Eddie leaned against the wooden railing of the porch, his posture as easygoing as ever, but his mind was far from relaxed. The faint hum of voices and laughter drifted from the house behind him, muffled by the closed windows and walls.

It was one of those moments when the world seemed to fall into a pause, the night still and heavy, the silence pressing against his thoughts like a weight. He tilted his head back slightly, letting the silver glow of the moon in the sky reflect in his eyes as he pulled a slow drag from his cigarette.

The creak of the screen door interrupted his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder just as Dustin stepped out onto the porch. The younger man hesitated, standing in the doorway for a moment before making his way over to Eddie. His steps were measured, his face caught somewhere between determination and nervous energy.

"Can I bum one?" Dustin asked, his voice low but steady.

Eddie arched an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. Without a word, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes. He shook it gently, one stick poking out far enough for Dustin to grab.

"Alright," Eddie said, the single word carrying that signature nonchalance as he flicked his lighter open. He leaned in, shielding the flame from the breeze with one hand as Dustin awkwardly brought the cigarette to his lips.

The younger man took his first tentative drag, and immediately, his lungs rebelled. He coughed violently, doubling over as if the smoke itself was trying to claw its way back out of him. Eddie leaned back, exhaling a plume of smoke as he chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Just promise me," Eddie said, his tone laced with mock seriousness, "if you make this a habit, you won't tell Susie I gave it to you. If Ursula is this terrifying, I can just imagine how terrifying her mother would be. I'm pretty sure your girl would eviscerate me."

Dustin straightened up, his face red from coughing but now split by a wide grin. He recovered quickly, a glint of humor sparking in his eyes.

"Yeah, she'd definitely take you out," Dustin said, his voice still rough as he wiped at his mouth. "And then probably give a dissertation on why you deserved it."

Eddie snorted, taking another drag from his cigarette and exhaling slowly as his gaze drifted back to the horizon. "Yeah, no doubt," he said, shaking his head with a wry smile.

Dustin watched as Eddie flicked the ash from his cigarette, the glowing ember spiraling into the dark below the porch. He tried to mimic the motion, flicking his own cigarette with much less grace, and muttered under his breath, "How do you make that look so cool?"

Eddie glanced at him, smirking again as he deliberately flicked his cigarette a second time, this time with exaggerated flair. "Years of practice, dude. You'll get there. Just… not too much practice, or Susie's gonna bury us both."

Dustin let out a soft laugh, taking another drag despite the lingering sting in his throat. For a brief moment, the weight of tomorrow felt just a little bit lighter as the two men stood side by side, their cigarette embers glowing faintly against the encroaching night.

The weight of tomorrow seemed to settle over them like the night itself, heavy and unrelenting. Dustin shifted, his earlier nervous energy now giving way to something heavier. He took another drag from his cigarette, coughing less this time, though his inexperience was still evident. The ember glowed faintly in the dark as he looked at Eddie.

"You know," Dustin said quietly, his voice steady but low, "this whole plan tomorrow? She's not gonna let it be about her. She'll make it about Max, and you…"

Eddie's smirk faltered, his usual playful energy fading into something somber. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon, smoke curling around him. "Yeah," he said, his tone subdued but resolute. "That's her mission. Her prime directive. No matter what it costs her, Max gets out alive."

Dustin inhaled deeply, holding the smoke longer this time before exhaling shakily. His voice wavered slightly as he pressed on. "And you. But you know what that means, Eddie. She'll sacrifice herself if she has to. She'll do it without even thinking."

The words hung in the air like a guillotine waiting to drop. Eddie's jaw tightened, his grip on the cigarette stiffening as if he could crush it in his fingers. His voice, when it came, was low and fierce, each word a quiet declaration of war. "Not a chance," he said, shaking his head. "She's not gonna get the chance. I don't give a shit what it takes—we're pulling her out before she can do something that stupid."

Dustin exhaled, the sound trembling with the weight of his unspoken fears. "Even if it means one of us has to…"

Eddie didn't hesitate. "Yeah," he said firmly, turning to meet Dustin's gaze. His expression was hard, unyielding, but his eyes carried an honesty that softened the words. "Even if it means one of us. But she's getting out. Alive. You hear me? No matter what happens to us."

