. A hologram—barely stable, its form glitching in and out of recognition. At first, she thought it was a digital twin. The frame mirrored her posture. The gaze was unmistakably her own. Yet as she focused, then she realised that its features began to shift.

They weren’t all hers.

The cheekbones became sharper—then softer. The jaw flickered between versions. Eyes changed colour; the face reassembled itself every few seconds. It was her. But not entirely. Not here. Not from her very own realm. She was looking at different versions of herself—iterations that had never been recorded, never existed before.

Am I staring at who I could’ve been? Or who I still might become?

As she took a cautious step forward, trying to understand, a voice emerged from the static. Distorted but unmistakably directed at her.

“You weren’t just a member.”

“You helped build the system.”

The words struck deeper than she expected. Her breath hitched—not from fear, but recognition. Something within her stirred, like a memory half-remembered, or a truth deliberately forgotten.

Then came the unmistakable sound of chess pieces scattering, again. She can’t help but to wonder from where those sounds coming from. Suddenly, the floor trembled. Light bent sharply at the edges of the room. A heartbeat later, she was pulled backwards by an invisible force—shoved out of the collapsing chamber just before the darkness swallowed it whole.

Sprawled on the cold floor, breathless, she blinked up at the ceiling. The puzzle was only getting larger. And somewhere between the collapsing code, the melodies that guided her, and the echoes of her own identity fracturing across timelines—something was beginning to make sense.

Chess and piano.

Black and white.

Good and bad.

Life and its mirrored twin.

Into the Realm

Primrose awoke to silence, interrupted only by the distant, deliberate clicking of chess pieces. Her body lay still against the cold surface beneath her, her breath shallow as awareness slowly returned. Her head pounded, as if her mind was rebooting—slowly, painfully—bit by bit.

As the haze lifted, the environment around her began to sharpen; the familiar monochrome of the board stretching endlessly in all directions, the faint piano notes echoing beneath her with every slight movement, and shadows… shifting just beyond clarity.

Gradually, she pushed herself upright. Her eyes swept across the space, scanning with the analytical precision ingrained in her—a trait expected of a Validator. And there they were. The spectators from before—now participants, seemingly just as lost as she was. They stood scattered across the ground, their expressions clouded with uncertainty, some was frightened, others frozen mid-thought. No one moved with confidence, not even those she had assumed were more experienced.

This realisation struck her deeply; if they didn’t understand what was happening either, then whatever this realm was—it wasn’t part of the protocol. That alone made her spine stiffen with cautious dread. Still, even as the panic simmered beneath her skin, she forced herself to observe, process, and deconstruct. That was her duty, after all. She was here to validate, not to falter.

Her gaze wandered across the black and white expanse. There was no sky above them, no trace of sun or moon—only the grid-like floor stretching out into infinity, like an abandoned game still waiting to be played. The soft piano notes trailed her steps, oddly delicate, haunting in their rhythm. Her brow furrowed. Piano? she thought. It should have been a chessboard. That was what she remembered—her match, her opponent, the calculated tension of each move. Now the lines were blurring, and the pieces were gone. Wasn’t it supposed to be a chessboard?

Before she could reflect further, her thoughts were interrupted. The others—those same people—began to flicker, their bodies glitching with static overlays, like a failing signal trying to hold onto their presence. Her breath caught in her throat. A wave of awe and confusion surged in her chest. Were they digital twins all along, not the seniors she thought they were? Or… was this something entirely different? Something more?

She stepped forward cautiously, the piano notes beneath her echoing louder with each stride. It was then when she finally noticed a familiar figure among the flickering silhouettes—Prim-002. Without thinking, she lifted a hand and called out, “Hey... Prim the Second?” she asked as her voice sounded strangely distant and guarded. She stretched her arms slightly, searching for a sense of grounding in the familiar, however faint it was.

Then it came.

The voice.

Not from around her. Not from Prim-002. But from the chip embedded in her shoulder. It wasn’t a voice she recognised—not one from her briefing logs nor internal system. It was foreign. Disembodied. Mechanical. Yet it echoed with such clarity that it sliced through the melody around her like a blade.

“Were you forgetting anything?”

The suddenness of it made her flinch. Pain bloomed behind her eyes, and the World around her began to spin. Her knees buckled slightly as a swarm of half-formed memories surged forward. Her cat—soft and warm in her arms. The smile of someone who made her heart skip its beat. Long, wandering walks through foreign cities, camera in hand, chasing the perfect frame. The wind. The light. The freedom. All of it came rushing back.

But something was missing.

There was a void—a cold, hollow absence in the middle of it all. Why was she here? What had she been trying to uncover? She had come for answers, hadn’t she? For the truth behind her digital twin. For the simulation. For herself.

The voice’s question continued to echo in her mind like a broken corrupted loop: “Were you forgetting anything?”