"Charlotte, where are you going?"
The voice slithered through the meadow like a serpent, soft and casual, yet carrying a sinister undertone. Charlotte froze. Ahead, a girl—beautiful, almost impossibly so—strolled as if the world were hers alone, her gaze fixed on Charlotte with unnerving warmth. Her smile was gentle, innocent… and yet, it carried a quiet malice that gnawed at Charlotte's chest.
The girl bent down and plucked a single wildflower from the sprawling field, offering it to Charlotte. "Did you know wildflowers represent new beginnings?" she asked, her voice melodic but hollow. "Do you think… we could start over again? Please?"
Charlotte's heart pounded. She shook her head, stepping back. The tranquility of the meadow twisted in her mind, turning into a stage for nightmare.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Charlotte screamed, the words tearing from her throat like shards of glass. Her eyes fell upon the girl—once innocent, now drenched in red, her expression warped into a manic grin. Her eyes—Charlotte's eyes—reflected nothing but obsession, a soul corrupted by love twisted into madness.
"You finally looked at me," the girl whispered, dangerously close, "Ah… I really love those eyes. If you look at me any longer… I might actually die."
Charlotte's stomach churned. "Then… just die already!" The revulsion was pure. Someone—a girl—had become so consumed by her desire for Charlotte that it spilled over into obsession, murder, and unspeakable acts. She remembered the countless crimes committed, each one worse than the last, all in the name of a love that had gone monstrously wrong.
"Now, that's not a very nice thing to say, is it, Charlotte?" the girl cooed, stepping closer.
And then, pain. A sharp yank ripped through her hair as she was pulled back, crashing into the solid presence of a boy—Eric. His face was beautiful, identical to the girl before her, but his eyes were unreadable, cold and precise.
"Eric…" she breathed, the terror in her chest tightening with each heartbeat.
Charlotte had never been able to read him. He was a mirror of his sister, yet entirely different—a calculated enigma. Did he desire her? Or did he despise her? Even now, the uncertainty alone was enough to freeze her blood.
"Oh, you finally caught up with us," the girl said, bouncing with excitement, her attention unbroken from Charlotte. "Everything taken care of?"
Eric's single hum was enough. Charlotte's stomach sank. Confirmation.
The girl's arms were suddenly around her, crushing and possessive. "Did you hear that, Charlotte?" she whispered, giddy. "It's just going to be us now."
Charlotte's world shattered. Memories of love, of a life she thought she had rebuilt, dissolved into dust. The man she had once married, the sanctuary she had clung to, all vanished. And standing before her were the twins—twisted devotion incarnate—obsessed with her, calling her their doll, their possession, their object of desire. The very sight of them made bile rise in her throat.
***
My Dear Lilia,
I hope this letter reaches you… though I know it won't. You are gone. And yet, I write—not to speak to you, but because my mind cannot contain the darkness pressing against it.
Since your death, everything has been a curse. The kingdom whispers behind my back, painting me as a child of misfortune: a mother lost to childbirth, a father who fled, a sister claimed by disease, a king destroyed… and all by my own hands, they say. They do not know, could not know, that I would never… could never…
And yet, maybe it is true. Perhaps I am cursed. Wherever I go, misfortune clings like a shadow. Those who try to help… vanish. Every attempt to live, to love, is marked by tragedy.
Still… I survive. I eat. I breathe. I live each day as if the sun is not a lie, though I know it is.
I remarried. A king—kind, attentive, perfect. He feeds me. He bathes me. He touches me with the gentleness I had thought lost. He takes me for walks. He embraces me when the loneliness becomes unbearable. He gives me gifts, expensive and impossible to refuse.
Yet… the shadows never leave. Every laugh, every gift, every smile carries the faintest tinge of dread. I remember faces. Twisted faces. Bloodied, smiling faces. My hands cannot forget the warmth of madness.
I want to tell you of my meeting with him, the king, the man who now protects me… but even as I write, the memory is tainted. I am haunted, Lilia. Haunted by those who loved me too much, and by those who still watch.
Even now, I cannot escape the eyes of the twins. Their obsession waits for me, patient, eternal.
Perhaps… perhaps I am not living. Perhaps I am merely enduring.
With love,
Your sister, Charlotte