Dustin nodded, his resolve hardening in the face of Eddie's conviction. "She will," he said, his voice firmer now. "No matter what."

A silence settled between them, but it wasn't awkward. It was the kind of silence born of understanding, of shared purpose. The distant sounds of laughter and conversation from inside the cabin were muffled, faint reminders of the world they were fighting to save.

Eddie watched as Dustin took another drag from his cigarette. This time, the motion was smoother, less awkward, though he still coughed at the end. Eddie smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "You're getting the hang of it," he said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing.

Dustin managed a lopsided grin, flicking ash from the end of his cigarette with an attempt at nonchalance. The ember spiraled out into the darkness, fading before it hit the ground. For a moment, the gravity of the conversation seemed to lift, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.

"You know, Eddie…" Dustin broke the silence, his voice softer now, carrying a sincerity that cut through the night. "She's lucky to have you."

Eddie glanced at him, shaking his head as he flicked his own cigarette. "Nah, man," he said with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "We're the lucky ones."

The muffled laughter inside grew louder for a moment before fading again, a reminder that the world hadn't stopped for their conversation. Dustin flicked his cigarette again, this time nailing the motion with an ease that brought a satisfied grin to his face. Eddie crushed his beneath his sneaker, smirking as he extinguished the glowing ember.

Dustin hesitated before speaking again, his tone quiet but free of teasing. "You really love her, huh? Like, already?"

Eddie glanced at him, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips. He took a long drag from his cigarette before answering, his voice soft but certain. "Yeah," he said simply.

Then, true to form, he couldn't help but expand. "I love her like… like she's the song I've been trying to write my whole life, y'know? Like every riff, every lyric, every goddamn note has just been leading up to her."

Dustin exhales a short laugh, though the sound is brittle, lacking the usual spark of his humor. His eyes betray a flicker of sadness that Eddie doesn't miss. He stares down at the glowing ember of his cigarette, as he finally speaks.

"I love her too," he says, his voice softer than usual, like he's trying not to shatter under the weight of the words. "I just… I just wish she'd open up to me the way she has with you and Max. I mean, I'm her dad—" His voice catches, the admission hanging awkwardly in the air before he looks away, swallowing hard. "Or I'm supposed to be."

The porch falls silent, save for the faint rustling of leaves stirred by the night breeze. Eddie doesn't press him, doesn't fill the space with unnecessary noise. He simply waits, letting Dustin's thoughts take shape.

Dustin lifts his gaze, his expression raw, vulnerable in a way Eddie's never seen before. "What if I wasn't a good dad?" he asks, his words tumbling out in a rush, thick with guilt. "Look what happened to my fucking family, dude. I mean… I let all this happen to her when she was just a baby. And then… she gets trapped down there and hurt over and over, and I just—what? I just let it happen? Why wasn't I in the Upside Down looking for her? How could I have agreed to let her come here?"

He shakes his head in frustration, flicking his cigarette with a force that sends the ash spiraling into the darkness. Then, with a resigned sigh, he reaches for Eddie's pack again, pulling out another cigarette. This time, when he lights it, his movements are steady, practiced. The way he smokes—smooth, measured, deliberate—is a glimpse of the man Ursula remembers.

His voice drops lower, roughened by regret and something deeper. "And Susie…" He pauses, inhaling deeply before continuing. "If I'd been the husband she needed, maybe she wouldn't have…" His voice trails off, but Eddie doesn't need him to finish.

Eddie leans forward, his voice steady and grounded. "Dude, we don't know the whole story," he says gently, cutting through the weight of Dustin's self-recrimination. "That freak file? It's just a tiny glimpse into three people's entire lives. There's more to it, man. A lot more."

He takes a slow drag from his own cigarette, the smoke curling around him as he exhales. "But I'll tell you what I do know: you're one of the best people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, Henderson. Whatever happened in that timeline, I know in my gut that you did what you thought was the right thing. Every step of the way."

Eddie's gaze shifts to the horizon, his voice turning thoughtful as he continues. "This shit's so much bigger than we ever thought. But here's the thing—tomorrow, we get it right. We stop this whole fucking mess before it even starts."

