[center][h1][color=9b59b6]𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐒 | Κάθαρσις[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=808080]━━━━━━ ◈ ━━━━━━[/color][/center]

[color=808080]Between one breath and the next, the world became somewhere else.

You don't know this place. But somehow, you do. The feeling sits wrong in your chest—unfamiliar and familiar at once.

Details refuse to hold still. A doorway becomes an archway becomes a curtain of light. The floor is wood-then-tile-then-something that gives slightly under your feet. You catch a scent—smoke? incense? coffee?—but it's gone before you can name it. Sound washes over you in waves that don't match: laughter and static and the scrape of a chair and silence, all layered wrong, like a dream that can't keep its own story straight.

There are figures scattered throughout the space.
But one figure remains constant. Real in a way nothing else here is.
You find yourself moving toward them without deciding to.

They look up as you approach—or maybe they were already watching. A nod. When they speak, their voice cuts through all the noise: [i]"Welcome to Catharsis."[/i]

It lands like a key turning in a lock.

The walls stop shifting. The light decides what it is. The sound resolves into something you can finally hear. The space exhales and settles into a concrete shape.

The Keeper—that's what they called themselves—gestures to the room. [i]"Please, take any seat."[/i][/color]