Rosie
My mindless thoughts broke suddenly .The smell hit me first. Metallic. Rotting. It made my stomach churn, but my body wouldn't let me move. My mind was no less than a mess , yet my limbs were frozen like stone. My knees pressed into the cold floor as my eyes remained locked on the horror before me—thirteen lifeless bodies, stacked in grotesque stillness. Their small forms, their unseeing eyes, their stiff, pale hands.
And Grey… where the hell was Grey?
I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, desperate to ground myself, to make sense of something that refused to make sense.
Did Grey do this?
No. He wouldn't—he couldn't. Could he?
But if not him, then who? The door was locked from inside. There was no sign of struggle, no forced entry. No one else had access to this place but him.
My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. I felt like I was suffocating under a weight that wasn't physical, but it was unbearable i had never felt before . My heart pounded so violently in my chest that it almost hurt. For once i had a thought of calling police but it felt like betrayal , practically this was a massmurder , that too of children . When did my obsession for grey grow so much ? I realised that just now . If grey were to come and ask me to help dump them , what would've I done ? Ironically I knew my potential response . I would have agreed . My mind was constantly saying to me Grey was innocent . Not because he hadnt killed them but he had a solid reason . ugh !! intense pain striked my cerebrum , throwing every mindless thought aside ,
I stumbled backward into his bedroom, my head spinning. I needed something—anything—that would explain this. Where was Grey? Why had he done this? What the hell happened here?
My eyes darted around his dimly lit room. The bed was untouched, neatly made. The desk had scattered papers, some books, his laptop—locked. But then I saw it.
A black leather-bound diary sat in the center of his desk, slightly ajar. As if waiting to be read.
My hands trembled as I reached for it. My fingers brushed against the cover hesitantly before I forced myself to flip it open. The first few pages were scribbles—calculations, notes, words I couldn't immediately understand. Then, I found an entry.
And as I read, my body grew colder and colder.
" This isn't a simple act of killing—it is about transfer. The ritual is meant to sever the soul from this world and allow passage into another. A world where power isn't dictated by society, where the weak aren't doomed from birth, where one could shape their own destiny.
• The chosen must take 13 lives before the transition.
• The deaths must not be random—they must carry meaning. The souls taken must be innocent, untainted.
• Each death is a sacrifice, carving open the path to the next existence.
• The body will not remain—the transition is complete only when the chosen vanishes entirely from this world.
My eyes were like carving the letters written on the page . I flipped the page but was more surprised .
"This world never accepted me. I was born cursed, and I will die reborn. If this is what it takes, then so be it." — Evelyn hesmond , Year 1794
"It isn't about revenge. It isn't about pain. It's about freedom. I have lived my life in chains—I refuse to die in them." — kafka, Year 1911
"That's it? Grey didn't write anything?" My hands trembled as I flipped through the diary, scanning the pages frantically. Did he not perform the ritual mentioned here?
But the answer was right in front of me—bloodstains, chemicals, the lingering scent of something unnatural. He did perform it. My heart pounded as I tried to make sense of the writings, but most of it wasn't even in English. Strange symbols, ancient-looking text… incomprehensible.
Damn it, Grey! At least a word for me? Didn't you even care to leave a message?
Frustration boiled inside me, twisting into something ugly. Was my love not enough for you? Anger, guilt, hatred, love—every emotion crashed over me, drowning me in a storm of thoughts.
But after that storm came clarity.
I made my decision. I will follow you, Grey. You have to answer me.
This was my choice—mine alone. No doubts. No regrets. My feet moved on their own as I shut the main door and stepped into the bathroom. The eerie remnants of his ritual surrounded me, whispering a truth only I could understand.
Was it love? Hatred? Something else?
I didn't know.
And yet, I performed the ritual as it was written
.
Grey's residence, moments after Rosie performed the ritual.
The lifeless bodies had disappeared—vanished without a trace. Along with them, the mysterious book was gone too.