Dustin exhales shakily, the cigarette trembling slightly between his fingers. "I guess if we do that, it's a future that'll never happen," he murmurs. "She'll still have her memories, but… it won't be our reality anymore."

Eddie nods slowly. "Exactly. It won't change what she's been through, but it'll mean everything to her that the people she loves—her family, her friends—they get a shot at something better. That future? The one where you think you failed her? It'll be erased, man. And she'll know it."

For the first time that night, Dustin's shoulders relax, the tension easing slightly. The guilt weighing on him doesn't disappear entirely, but it ebbs, just enough to let him breathe a little easier. "Yeah," he murmurs. "I think… I think that'll mean a lot to her."

Eddie smiles faintly, clapping Dustin on the shoulder. "You're a good dude, Henderson. You always have been."

They fall into a companionable silence, the kind that only comes when every necessary word has already been said. Their cigarettes burn down to ash, the glowing embers flickering against the night like tiny, defiant stars.

Eddie leaned back against the railing, cigarette dangling between his fingers as he watched Dustin fumble to mimic his flicking motion. The ember of Dustin's cigarette arced into the night, landing in the dirt with a faint hiss. He followed it with his eyes before turning back to Eddie, his expression somewhere between nonchalance and curiosity.

"Hey, have you finished listening to the Wench album yet?" Dustin asked, his voice cutting through the quiet of the night.

Eddie smirked, taking a drag of his newly lit cigarette before replying, "Nah. I've been letting each song marinate. You don't rush art like that, Henderson. You savor it."

Dustin's gaze drifted up to the moon, its glow casting faint shadows on the porch. His voice softened, almost reluctant. "You should finish it," he said, pulling an Iphone from his pocket and setting it gently on the railing. "The last song… it's different."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering. "Different how?"

Dustin shrugged, shoving a hand into his pocket. "I don't know how to explain it. It's not like the others. I don't think it's actually part of the Album. She sounds… older in it. It kind of freaked me out. The song, I mean. It's… it's like a prophecy or something."

A slow plume of smoke escaped Eddie's lips as he considered Dustin's words. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, letting the weight of the moment sink in. "A prophecy, huh?" he murmured.

His thoughts flickered to Ursula, her cryptic words ringing in his memory. She'd warned him before, told him that her music wasn't always just music—it was storytelling, sometimes more. Messages. Warnings. The weight of it pressed against his chest, a chill running down his spine despite the heat from his cigarette.

Dustin, watching Eddie carefully, reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a pair of AirPods. He handed one to Eddie while slipping the other into his own ear. "You'll see what I mean," he said, tapping the phone. "Just play it."

Eddie stilled, his gaze shifting to the Iphone resting on the railing. The screen displayed the track listing, and his eyes locked on the final song: Life's Vortex.

He stubbed out his cigarette, the ember snuffed beneath his boot, lit annother and exchanged a glance with Dustin. His hand hovered over the phone as he muttered, "Alright, Henderson. Let's see what kind of mindfuck she left us."

With a press of his finger, the song began.

The first notes pierced the stillness, shattering the quiet like the opening salvo of a storm. A massive orchestral overture unfurled with stunning complexity, the violins and cellos weaving a chaotic yet deliberate melody. Each string seemed to clash and resolve in a violent dance, as though the instruments themselves were waging a battle of sound.

The sound grew, a tidal wave of orchestration that surged forward, filling every inch of space around them. Eddie's hand froze midway to his lips, the cigarette forgotten as the music crashed into him like a physical force.

And then it fell away.

The cacophony retreated abruptly, leaving behind a single, steady bassline—a faint thrum that pulsed like a heartbeat, low and foreboding. It echoed into the quiet like the distant rumble of thunder after the storm has passed, drawing the two men into its orbit.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound. His wide eyes reflected the moonlight as the music settled into its subdued phase.

Dustin sat motionless beside him, the glow of his cigarette an ember against the dark. The faint percussion began to layer over the bassline, each tap a ghostly rhythm that built unease. An eerie synth line slithered in, weaving through the bass and percussion with an alien, almost otherworldly tone.

Then her voice.

Ursula's voice emerged like a lifeline from the dark, delicate but brimming with raw power. It wasn't just a voice—it was an unmasking, a vulnerability laid bare in sound. Each word carried a haunting strength, the quiet intimacy of a confession.

