Hallucinating
Fredrick's house had become a prison for Margaret. She paced the halls, her mind a swirling vortex of paranoia and fear. Her husband's downfall had shattered her carefully constructed world, and now, the walls seemed to close in around her.
Margaret clutched at her temples, her eyes darting around the dimly lit corridor. The whispers were growing louder, more insistent, echoing off the marble floors and ornate walls. She could hear her name being called, a ghostly chant that chilled her to the bone.
"Margaret..."
She spun around, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Who's there?" she demanded, her voice trembling. The hallway was empty, but the whispers persisted, growing louder, more distinct.
"Margaret..."
She stumbled backwards, her eyes wide with terror. "No... no, this isn't real," she muttered, trying to convince herself. But the whispers were relentless, weaving through her mind like a dark, insidious fog.
"Margaret, you can't escape..."