1. In sleep, do they come to you?

They bring stories. I wake remembering languages that don’t exist.
Every dream is made of fog, and I forget myself inside it.
They wear masks I once saw in museums.
I am not in the dream. Only they are.
I dream of places I’ve never lived, but miss.
They place objects in the dream—always the same ones. A comb. A cup. A flame.

2. How has the natural world addressed you, if at all?

Roots grow toward me. Sometimes I feel them shifting under my feet.
Rain falls when I speak harshly. Coincidence, maybe.
Wind tangles my clothes and hair, even indoors.
I feel most watched when I’m surrounded by stone.
I find hair, fur, or tracks in places I’ve just cleaned.
Birds bring warnings. I don’t always listen.

3. When the wind shifts suddenly, what does it bring?

A name on the tip of my tongue. Never mine.
A memory I don’t recognize, but miss.
A flush in my chest, like I’ve been caught.
It knocks over something. It always does.
My thoughts scatter, like they’re being carried off.
A scent I used to know. Wet soil, woodsmoke, salt.

4. Do objects in your space move, shift, or return slightly changed?

Yes, small things. They vanish and come back quieter.
I find leaves in closed drawers.
I keep finding them in circles. I didn’t arrange them that way.
No, but sometimes they aren’t mine.
They disappear and return slightly heavier.
They remain exactly where I left them. That’s what’s strange.

5. Have you been humming a tune you can’t remember learning?

Yes. It only comes when I’m touching water.
Sometimes I wake up with a song in my mouth. One I couldn’t have heard.
Yes. I hum it while cleaning. It calms the house.
It’s always slightly off-key. I think that’s part of the point.
Yes. I only realize I’m doing it when someone stares.
Yes. It feels older than me. Maybe older than music.

6. Do mirrors behave properly in your home?

I’ve seen reflections of places I haven’t been.
I catch myself smiling in the reflection, even when I’m not.
Sometimes the light bends strangely around them.
No issues—unless I speak aloud in front of them.
I see things in them that aren’t in the room.
They show movement when everything is still.

7. Has any door opened for you that shouldn’t have?

I closed it firmly. It opened again. Twice.
The door stayed shut. The handle turned.
A door I’ve never seen appeared where a wall should be.
Yes, but it didn’t lead to the same place twice.
At least I think it was a door. It blinked.
Only after I said something I shouldn’t have.

8. Has time been acting differently?

It loops. I’ve had the same conversation three times this week.
I forget entire days, but they show up in dreams later.
It passes normally. I just don’t trust it anymore.
It’s not misbehaving, I’m just not inside it.
Yes. But I don’t think it’s personal.
Only in one part of the house.

9. How do animals behave around you?

I’ve been hissed at more than once, but only when I’m thinking bad thoughts.
They follow. Not like pets, more like witnesses.
They listen when I speak, but never when I sing.
They leave offerings. Feathers, wrappers, once a coin.
They stare. Not at my face, but at my hands.
They never notice me coming.

10. Which sensation from childhood still returns without cause?

That dizzy float from spinning, just enough to feel the floor tilt.
The comfort of sitting in silence while grown-ups talk nearby.
The safety of curling up in a space too small for adults.
The feeling of being watched from under the bed.
Boredom so loud it became a kind of static.
The joy of watching the wind move through grass.

11. Have your shadows been behaving themselves?

They stay where they should… mostly.
They vanish when I need them most.
They fall in directions that don’t match the light.
They stretch further than they used to.
They behave indoors. Outside is another matter.
They’ve started showing objects I’m not holding.

12. What emotion tends to arrive before something strange happens?

A sharp joy, too wild to last.
Shame, even if no one’s around to see me.
Nostalgia for something that hasn’t happened.
Tenderness. Like something loves me, suddenly and too much.
A sense of being watched, but not in a bad way.
Calm so intense it becomes unnatural.