"My mind is under an attack, although no one sees."

The line hung in the air, a thread of emotion so sharp it felt like a knife slicing through the tension. Eddie leaned forward, his cigarette lowering as though the sound had physically pulled him closer.

Dustin's breath hitched as the next lyric followed:

"My past is pounding in the back… of my memories…"

The words rippled between them, filling the porch with an almost unbearable weight. Dustin shivered, though the air was still warm.

"It's always there to poison my mind. With all I do."

The line landed heavily, resonating with a kind of dark finality. Dustin broke the silence, his voice low and thick with emotion.

"It's like she's fighting herself," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the porch.

Eddie nodded grimly, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. It's 'cause she is."

As the next lyric played, Ursula's voice trembled slightly but didn't falter, pushing through a tide of vulnerability:

"Feelings I know so well, seem to come back. As if nothings ever changed."

Eddie exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It's like she's stuck there. Like no matter what she does, it keeps pulling her back."

The bassline pulsed on, relentless in its steady beat, now joined by faint percussion and a whisper of eerie synth. The tension in the music mirrored the battle her lyrics described, a haunting unease settling over them like a mist.

A lone guitar entered the arrangement. Its acoustic notes twisted and bent, soft yet unsettling, as if the strings themselves were whispering secrets to the night. The melody wove through the ominous rhythm, adding another layer of complexity.

From the depths of the track rose a crystalline vocalization—high and ethereal, shimmering like sunlight refracting through ice. The sound seemed to hover in the air around them, untouchable yet piercing, like a ghost brushing against the edges of reality.

Dustin took a slow drag from his cigarette, staring down at it for a moment like it held some kind of secret. "How the hell does she sound like that," he muttered, his voice tinged with awe. "She smokes like a chimney, and she's still… Jesus, it's like she's part angel or something."

Eddie didn't reply. His gaze was fixed on the horizon, his thoughts swirling as the bassline carried them deeper into the song.

The air on the porch felt dense, almost suffocating, as the song pushed forward into its second verse. Ursula's voice cut through the stillness like a blade, stronger this time, powerful and resolute, carrying an undercurrent of defiance.

"FEAR… was one of the reasons to crawl away…"

Eddie froze, his cigarette halfway to his lips, as the words landed with a weight that made his chest feel tight. He thought of the word FEAR tattooed across her knuckles. There was something unrelenting in her tone—a refusal to let the fear own her, even as it shaped her.

"…into a world I lost…"

Dustin's eyes remained fixed on the dark yard beyond the porch, his voice quiet but firm. "That's about the Upside Down," he muttered. "Makes sense. She was alone in that hellhole."

The next line came, clear yet heavy with the strain of hard-earned wisdom:

"I know the rules, I play the game…"

Eddie's voice was low, a touch reverent. "She figured out how to survive," he said. "She had to."

The song's mood shifted again, the melody twisting into something darker, more desperate.

"But somehow it always stays the same…"

Her voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into the words, the strength she had projected moments ago giving way to an unraveling terror. It wasn't just a song anymore; it was an outpouring, a window into a mind haunted by horrors most people couldn't fathom.

"In spite of my will, in spite of my hope, in spite of it all…"

Ursula's voice trembled, carrying the weight of desperation and fear, but still refusing to break entirely. The instruments swelled behind her, building to something massive. Strings and brass intertwined in a crescendo so powerful it felt like the atmosphere itself was vibrating, priming the listeners for a revelation they couldn't escape.

Eddie exhaled smoke slowly, his gaze distant, fixed on the horizon as if trying to steady himself for the storm brewing in the song.

"This is it," he murmured, his voice a mixture of dread and anticipation. "The chorus is coming."

The music roared with unrelenting intensity, every instrument crashing into the next, building and layering until it was almost suffocating. The sound was alive, purposeful, and it seemed to twist around Eddie and Dustin, forcing them to confront every note, every word.

Then, cutting through the storm of sound like a blade, came Ursula's voice. It was clear, commanding, filled with a conviction that demanded attention.

