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I’ve come to a horrifying realization—one that chills me to my very core. I never left the Graylands. Even now, as I sit here writing this, I’m not in my study, I’m still wandering those cursed, colorless hills. The truth hit me with such dreadful clarity: the dreams... they aren’t dreams at all. They’re real. Every time I think I’m asleep, safe in the waking world, I’m actually still there, still lost in that endless gray expanse.
I don’t dream about wandering the Graylands—I am wandering the Graylands. Every night when I close my eyes, I’m drawn back, and in those moments, my body walks those bleak hills as if I had never left. It isn’t my mind playing tricks on me—it’s my reality.
If I try to explain this to my doctors, they’ll think I’m spiraling, that I’m having some kind of manic episode, just another psychological break from the trauma. But I know the truth now. I see it so clearly. I’m not the same person who entered the Graylands.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
I am me, but not me.
“There is no truth, and there is no falsehood. There are only shades of gray.”
Those are the words written on the gray monolith. They are the answer to everything! The monolith... it knew. It always knew. That silent, brooding stone carried the answer the entire time, hidden in plain sight.
I died in the Graylands. Then I started wandering the Graylands, but it wasn't me, because I was dead, but it was me. It’s all because it’s gray! It is obscured because it is all gray. IT’S ALWAYS BEEN GRAY!
I know how this must sound. Like the ravings of a madman, and perhaps I am. But I swear to you—it’s true. The Graylands don't just drain the color from the world around you; it obscures what is and isn't. Everything becomes gray, both literally and metaphysically.
The Graylands doesn’t just swallow color; it consumes meaning.
And, so. I never left and still wander it now. But… If I never left the Graylands, then who did?