I had a life once—a life where I was truly happy. It felt as though I existed in a world made only of flowers and butterflies, untouched by pain or darkness.
And then… I fell asleep.
A deep, consuming sleep.
And it woke up.
The creature inside me.
I had a terrible dream—no, a nightmare. I saw myself drowning, sinking into a vast, merciless ocean. I couldn't breathe. The weight of the water pressed against my lungs, crushing me from within.
And then—suddenly—a hand reached out to save me.
A familiar voice echoed through the darkness.
"Sara! I won't let you go. I'm your savior."
Such a beautiful voice.
But then... that voice turned into laughter—cold, mocking, cruel.The hand that had been pulling me up—pulling me out of the depths—suddenly let go.
And I sank.
Deeper… and deeper… into the abyss.
I can't breathe.I can't breathe.I CAN'T BREATHE—
Sara's eyes flew open.
She jolted upright from the bathtub, gasping for air. Her chest heaved violently as she coughed and choked, struggling to breathe. For a moment, it felt like she was still underwater.
Then—a sound.
Her phone, resting on the edge of the tub, started ringing.
RING RING… RING RING…
Sara wiped her wet hands on a towel and answered the phone without checking the caller ID."Hello," she said, her voice heavy and uneven from breathlessness.
On the other end, a familiar voice came to life, bright with sudden joy, as if it had just been revived.
"Sara! You finally answered my call today!" the woman exclaimed.
Sara immediately pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced at the screen.
"MOM."
"Shit," she muttered under her breath.
"Sara, you haven't come back since that day," her mother's voice continued. "When will you? Look, I admit—it was my fault. I shouldn't have called the matchmakers to the house on the day of your flight. Because of me, your father slapped you and... threw you out of the house."
"Enough." Sara's voice turned cold. "You've said what you wanted. Now I'm hanging up. And no—I'm never coming back."
Her voice trembled slightly, but her words were firm, decisive.
"What you people did to me in front of those strangers... after that day, never. Never again. If you had buried me alive in private, I wouldn't have uttered a word. But in front of those people—those men who came to see me for marriage—you destroyed my self-respect, Mom. I can endure anything. But when someone questions my dignity, I break. And because of you, my father didn't just raise a finger—he raised his whole hand against me."
There was silence on the other end.
"Don't ever try to call me again," she said, her voice low but steady. "You ruined my real mother's life... and now you've made sure my father no longer speaks to me either."
"Sara, wait—I just wanted to say—"
But by then, Sara had already ended the call.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Sam and Zero stepped out of the shop, carrying their packed dinner.
"Let's go to your place, Sam," Zero said casually.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "What's with the sudden change? I mean, sure, come over—but wasn't the plan to hang out at your place?"
"Yeah, but you have a piano at yours," Zero replied with an innocent grin. "And I'm in the mood to play."
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "Your grandpa told me to take care of you—not to raise you."
He gave Zero a playful slap on the back of the head.
Zero grinned wider. "Exactly. So keep me close. That way, you'll take care of me too."
He said it on impulse, smiling as he walked ahead.
Behind him, Sam's smile slowly faded.
Forget it, he told himself, brushing the thought away, and followed Zero.
When they reached Sam's apartment, Zero spoke first. "Go freshen up, Sam. Then we'll eat."
"Yes, Grandma," Sam teased, tossing him a grin before disappearing into the bathroom.
Zero rolled his eyes and went to use the guest washroom. When he returned, Sam was still inside. Zero set the food on the dining table, arranging it neatly.
Sam finally appeared a minute later—shirtless.
Zero looked up.
And froze.
His eyes lingered for a second too long—but this time, he quickly composed himself.
"Bro, seriously—wear a damn shirt," he muttered, quickly averting his gaze.
Sam noticed the faint blush creeping up Zero's ears.
"Oh? So now you blush when you look at me?" Sam smirked, amused. "Interesting."
Zero's face turned a deeper shade of red. What the hell is happening to me? he thought, flustered.
"Oi, Sam! If you don't put on a proper shirt right now, I swear I'll smash this plate on your head!"
Sam snorted and obediently went to grab a shirt, returning to the table like a scolded puppy.
But something lingered in the air—something Sam kept brushing off as simple concern.
And yet… it was something more.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Sim jumped onto the bed with a playful bounce."Hey, hey—watch out!" she said, nearly knocking Maera's laptop off her lap. "Forget all this boring work for a bit. Let's go to that café—Layall's performing tonight! I just want her autograph once, that's all I'm asking!"
She clasped her hands together pleadingly.
Maera sighed, clearly annoyed. "Ugh, Sim, not this again. I'm so tired of hearing about Layall all the time. Seriously, who even is she? Just a YouTuber. And you're acting like she's some kind of goddess."
"See? You're jealous again," Sim warned, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes, fine! I am jealous," Maera snapped. "If you praised a rock in front of me, I'd be jealous of that too! You hear me?"
Sim blinked.
