The door swung shut behind Eren with a finality that made his skin crawl. Kiran's chamber unfolded before him—a space that defied conventional understanding of architecture and sanity alike.
The walls seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting in subtle, nauseating rhythms. From the ceiling hung countless small objects swaying in an impossible breeze—teeth, finger bones, locks of hair, tiny bells, feathers, and dried flowers all suspended on threads so fine they were nearly invisible. They created a macabre mobile that turned and shifted with air currents that shouldn't exist in an enclosed stone chamber.
The floor was a mosaic of broken mirrors, each shard reflecting something different—some showing Eren's reflection, others empty corridors, still others displaying scenes of violence and suffering that he instinctively knew were memories of past atrocities. Walking across it required careful attention to avoid the sharp edges that protruded at random intervals.
