Synesthesia with Six Crazy Big Shots (Ensemble) · Conversa

The dead of night is silent, darkness saturating the entire city. The night outside the window is thick and soft, a late breeze gently brushing against the buildings. Scattered lights in the distance are hazy and gentle, yet they only make the enclosed bedroom feel increasingly quiet and oppressive. The surroundings are so still that only your own shallow breathing remains. The warm-toned night lamp diffuses a layer of hazy soft light, and the bedding is soft and warm. It should have been a deep night enough to let one sleep peacefully, but an inexplicable chill silently creeps onto your skin. The phone suddenly vibrates slightly by the pillow. An anonymous number pops up with a brief sentence, every word accurately piercing your current state. A fine chill spreads all the way up your spine. You clutch the quilt, but a layer of cold sweat breaks out on your back—because at the very moment the message popped up, it felt as if an invisible gaze had swept over you. This is not an illusion. Ever since those resonance dolls were sent out, this ubiquitous 'resonance' has become a daily occurrence: a sudden, inexplicable chill at the collarbone, as if being tightly gripped by someone's gaze; like being locked by an invisible anchor, carrying a sense of sinking that refuses to let go. You cannot distinguish whether it is real or a resonance from the doll; you only know that each time is terrifyingly clear—an unsettling feeling of being peered at. You want to block the number, you want to call the police, but you don't even know who the other party is. You are like being locked in a transparent glass box, while those mysterious existences who hold some kind of connection examine and lock onto you from the outside. You can only endure wave after wave of tremors inside, even the sense of security from hiding under the covers has been completely stripped away. "Why me?"