It was a kingdom of shadows and forgotten knowledge, and its floors twisted around each other in an amazing spiral design.
It was truly an architectural masterpiece dazzling to the eye.
Like the skeleton of a mythical monster climbing toward a dim glass dome at the top.
A dome that doesn't allow moonlight to enter but reflects the inner darkness of the place and distributes the light and adorns it to make the place ethereal as if it were a piece of fantasy lands.
The silver light of the moon, because of the glass dome in the ceiling, that lens was softening the silver light to take a pure blue form.
Sending coldness through the body and a quiet shiver.
Leon contemplated this enchanting scene and realized that it might be the last time he witnesses this view.
He turned his neck and began walking toward the western section.
Of course, he didn't know north from south, but he was following the color of the shelves as Sarah said.
The western section's shelf wood color tends toward red.
The extremely towering shelves, and their color can be easily distinguished.
But Leon passed several shelves until now, he didn't find the red shelf, just a yellow shelf and a light brown shelf, but suddenly he found himself walking in a hallway that was almost ominous.
Dark wood that was almost black, extending from the floor to the ceiling, and the books were arranged differently. Of course, the precision of their stacking didn't differ, but these books were lined up with terrifying precision as if they were skulls in a mass grave.
Leon began to sweat a little despite the place becoming cold.
Steam began to come out of his mouth.
He began to wonder how the temperature suddenly dropped and whispered in a voice resembling a hiss:
Do all colors symbolize something?... Why has the place become cold and scary?
I... I-I'm afraid.
Leon continued walking under this thick red carpet that breaks the sound and muffles his footsteps, which began to sound like a faint tapping that can hardly be heard.
While trying to exit the section of black shelves, he finally glimpsed at the end of the spiral staircase the presence of shelves tending toward red.
He smiled and began to hasten his steps, but he suddenly stopped.
That sound.
The sound of a light tap, no, it was undoubtedly the sound of something falling.
From a dark corner between the black shelves, a book suddenly fell.
It wasn't pushed from the shelf... but as if an invisible hand dropped it from inside.
The sound of its impact with the thick carpet was muffled, but it rang in Leon's ear like a gunshot in an empty space.
He froze in place.
His heart jumped to his throat. He didn't react immediately but remained in place for a while.
He held his breath.
And prepared his ears, and was on alert to catch any other sound, but nothing.
Just the heavy silence of the library.
Then, with some curiosity mixed with fear, he approached the source of the sound until he saw the book thrown on the ground amid complete stillness as if it were an offering presented to him.
It was large and too heavy to fall on its own.
The problem is there are no winds or anything to help this falling process.
Leon carried the book, and it was heavy despite its few pages, but
Its skin was dark black and solid, and perhaps this is the reason for its heavy weight.
And on it was a faded metal seal engraved with a black wolf with one red eye, the same seal he holds in his hand.
The cover... was warm in an uncomfortable way, as if life still pulsates in it.
Leon felt he was touching something extremely forbidden, but his curiosity was stronger than his fear this time, and he opened the book.
Hesitantly.
And behold... the Martinez family record page by page.
It was filled with names written in thick black ink and in an elegant and perfect handwriting that didn't seem to be from a printer, but as if the letters were drawn by an elegant man with golden fingers.
The handwriting alone made Leon seem as if he was hypnotized. The handwriting was of the type that makes you distracted by its beauty.
And Leon began to read aloud:
Alfonso Chiki
Yolanda Dikal
Bianca Julius
Zenso Hiroshi
Julia Miyako
Miyabi Arata
Beatrix Victoria
These were names Leon had never heard before. Is the Martinez family of such ancient origin? But he noticed something strange when the name
Yagami Martinez was mentioned.
This was his father's name next to his mother's name, Regina Yagami Martinez.
In this family, the names of its women are often mentioned near the names of its men as a sublime way of pronouncing the name, but unlike the names of the ancestors, the names of their children were not mentioned, but only our family's names were mentioned:
Histori Martinez
Karma Martinez
Sarah Martinez
Yi Lian Martinez
Arthur Martinez
And his name wasn't there.
The name "Leon" wasn't written in the record, not in the page dedicated to his generation of children, not in the margin, not even in the footnotes.
Not as a late addition, not as a crossing out or correction, and not even as a typographical error that could be overlooked.
As if he had never been born, as if he didn't exist.
"I... don't exist. I really... they didn't write my name." He said it in a voice full of weakness, and his fingers froze on the cold page.
He felt his extremities numbing in a strange way. The child's eyes, which had become accustomed to darkness, suddenly felt they were in front of a black sun that dazzles and blinds them. He wasn't crying. Not a single tear fell.
But his face began to change — slowly, like a cracking mask. As if his muscles were contracting, his lips curving downward, his nose trembling, and his eyelids shaking violently... as if sadness was embodying on his features piece by piece and building him from the inside out.