"So for those who believe in this life…"

Dustin leaned forward, his cigarette forgotten for the moment. The ember briefly illuminated his face, revealing a mix of awe and unease. "She's talking to us, isn't she?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the music. "Like… us specifically."

Eddie didn't respond right away, his eyes narrowing as the next line hit.

"Spin right on the circle (circle, circle) must be round…"

Ursula's tone shifted, urgency threading through every word. The repetition of "circle" echoed in the music, layered with a hypnotic effect that made it impossible to ignore.

Eddie tilted his head, his brow furrowed as though trying to physically align himself with the meaning. "Spin right on the circle?" he repeated under his breath. "That's not just metaphorical, is it? What circle?"

"Round…Round… Round…"

The repeated "Round… Round…" came like a mantra, each iteration laced with an eerie persistence that felt like a command buried within the melody.

Dustin shuddered, gripping the edge of the porch railing. "Why does that feel… off?" he whispered, his voice tinged with unease. "Like it's not just a shape—like it's something we're supposed to do."

Eddie's cigarette hovered near his lips, his eyes dark with thought. "Because it is," he muttered grimly. "Something's coming. Something cyclical."

The music darkened, the strings and brass shifting into a deeper, more menacing tone as Ursula's voice followed suit. Her words dropped like a warning, heavy and ominous.

"Every turn has its vortex…"

Dustin flinched, his grip tightening on the railing as though bracing himself against the weight of the words. "Vortex… like a portal," he said, his voice trembling. "She's talking about the portals, Eddie."

The violins wove through the melody with a mournful edge, their notes underscoring the next line with a haunting loneliness.

"You'll drown if nobody warns you…"

Eddie froze mid-motion, his cigarette paused halfway to his lips. The words hit like a gut punch, the weight of them sinking into his chest. "Wait…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Did she say warns you?"

His gaze snapped to Dustin, whose wide-eyed look mirrored his own dawning realization. They didn't need to speak it aloud; the meaning settled between them like an unspoken truth.

Ursula's voice rose again, trembling with raw emotion as she delivered the final line of the verse.

"And shows you. Another circle of life."

Her voice cracked on the word "life," a fracture of vulnerability that lingered in the air, refusing to be dismissed. It wasn't just a lyric—it was a plea, a desperate attempt to make them understand.

Neither of them moved, the melody swirling around them like a tide, dragging them deeper into its undertow. The music wasn't just something to hear; it was something to feel. And it was working.

The music explodes into chaos, Ursula's voice breaking into a desperate, trembling tone. Her delivery shifts between pleading and defiant, the violins scraping in sharp, frantic bursts like a cry for help.

"Nothing will change,"

Ursula's voice trembles, raw and exposed.

"Nothing is done."

Dustin stiffens, barely managing to whisper, "Jesus Christ."

"For the victim I am, forced to remain,"

Her voice cracks under the weight of the words, the violins climbing in a dissonant spiral.

"She's breaking," Eddie mutters. "She's… losing it."

The choir joins in, their voices swelling to echo her pain, crashing over the soundscape like a relentless wave.

"Cause these days make you feel, and you are, on your own,"

Then choir and Ursula's voice blend into a horrifying, overwhelming cacophony.

Dustin flinches as the violins scream, gripping his knees. "It's like a panic attack," he gasps, his voice strained.

Then the guitar solo explodes—a manic, unrelenting burst of sound that feels like a scream in musical form. Each note is rapid, sharp, and chaotic, shredding through the night with a raw energy that feels desperate, defiant. The guitar wails, its voice frantic, clashing with Ursula's piercing violin in a frenetic, almost violent dance. Together, they create a dissonance that perfectly embodies the chaos of her memories, the battle raging within her mind.

"That's not a solo," Eddie says, his eyes narrowing as he listens, his expression hardening. "That's a fight."

Dustin swallows hard, his gaze fixed on the Iphone as though the music itself might shatter it.

The solo reaches a breaking point, abruptly giving way to a haunting orchestral section. Deep, resonant pipe organs dominate the soundscape, their notes slow and deliberate, each one slightly off-kilter, as though the music itself is warped. Tubular bells chime sporadically, their metallic notes ringing out like the toll of a funeral bell. The atmosphere is oppressive, as though the song is dragging the listener into an abyss.

