Alina Lopez -

Panic is a slow poison. It started as a prickle on her neck, then became a full-body vigilance. She began speaking aloud, narrating her actions, challenging the silence.

I’ve been here, in the ‘between,’ for over a century. I can see you, but you can’t see me—unless I choose it. I’ve watched every keeper, every visitor. Most are boring. You are not. alina lopez

The next day, she found the first letter—a piece of modern, cream-colored stationery, slipped between the brittle pages of an 1890 field journal. The handwriting was elegant, looped, and distinctly feminine. Panic is a slow poison