My existence is being obliterated... This... is excessively cruel.
Then he read something else after turning the page in a separate section under a bold subtitle written in faded red ink that contradicts the familiar black ink of the book's handwriting:
"The Black Mark: The Curse of Broken Blood."
Sentence after sentence, like successive stabs, Leon began to read:
- The mark is a spot that is often in the form of a distorted crescent either settling in the neck or chest, but in the worst cases, it is a plague that disfigures the face and will be an enemy to a member of the Martinez family -
Leon swallowed and began to pant with terror, "T-this this is me... the birthmark." Leon continued reading:
- The mark is not a skin tattoo or just a birth defect, but it is a crack in the soul and a door that opens from the inside to the void when causes conflict and death becomes a creature that loves you.
It comes to those who were not meant to exist and who were born with a shadow on their souls.
When its bearer reaches the age of eight... the whispers from the gateway begin. He will hear terrifying, very terrifying words, most of them incomprehensible -
Leon began to think, and his hands were shaking violently, and the book was trembling between his hands, "T-this is not true, it never happened to me... maybe once or twice, but this is just because of the darkness of the basement."
And at that moment, Leon began to hear them, terrifying whispers and sounds resembling distorted winds coming from a deep cliff. He couldn't understand the words, but he caught one, which was his name, "Leon."
"I-I don't believe... I don't believe... I don't believe that the book is right," he said with trembling and weakness, desperately trying to determine the source of the sound, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere.
He began to enter a deteriorating psychological state, but he resisted with all his strength to hold the book, and when the sounds subsided, he continued:
- Usually, those sounds stop after very few seconds, but when the mark is neglected, when its owner denies its existence... the gateway awakens, and a mouth comes out that eats its owner... not as a punishment but makes him die in just one day from the date of its emergence.
Usually, its owner will not endure; either he loses his mind and commits suicide because the bad treatment of its owner is one of the family's destinies, or he endures somehow and dies by the mouth when he reaches 11 years.
The birthmark speaks if not silenced. And the mouth that is born from the skin... grabs the soul before the body. It devours dreams first.
Then memories and then existence itself -
Leon was silent, but he smiled sadly, "I'm 8 years old... so I will die, I won't grow up.... 3 years... only."
Then came what seemed like hope... or so Leon thought in his despair. There was a small paragraph in the bottom margin of the page.
Written in a faint handwriting that was almost illegible, as if its writer was afraid that the reader would glimpse it:
- A red apple like a bird's heart and a circle with an apple mark as well drawn on the ground, recite the old sentence with three repetitions at midnight, similar to a spell:
"O birthmark... go away."
It is said that the mouth disappears afterward. Or maybe... it just sleeps for many years, which may reach 60 years -
Leon closed the book slowly.
He sat on that red carpet, hugging the book between his arms like a tombstone.
Leon said in a voice that was almost crying as he leaned on the shelf, "Will... will a red apple really rid me of all this pain... this is a lie."
Maybe... I just deserve to die.
Why don't I die?
Why do I still love living despite hating it?
Leon began to think about the red apple and remembered something that made all his bones shudder from the terrifying coldness that ran through his veins.
Yi Lian... Leon whispered his sister Yi Lian's name because his memory stormed him to that day when he sneaked into the kitchen to take food as usual.
Leon was driven by unbearable hunger as a neglected child and opened the large refrigerator to find a red apple on a plate and in a clear place as if calling him.
And he was about to eat an apple. As soon as he bit it, he felt that violent sting of something metallic and precise, which turned out to be a needle in the core of the apple placed by Yi Lian, who was laughing like a silky ghost at the end of the kitchen.
Leon suddenly felt pain in his gum when he remembered this, but when he began to connect the events, he began to doubt and think. He said:
"Did... she know about the book and therefore prevented me from eating the apple... did she not want me to survive and wanted me to continue suffering... what if the red apple was really the solution?"
Slowly, cautiously, he raised the rusty knife and split the apple into two equal halves. He examined each half carefully under the flickering candlelight.
Nothing.
No needle.
No trace of any tampering.
But the doubt didn't evaporate; rather, it condensed and gathered in his chest
and became heavier than the stale, humid air he breathes in the basement.
Did she put something else this time?
Or does she want me not to eat it... and remain cursed?
I... I have to succeed. I have to erase this birthmark at any cost.
His throat completely dried up. He felt terror wrapping around his neck like a cold hand, but he didn't retreat.
He proceeded with the rituals, and he had no other choice.
He drew an irregular circle around him with broken chalk he found in the corner.
He sat inside it.
And the split apple in his palm.
He closed his eyes tightly.
And inhaled broken breaths.
He began to recite the spell, those few words that were in the book:
"O birthmark... go away."
"O birthmark... go away."
"O birthmark... go away."