The air around them seems to shift, growing heavier, colder. Even the warm glow of Eddie's forgotten cigarette feels dimmed by the suffocating weight of the sound.

"It's like… it's alive," Eddie whispers, his voice barely audible. "Like she's built this… monster out of sound."

Dustin rubs his arms, the hair standing on end as he shivers against the weight of the music. "I don't even want to know what kind of headspace she was in when she wrote this," he says, his tone low, almost reverent.

The organ deepens, its resonance like the pounding footsteps of some ancient, titanic beast. Slow and deliberate, the notes seem to shake the foundation of reality, sending vibrations that Eddie swears he can feel in his chest. The tubular bells chime sporadically, their dissonant tones sharp and intrusive, each ring feeling like the toll of some inevitable doom. Beneath it all, the drums strike slow, deliberate blows—a heartbeat on the verge of collapse, dragging the listener closer to despair with each pulse.

"This… this isn't just a song." He shakes his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "This is the Upside Down. This is what it's like over there. She made it into music."

Dustin rubs his arms, the goosebumps rising like the tide on his skin. His voice shakes, barely managing to cut through the symphony's unrelenting assault.

The tension in the music swells, a relentless climb toward something unbearable. The strings claw higher, the organ descends deeper, and the tubular bells echo like screams trapped in an endless void. Every instrument seems to fight for dominance, creating a storm of sound so chaotic it becomes hypnotic, drawing the listener in even as it threatens to overwhelm them.

And then, cutting through the madness, come the choir's words.

"Disce… Laboriose Age… Uxor Duc… Procrea…"

The Latin does nothing to soften the blow; if anything, its unfamiliarity makes it hit harder, like a universal command echoing through time and space. Ursula's voice joins the choir, their harmonies sharp and biting, slicing through the chaos like blades. The arrangement strips away any sense of comfort, leaving only stark, unrelenting truth in its wake. Each syllable lands with the weight of a curse, the words not so much sung as they are declared, resonating with a cruel finality.

Eddie's cigarette trembles in his hand, his breath curling out in a slow, uneven plume of smoke.

"This is some real 'deal with the devil' shit," he mutters, shaking his head.

Dustin shifts uneasily, his hands clutching the edges of his jacket as though it might shield him from the sound.

"It doesn't even sound like her anymore," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds… wrong."

"And become the perfect model.."

The next line drops like a hammer:

"Can you stand the test of time…"

A foreboding bassline begins to thrum, low and deliberate, its tone eerily reminiscent of the Phantom of the Opera's infamous organ. It anchors the chaos, pulling the listener deeper into its grasp. Each note reverberates through the air, dark and deliberate, sending shivers down their spines.

"If life is a vicious circle..."

Eddie's hand falls to his side, the cigarette forgotten as he leans forward, his voice a hushed murmur.

"God, listen to that," he says, his words heavy with awe and dread. "It's like hell's symphony."

"Without the mirror of..."

The words hang in the air like a final, damning judgment as the music reaches its peak. The choir's harmonies rise to a terrifying crescendo, clashing and resolving in a violent, beautiful cacophony that leaves the air heavy and oppressive.

"Another path…"

Dustin and Eddie sit in stunned silence as the weight of the interlude presses down on them, an almost physical force that leaves them breathless. And then, just as abruptly as it began, the storm shifts. The interlude collapses into itself, leaving space for the song to pivot sharply. The haunting melody from before returns, now laden with the weight of the chaos that preceded it, echoing the raw intensity of the moment.

The chorus crashes back in, its explosive force like a release of immense pressure. It hits them like a tidal wave, pulling them back into the rhythm of the song with a ferocity that refuses to let go.

The song plunges into its final stretch, and Ursula's voice crashes back into the chaos, cutting through the madness like a desperate cry in the void.

Her delivery is raw, trembling with emotion, yet unwavering in its intensity. Each syllable feels like a lifeline thrown into the storm, a plea not just to be heard but to be understood.

"So for those who believe in this life,"

Her voice surges, each word soaked in urgency. It's more than a lyric; it's a cry of anguish wrapped in determination, an unspoken demand to pay attention.

Eddie leans forward, his cigarette hanging forgotten between his fingers. His eyes narrow, his breath catching in his chest. "She's begging us to hear her."

