I don't know when everything fell apart.
I've always known something inside me wasn't right, that's why I buried it.
Buried the hunger. The need. The… rot.
I carved myself into the perfect little doll. Smiled when they wanted me to.
Nodded. Studied. Sacrificed.
Because if they ever saw the real me, the jagged, desperate thing crawling under my skin, they'd run.
They'd call me disgusting. Unlovable. Unwanted.
Something to be discarded.
But… if they hated me, why couldn't they just leave me alone?
Why did they always smile first?
Why did they always stare first?
Why couldn't they chase me when I shoved them away?
Even when I iced them out, ignored their voices, crushed their stupid little confessions…
I wanted them to keep trying.
To prove they couldn't live without me.
To worship me like sunlight, warm, radiant, untouchable.
But that's the funny thing about obsession.
It's a mirror.
Twist it the wrong way, and suddenly I'm the one who can't let go.
"Y-You bitch!"
It wasn't even me who liked her first.
It never is.
They always fall first.
But here I am.
Tearing fabric from my dress, shoving it into her mouth, binding her trembling body with rope slick from her sweat.
Her muffled screams bounce off the rusted walls of the abandoned factory, sharp and pathetic.
This place…
I passed by it once as a kid, on a trip.
And even back then, a filthy little thought whispered: This would be the perfect place to break someone.
I guess wishes come true after all.
My former lover slumped on the floor, dirt and blood caking her face, skin swollen and split where my knuckles kissed her skull.
Crimson streaks dripped from her nose, smearing down her lips as I admired the mess I'd made of her once-pretty little face
The cracks, the swelling, the raw, pulpy ruin beneath my hands. It all felt so satisfying.
It's like squeezing a kitten on your hand until they pop because you loved them too much.
However, even then, all I could think was:
It wasn't even me who fell first.
They always paint me as the villain.
The heartbreaker.
But I never asked them to look at me like that.
Never asked them to crawl after me, to drown me in their stupid promises.
I never believed a word of it.
But I made a mistake.
I told her to be mine.
Let her think she won.
Let myself believe maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be empty this time.
It was.
It always is.
The cracks inside me split wider because her love never felt enough. Nothng ever was.
And the moment she saw what I really was…
The moment my perfect mask slipped…
She ran.
Of course, she ran. But not fast enough.
Maybe this is karma or maybe it's fate, circling back to bite me.
Her eyes, glossy with tears, glared up at me from behind the gag.
The factory reeked of metal and desperation.
I crouched down, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, voice soft as silk.
"Stop struggling, sweetheart. You'll only bruise faster."
I should've stopped.
But obsession is like drowning.
And I never learned how to swim.
...
The sound of angry voices outside shattered the moment.
Footsteps. Shouting. Dozens of them.
I froze, my eyes darting to the factory door, my heart pounding louder than her muffled cries.
They came.
She… she knew.
"You really thought I wouldn't notice?"
Her voice, quiet, strained from behind the clothing, but her eyes… her eyes said everything.
The villagers burst in, their faces twisted with disgust, betrayal, and fury. Pitchforks, sticks, old tools gripped in their hands like some crude mob from a fairy tale.
"That's her!" someone shouted.
"Is that… the scholar?…"
"What on earth is happening?…"
"The girl was telling the truth the whole time! The scholar is insane!"
Their words sliced through me, sharp and unforgiving.
But what did they know?
They didn't see the sleepless nights, the endless work, the sacrifices.
I was the one sent away to the city, not because I was special because I had to survive.
I worked. I studied. I smiled.
I supported my family while they sat useless at home.
I held everything together… only to break apart like this.
All it took was one crack, one mistake… and everything unraveled.
All those years of perfection, wasted.
All those lies I built around myself, shattered.
I wasn't their golden girl anymore.
I was just… this.
The villagers screamed. The woman I once loved stared at me with both pity and hatred in her eyes.
And I realized… I wasn't afraid of being unloved.
I was afraid they were right about me.
The shouting blurred into a dull hum.
Hands grabbed me, pulling me away from the cold factory floor. It almost felt like everything was going to be alright.
Someone whispered, "It's over now."
For a moment, I believed them.
The next thing I remember, I was standing in the village square.
My wrists were raw, bound tightly in front of me.
The villagers' faces bled together, all melted into the same ugly, twisted expression. Their eyes were glassy. Their mouths moved, but the words didn't register at first.
They were saying my name.
Then the words... Witch, liar, curse-bringer, dripped out of their mouths like rot.
What?
What were they talking about?
I…
I only wanted to be loved.
The wood at my feet scratched my bare skin. The smell of smoke clung to the air, bitter and sharp.
My heart stuttered when I looked down and realized I was tied to a wooden post.
The fire caught faster than I thought it would.
The heat licked up my legs, searing my skin.
Screams tore out of me, raw and animalistic, but it wasn't the pain that broke me. It was the detachment.
It didn't feel real.
The faces in the crowd, blurry.
The flames, distant, like they belonged to someone else's nightmare.
The pain, sharp, but fading, like my body wasn't mine anymore.
Everything slipped away… the heat, the screams, the smoke.
Until all that was left… was cold.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
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