And he raised half the apple to his mouth and ate. One bite, then another, quickly, like someone swallowing a bitter medicine or poison. At first, there was silence. Complete silence, as if the basement itself held its breath.
Then the heat. A strange heat began to rise from his stomach, spreading in his chest.
Then the cold.
A sudden bitter cold swept through his limbs as if he was dipped in ice.
His stomach began to contract violently as if an icy snake suddenly awakened inside him and began to wrap around his entrails.
And crush them slowly.
His entire body shook violently beyond control, first from his head, and then that pain moved with all strength and confidence from his feet as if an invisible force was trying to tear him from the middle.
Leon began to pant as he holds his chest and coughs, "W-what's happening.... what's happening! Is it working?"
His eyes roamed the dark ceiling without focus and then suddenly closed as if a violent brain storm hit him from the inside.
His hand clenched on the other half of the apple until it shattered between his fingers, and his body began to hit the cold cement floor... once, twice... then in faster succession.
Like a rag doll left to fall, and his moaning wasn't human. It was no longer his voice. It was a terrifying mixture of muffled crying and internal tearing.
Leon was dying, and it didn't seem like he would continue thrashing much longer.
And between desperate hope and slow drowning in an ocean of pain, behind the dilapidated basement door... in the darkness rising from the long servants' corridor, four small shadows stood resembling demon children.
Their eyes were gleaming through the narrow crack in the wood, and they weren't shining with kindness or concern but with cold curiosity... and cruel play.
Yi Lian was chewing gum slowly and moving her head right and left as if watching a theatrical performance that was particularly interesting.
She said in a malicious whisper, and her voice was like the rustle of silk on broken glass:
"You did brilliantly, Karma. Dropping the book in that way was an unforgettable silent performance. Your timing was perfect."
Karma was holding an open book he wasn't reading but pretending to do so as usual. He answered without raising his eyes:
"Sarah is the one who gave me the original idea, but the timing and direction were my special touches, but I can hardly believe how you were able to simulate those terrifying sounds and whispers."
Yi Lian smiled maliciously and said, "It wouldn't be fun if I told you. You're smart, try to figure it out."
Karma was silent for some time, then added, closing his eyes for a moment as if savoring the idea:
"Imagine... a mouth born from his birthmark. What beautiful existential horror and worth all this trouble for us to enjoy a good viewing."
Sarah was laughing silently, covering her mouth with her palm as spoiled princesses do when they hear a vulgar joke.
She said in a muffled voice barely audible:
"The way he's writhing now... like a failed theater actor in an overly dramatic death scene. Look at him thrashing like a foolish worm that was just crushed."
Yi Lian smiled her blade-shadow-like smile and said, in a cold dreamy voice, as if reciting an ancient wisdom:
< Yi Lian's Perspective >
Sometimes,
The cruelest ways... are those that give him a thin thread of hope first, that thread that is thin enough to cut before it saves its owner.
Mere suggestions were enough to make him fail to resist the temptation to get rid of that ugly birthmark of his.
I didn't put the needle for him this time.
I wanted him to choose the poison... himself. To participate with us in his own destruction.
Everything was already good, a brilliant plan at the beginning.
Sarah asks him to go to the library.
Then Karma drops the book, and he reads the family record and finds his name not written.
This is existential obliteration, then comes a standing hope amid a pile of cursed despair. I've read this thousands of times: who strikes first then treats the wound of whom he struck will take the character of the doctor even if he is the culprit.
Then terrifying whispers sounds like those in the book. It didn't take me more than using a sound recorder I took from one of the servants... unfortunately, my mom and dad refuse to give us a phone; we haven't reached 10 yet, so Leon was the best entertainment source for me.
Until the moment Leon fell into the trap, he's not smart at all, but he's cautious because of how much we hurt him, so I reassured him from afar.
He remembered the scene of the apple with the needle, so he will think I was trying to prevent him from saving himself from the curse that was fake from the beginning.
Hahaha, the stupid, naive fool thought I didn't notice him when he was hiding behind that column like a miserable worm.
Arthur was standing in the back and was scratching his head with obvious tension and concern:
"This isn't as fun as I expected. He's just... in pain. I wanted to at least shout at him! To throw something at him! Why are we just watching from afar?"
Sarah nudged him sharply with her elbow:
"Because you're stupid, Arthur, and the last time you shouted at him, he cried loudly, and one of the servants almost heard us and discovered our game. Shut up and watch."
Yi Lian signaled him to be quiet with a movement of her hand, then whispered as she brought her ear closer to the crack:
"Shhh... I think he's stopping moving..." Karma said calmly, as he closes his book:
"If he dies... he will die as he should die: alone, in a dark basement, without a heroic gasp, and without leaving a trace to remember.
No one will discover that the apple was just... a small experiment to test the effectiveness of some substances."