"Spin right on the circle, circle, circle,"

The phrase spins like a mantra, reverberating with hypnotic intensity. The choir swells behind her, amplifying the urgency of the words, their harmonies blending into a haunting tapestry of sound.

Dustin swallows hard, his throat dry. His voice is barely audible. "Spin right? What does that even mean?"

"Must be round, round, round,"

On the final "round," Ursula's voice cracks, a jagged edge of desperation slicing through the air. It's a moment of vulnerability, the sound of a soul pushed to its breaking point but refusing to shatter.

Eddie mutters, his voice low and uncertain, "She's trying to tell us something… but it's like a riddle."

"Every turn has its vortex,"

The violins rise here, a sharp, chaotic swell that mimics the chaos of her words. The sound grates against the senses, pulling the listener into the same suffocating spiral.

Dustin grips the porch railing, his knuckles white. His voice trembles as he whispers, "This is the warning, isn't it?"

"You're bound… if nobody warns you,"

The line lands like a physical blow. Ursula's voice is frayed, raw with emotion, and yet it rises defiantly against the onslaught of sound.

Eddie turns to Dustin, his eyes wide and haunted.

"That's what this is. The warning," he says, his voice hoarse.

"And shows you. Another circle of life,"

The choir reaches a climactic swell, their harmonies clashing like waves of tension breaking against a jagged shore. Ursula's voice pierces through, rising above the chaos, commanding attention with an almost painful clarity.

"So for those.."

Her voice cracked entirely, trembling with raw emotion, as though she was on the verge of tears. Every word felt heavier than the last, her delivery urgent and pleading, a cry for understanding that clawed at the listener's chest.

"Who believe in this life…"

Eddie exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching around his cigarette. "She repeated it," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "She never repeats anything like this in her songs unless she's trying to hammer it in."

"Spin right on the circle..."

Dustin nodded, his voice low and filled with a quiet realization. "So we don't forget," he whispered.

"Circle, circle, circle…"

The words echoed with haunting precision, her violin weaving a mournful countermelody beneath her voice. Each repetition was sharper, more deliberate, as if she was pounding the phrase into their minds.

"Must be round, round, round…"

She punctuated each "round" with a strained clarity, her voice trembling but resolute. The emotion in her delivery was almost too much, the edges of her words fraying as if her heart was unraveling with every syllable.

"She's crying," Dustin murmured, his throat tight. "She's definitely crying while she's singing."

"Every turn has its vortex, you'll drown…"

Her voice broke on the word "drown," cracking into something raw and fragile. The word hung in the air, resonating like the ripples of a stone cast into still water.

Eddie's breath hitched, his mind flashing back to an earlier track on the album, the one where she sang, "Drown, drown, drown myself." The parallels struck him like a physical blow.

"She sounds so scared," he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of anger and grief.

"If nobody warns you. And nobody shows you."

And then, the line shifted, subtly different from its earlier iterations, her voice almost shattering under the weight of her words:

"Another circle of life…"

The final phrase felt like a breaking point, her voice lingering on "life" as if she was clinging to it, fighting to hold on even as it slipped away.

The bass pounded methodically, slow and deliberate, each note reverberating like a dark omen. It was a sound that lingered in the bones, the kind of foreboding that felt like it might never leave.

Dustin flinched at the sheer weight of the music, his voice trembling as he muttered, "She's warning us… but of what?"

Eddie's gaze was fixed on the horizon, his expression hard but unreadable. He shook his head slowly, the embers of his cigarette dimming between his fingers.

"Not warning us," he said, his voice low and steady. "Warning everyone." He swallowed hard, the realization settling heavily in his chest. "I think this is her giving us the map, man. The whole goddamn map."

The violin cried out one last time, its final note stretched to the breaking point before fading into an oppressive silence.

It wasn't a peaceful silence.

The bassline thudded faintly in the background, a heartbeat that refused to stop. It echoed like a presence, waiting, watching.

Neither of them spoke, the weight of the song pressing down on them like a storm about to break. As they sat in the stillness, the horizon seemed darker, the air colder, the night itself heavy with anticipation.

And somewhere in that darkness, something waited.