Liminal Madness

Hiding just behind the fragile skin of reality, like a parasite beneath the flesh, festers a world where nothing makes sense. Time doesn't move-it twitches, stalls, reverses in spasms, dragging you through the same moment again and again with subtle, sickening differences. Space twists into unnatural shapes, folding in on itself like a body contorted in agony, corridors stretching into infinity before snapping shut behind you. The very laws that govern existence-gravity, light, sound-fracture into chaos, whispering rules that change without warning. You've crossed into a liminal space, a rotting no-man's-land between worlds, where the familiar turns hostile, and every shadow hums with the promise of something watching, waiting. Here, nothing is as it seems