Complete silence prevailed among them for a moment. Then they withdrew, one after the other, like small ghosts returning to their dens.
And the basement door... remained slightly ajar like a half-asleep monster's eye.
Watching and waiting inside on the cold floor.
Leon's body was trembling in a final quietness after the violent storm of violent trembling.
The lit candle suddenly went out, and the chalk circle began to fade due to his last thrashing movements.
The other half of the apple was still lying on the ground.
And his face, twisted from pain... began to calm down, relax as if his death was approaching or as if his disappointment was completely fulfilled.
He didn't know he had been poisoned.
His tears were solidifying in his eye until his vision became completely blurry.
He didn't know why his body was betraying him with such cruelty.
All he knew in those last moments of consciousness was that the birthmark... didn't leave, but it seemed to be pulsating in his face.
The pain... was real, absolute, and never bearable.
Maybe... my spell wasn't enough.
Maybe I didn't believe in it as I should.
These were the words with which Leon was consoling himself, but in the end,
Everything inside him went out, and he sank into a dark well with no bottom.
My head was pounding from the inside, not like a headache, but as if someone was trying to split my skull from the middle with a cold and regular hammer.
But I still strongly feel the coldness of this cement floor beneath me.
But its coldness didn't save me from this burning pain that penetrates and permeates my stomach and chest.
Like liquid fire.
My breaths break before they complete... and my limbs don't respond to me. My movement began to paralyze until moving my finger became very exhausting as if I'm lifting mountains.
My body no longer listens to me, and even trying to move the smallest bone in my body takes a tremendous amount of strength that I no longer possess.
I wasn't just feeling pain... I was being drowned in it.
As if pain is the black, viscous water that fills this basement.
And I... a drowning person who doesn't know where is up and where is down, surrendering to drowning slowly.
Breathing began to become difficult... terrifyingly difficult.
Each gasp was tearing my lungs.
I began to feel.... yes, exactly.
This is death.
When it tries to take you,
The first thing you feel is this extreme tightness in breathing as if an invisible hand is squeezing your chest.
But amid all this torment,
Amid the fog of pain and imminent death,
I felt something...
It wasn't light or sound.
But a shadow. A shadow moving quietly and confidently, at the other end of my limited field of vision. A standing shadow, reassured, not belonging to this hell in which I am immersed.
Then... feet appeared.
Small feet... wearing polished fancy black shoes.
Somehow reflecting the light of the extinguished candle. Perhaps my size...
It's a child.
But who is he?
Is he one of my siblings who returned to make sure of my death?
He seemed to be my age, although I couldn't even raise my head to see him clearly.
All I could know from seeing his steady shoe was that his stability and calmness exceeded my entire age.
Exceeded this entire castle.
His feet stopped right near my head.
As if the world finally chose to place all its weight at my fragile neck.
I couldn't raise my gaze completely, but I saw him.
From the corner of my eye.
Through the fog of pain.
I saw him. His face was almost colorless, pale as the moon, and his features were blurry, unclear.
Like an image taken in a distant dream. I couldn't see him well.
I wanted to see him.
If only I could know the color of his eyes, I would assert if he was one of my siblings.
But... his eyes were wide and dark, although I couldn't know anything valuable because of the tears that blocked all my vision.
But I felt that.
He was looking at me or through me.
As if I were something worth contemplating and not pitying.
He was staring at me coldly, with curiosity almost, as he tilts his neck slightly to the side.
I was still unable to move.
To speak.
To do anything.
I was just trying to know who this shadow or this ghost was.
I was struggling to raise my gaze more while moaning, and in a way I don't know how I did it,
I slowly raised my hand toward him and touched his shoe.
But he... didn't say anything and didn't make any sound. He just... slowly extended his hand.
And opened something that seems from the sound to be the cap of a small bottle.
Very small.
With a dark amber color.
He was holding it in his inner pocket as trees hold the secret of their coming rain.
And suddenly, drops of a liquid I don't know what it is, perhaps transparent, perhaps silver, began to fall on my slightly open mouth.
It was bitterly suffocating.
He never bent beside me and never sat and never touched me.
He just gave it to me to drink while standing.
Then after the contents of the bottle were emptied, he went down on his knee this time, and I felt a painful sting in my elbow that made me moan with a muffled sound.
Then he stood and turned around.
And walked... in complete calmness.
He left the basement without a sound just as he entered.
Was I dreaming?
Was he a ghost?
He had disappeared and evaporated in the darkness as if he had never existed in the first place, but I swear... that the air remained carrying a faint trace of his scent.
A strange smell resembling a light perfume, but it wasn't the perfume of any of my siblings.
And I swear...
I swear that the chalk beneath him had crumbled more as if the floor itself felt his heavy passage despite his apparent lightness.
And I remained alone once again.
But the pain... had begun to recede.
Although I remained in that state.
For days.