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The lost self
Madina Fedosova
© Madina Fedosova, 2025
ISBN 978-5-0065-6537-1
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
Annotation:
In the wake of an unspeakable loss, Eleanor Vance seeks solace at Serenity Labs – a sanctuary promising to erase pain and restore inner peace through its groundbreaking «Empathon» therapy. But behind the tranquil façade lurks a chilling truth: «Empathon» doesn’t simply heal trauma; it reprograms the mind.
As Eleanor tentatively rebuilds her life, subtle fissures begin to fracture the seemingly perfect calm. Memories erode, emotions become muted, and fellow patients undergo increasingly disturbing transformations.
Haunted by fractured glimpses of her past and driven by an enigmatic message from beyond the veil, Eleanor embarks on a desperate quest to expose the sinister secrets of Serenity Labs before her very self unravels.
Introduction:
Grief is a labyrinth, a winding maze of sorrow and despair capable of consuming the very soul. We search for an exit, a path to transcend the darkness and return to the light. But what if the road to healing leads into an even deeper darkness, a place where our very essence is at stake?
This is the story of Eleanor Vance, a woman shattered by loss who dared to believe in the promise of serenity. It is a journey into the heart of Serenity Labs, a place where the lines between therapy and manipulation blur, and the pursuit of peace demands a terrifying price.
Prepare to question everything you think you know about memory, identity, and the true meaning of control. Immerse yourself in a world where the mind is a battleground, and the greatest battles are fought not with weapons, but with whispers. Welcome to The Lost Self.
Chapter 1: Winter in Vermont
Six months have passed
Eleanor lived in Vermont, a town clinging to the rocky coast like a barnacle to a weathered ship. It was a place of stark contrasts, where the untamed power of the ocean clashed with the genteel charm of Victorian architecture, where salt-laced air carried the scent of blooming magnolias and decaying seaweed.
The town was a patchwork of neighborhoods, each with its own distinct character. There were touristy waterfront districts bustling with seafood restaurants and souvenir shops. There were historic areas with stately mansions and hushed streets. There were working-class neighborhoods where fishermen and dockworkers eked out a living, their lives governed by the tides.
Eleanor’s house was located in one of the quieter residential areas, a two-story Victorian with a wraparound porch and a sprawling garden. The house had belonged to her family for generations, a silent witness to births, deaths, and countless ordinary moments.
Outside, the house was painted a soft gray, faded by years of salt-laden winds and bright sunlight. Hanging baskets overflowing with vibrant flowers adorned the porch, their sweet fragrance mingling with the salty air. The garden was a riot of colors and textures, a sanctuary where Eleanor found solace and inspiration.
Inside, the house was filled with warmth and comfort. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the hardwood floors and antique furniture. The walls were adorned with paintings, landscapes, and portraits, each telling a story of Eleanor’s love and life.
Her kitchen always smelled of something baking. Whether it was her husband David or herself at the helm, they found joy in preparing meals for their family. The dining room was often filled with guests and laughter, a vibrancy now impossible to recreate.
Every room held a memory, a fragment of the life she had shared with David. In the living room, they had spent countless evenings curled up by the fireplace, reading books or watching movies. In the bedroom, they had whispered secrets and shared dreams. In the garden, they had planted flowers and watched them grow.
Eleanor Vance shivered and drew her wool shawl tighter around herself. The wind, a merciless icy blade, swept down from the Green Mountains of Vermont, whistling around her isolated cabin like a grieving spirit. Winter had descended upon the state with redoubled force, painting the landscape in shades of white and gray, mirroring the desolation in her heart.
Six months had passed since David was gone. Six months since her life had shattered, leaving her adrift in a sea of grief and unanswered questions. Six months since her husband, David Vance, a brilliant astrophysicist with a passionate love for the cosmos, had vanished without a trace.
Before the kayaking accident, before the emptiness that now haunted Vermont, there was David. David Vance, astrophysicist, dreamer, and the unwavering center of Eleanor’s universe. He radiated enthusiasm for the cosmos, a childlike wonder he effortlessly shared with everyone he met. From a young age, he had been captivated by the stars, spending hours gazing at the night sky, charting constellations, and dreaming of distant worlds. He earned advanced degrees and became a world-renowned expert. David dedicated fifteen years to the Vermont Observatory, dedicating his life to unraveling the mysteries of the universe. His office, always overflowing with scientific papers and astronomical charts, was a reflection of his brilliant, chaotic mind. But Eleanor loved him not just for his intellect, but for his heart. He laughed with a booming resonance that filled any room. He saw beauty in everything and made everyone feel valued. David was more than just a husband; he was her best friend, her confidant, her soulmate. His absence left a void in her life that seemed impossible to fill, a black hole threatening to consume her whole.
The official story, whispered in hushed tones by the people of Vermont, was that David had perished in a tragic kayaking accident on Lake Champlain.
He had always been drawn to the serene beauty of the lake, especially at dawn when the first rays of sunlight kissed the surface, painting it in hues of gold and rose. It had become a ritual for him, a meditative retreat before plunging into the complex questions of astrophysics.
One clear morning, when the sky promised a cloudless day, he set out in his kayak, eager to witness the sunrise over the Adirondack Mountains. That day, the lake was deceptively calm, concealing the threat of a sudden storm. Locals knew that Lake Champlain could be a fickle mistress.
An unexpected local squall, known to appear and vanish in a matter of minutes, swept across the lake. The sudden, fierce wind combined with torrential rain would have transformed the tranquil surface into a churning chaos.
Weeks later, his kayak was found overturned and drifting aimlessly on the waves. Authorities launched a massive search, scouring the shoreline and probing the depths of the lake. Helicopters circled overhead, scanning for any sign of David, but their efforts proved futile. All that remained was an overturned kayak, a grim testament to the lake’s capricious nature, and a growing unease in Eleanor’s heart that the story she had been told didn’t quite add up.
Eleanor couldn’t shake the image forming in her mind. David was an experienced kayaker, a meticulous planner. He wouldn’t have set out if the weather had been even remotely treacherous. Moreover, there were whispers, inconsistencies in the official account, small details that didn’t quite fit, all fueling her own disquiet.
She gazed around the cabin, a testament to their shared love for nature’s untamed beauty, built by their own hands, board by board. It was more than just a structure; it was a tangible embodiment of their dreams, a sanctuary fashioned from warm wood and rough-hewn stone. The cabin was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. The large stone fireplace, constructed from stones gathered in the surrounding forest, still carried a faint scent of pine and woodsmoke – a reminder of the countless evenings they had spent huddled together by its warmth, sharing stories and dreams beneath the watchful gaze of the stars. Wide, panoramic windows offered a breathtaking view of the surrounding wilderness – towering pines, moss-covered crags, and the shimmering