Novel & Cerita Illusion A Novel

Problematic stopped me, but soon lifted my head when I didn't get her reply, only to find that it was just a mere hallucination. Yes, an illusion. Sometimes I get illusions, as the physician said it's all because of my hectic schedule, but the truth is something else. It's because of Nova, my ex-girlfriend, and I am confident that I imagined her stopping me from enjoying the wine and trying to seduce me. But let's not think about her for a while, as I am already trying to distract myself from some bitter memories of my mother. Thinking this, I stood up and moved towards the gallery, sipping wine and looking outside, but soon came back as there was nothing I could enjoy, even for a few second

👁️✨ The future Ilyaan looked exhausted. Broken. Alone. 💔 And standing behind him… Were shadows. Thousands of shadows. Watching. Waiting. Following him. 🌑 The future Ilyaan whispered— “I couldn’t stop it.” 😱 Then the vision shattered. 💥 ⸻ 🌙 Back In The Room Ilyaan collapsed to his knees. Sweat covered his forehead. His breathing was uneven. 😨 “What was that?” Aariz looked away. As though the memory hurt him too.

“If it is her, then I am damned. Because she deserves more than this curse, more than me.” He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Or perhaps you are what she deserves most. Perhaps you are what she has been waiting for, too.” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because the more I thought of her, the more I feared he might be right. And yet, somewhere deep down, another fear took root: that I was already too late. That night, as I finally tried to rest, a vision struck me—a flash of Ava’s eyes, filled not with warmth but suspicion. Her voice echoed in my mind: Who are you really, Diego?

I pressed my palms into my eyes for a moment, trying to block out the chaos, trying to ground myself, but it was everywhere, inescapable, relentless. And then it began, the flickering. My surroundings became unsteady, jumping between existence and void, light and darkness, reality and corruption. The world around me was nothing more than fractured code, a reflection of Dream’s impossible wish and my own uncertainty. And I couldn’t choose. Because how could I? How could I choose between reality and illusion, love and existence, between the man who had willed me into life and the life I thought I had lived?

The melodic hum was no longer in his ears; now he felt the heavy silence of death approaching him. Then, suddenly, a blinding flare of light burst out of the inner chamber, illuminating the whole corridor momentarily in an harsh, violet glow. Then came a tremendous, silent psychic shock, a pure, appalling image and emotion that struck his waning consciousness. It was Glamour. Illusory Control.

A shockwave of violet and crimson light threw them all backward. ​The Emotional Partition: The Guilt of the Protagonist ​Nora scrambled to her feet, her midnight velvet dress now tattered, the hem turning into a string of "Lorem Ipsum" text. She looked at the army of the Forgotten. She saw a man in a waiter’s uniform whose face was a blank slate—the man Julian had fired in Chapter 4 just to show his power. She saw a woman in a lab coat—the doctor from the Asylum who had been "Deleted" when the genre shifted to Sci-Fi.

Even now. I set the mug down and leaned against the railing of the stairs, silent, watching. I let her take the stairwell, the corridors, the hallway—the little triumph of movement. She believes she is unseen, untouchable. I let her feel that illusion. It sharpens the mind. It honed instinct. And yet, she’s not prepared. The thrill of control—that illusion—is hers for now. But she’ll realise soon enough that the world doesn’t give her freedom the way she thinks. I won’t allow it. Not entirely. Not yet.

I continued to stray aimlessly while making a valiant effort to cling to the bliss that was eluding me. I was walking through a thick fog when the dream abruptly ended. A sharp cry startled me out of my sleep. I turned to see Nicholas running out of the bedroom. It was Ashley, who had had an allergic reaction to pollen. I had forgotten to remove the roses I bought two days ago from the nursery room, and now she was suffering because of my mistake. When Nicholas carried Ashley on his back toward the elevator, I caught a glimpse of his face through the closing doors. His lips were parted slightly, and his brow furrowed in deep concern.

But when the column of light fell upon Alia, she did not collapse, nor did she so much as cry out in pain. Instead— It was as if the air itself were gently parted by an invisible hand. A ring of translucent ripples spread outward from Alia’s feet, slow and silent, like a drop of water disturbing a still lake. And then, all at once, everyone’s pupils constricted. Because memories appeared. Not inside Alia’s mind— but projected into reality itself, unfolding like a vivid, silent illusion across the air.

The room still felt wrong. Even though the illusion had shattered, the weight of it lingered. The air was too thick, pressing against Isla’s skin like invisible hands trying to pull her back under. The scent of lavender was gone, replaced by something old and damp, but she could still taste it at the back of her throat. She had fallen to the floor when the illusion broke, her body shaking with the force of it. Now she was still, her breathing ragged but slowing, her hands splayed against the cold wooden floor.