He remembers little from that time—his past blurred and faded, like a painting left too long in the sun.
Only one thing refuses to let go: the music. It surfaces again and again, stripped of its meaning yet impossible to silence. The more it echoes in his mind, the more unsettled he becomes. What if his thoughts are not harmless? What if they give birth to something else entirely?
In folklore, they whisper of the Eggrégore—entities born from human obsession, conjured by thought alone. As memory slips further from his grasp, he fears that forgetting may not protect him.