Maera fell silent and went back to her laptop, trying to immerse herself in work. But after a moment, she noticed something—Sim hadn't said a word. No sarcastic comeback, no teasing jab.
She looked up.
Sim was quietly crying.
"Sim!" Maera's voice softened. "Sim... why are you crying? Look at me—hey, look at me. Okay, okay, I'm sorry. We'll go, alright? We'll go to the café. Please don't cry. I didn't mean to upset you... I really didn't."
Sim gently pushed Maera's hand away and stood up to leave.
"Hey—Sim, wait!" Maera called, standing too. "Alright, I'm ready. Let's go. Please?"
Sim paused, turned back slowly… and gave a faint smile."Really?"
"Really, really. Let's go."
They both got ready and stepped out together, leaving the tension behind as they disappeared into the evening.
______________________________________________________________________________________________
There was still a full hour before the show would begin.
Sara had just finished her bath. Quietly, methodically, she transformed into Layall—dark clothes, tied-back hair, a single piercing under her lower lip. With a small notebook tucked under her arm and her diary clutched in one hand, she stepped out into the cool evening and headed toward the park near the café.
The wind whispered low through the trees as she reached the park. Finding an empty bench, she sat down, opened her diary, and stared at the half-finished song she had been writing for days. Tonight… it needed an ending.
She uncapped her pen, and as her hand moved across the paper, she began to softly sing the lyrics—her voice barely above a breath, raw and intimate.
Woke up with blood on my hands again,Don't remember where I've been,Mirror's cracked, but I still grin,Something crawling in my skin...
Her voice trembled with emotion, but she kept going—more sure with each line.
She is quiet when the lights are on,But I know she is never gone.Every thought I try to hide,She turns it darker from inside.
She wears my voice but not my name,Pulls the strings and shifts the blame.I smile while she takes control,Eyes go cold, I lose my hold...
So if I change, don't speak to me—It's not your friend,It's my other me.
Sara's hand paused for a moment. Her breathing had changed. The lyrics felt too close—too real. Still, she kept singing.
Found a note in my own hands,Said: 'Next time, don't try to understand.'She's got jokes that sound like threats,In dreams I wake up soaked in sweat.
She knows the things I won't confess,Turns my fear into a guess.You'll never see her—if I lied—But you'll feel her standing by.
She waits behind a glassy grin,Whispers when the dark gets in,Tells me I should let her speak,Just once in a while...Just one peek.
Sara's voice cracked, but she continued anyway.
I laughed, but she's the one who moves,I lose track of what I choose.
So if I change, don't speak to me—It's not your friend,It's my other me.
So if you see me showing teeth,Don't trust the smile...It's my other me.
She lowered the notebook into her lap.
Sara closed her eyes.
That song wasn't just about Layall anymore.
It was Layall.
As soon as Layall went silent, the café erupted in thunderous applause.
She gently set her guitar aside and stood up, brushing her hair back from her face."Thank you so much, all of you," she said into the mic with a soft smile before stepping off the stage.
True to her nature, she didn't linger. No small talk, no interactions—just a performance, then disappearance. That's all she ever allowed herself. She moved straight toward the exit, pulling out her phone to upload the recorded video of the song.
As she reached the street outside, she heard someone call from behind.
"Layall ma'am!"
That voice.
It wasn't loud, but it hit her like a punch to the chest.
She turned instinctively—and froze.
It felt as though the entire world flipped upside down in that one breathless moment.
Right there, standing just a few feet away…was the one person who had once shattered her completely.The one person who had once saved her.
Maera.
Layall forgot to breathe.
Seconds passed like lifetimes.She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could barely even process the storm rising inside her.
"Layall ma'am?" the voice came again, softer this time. Sim's voice.
She blinked as though snapping out of a trance, straightened her posture, and tried to compose herself."Oh—yes!" she managed, her voice slightly shaky.
Maera stared at her, a strange unease settling in. Something about this girl felt… wrong. Too familiar. Uncomfortably familiar.
No… it can't be her… Maera's stomach twisted. She found herself silently praying it wasn't who she feared it was.
"You seem familiar," Layall said casually, eyes drifting to Sim, her tone now light, almost teasing.And then she remembered. The alley. The night she saved her.
"By the way… Barbie girl," she added with a flirtatious smirk.
Sim was about to reply when she felt an arm slip protectively around her waist. Maera's arm."Actually, my dear wife here just wanted your autograph," Maera said coolly, eyes fixed on Layall.
Her voice was calm, but her tone was razor-sharp. Controlled. Territorial.
Layall noticed it instantly—and it hurt.But she smiled through it.
"Sure," she said, pulling out a small piece of paper from the notebook she always carried. She scribbled her signature and handed it to Sim.
Sim smiled brightly.
Just then, Maera's phone rang."Yes, boss?" she answered and turned to step away.
Sim turned to follow, clutching the autograph with satisfaction—until she heard it.
"Sim."
She froze in her tracks.
Turning around slowly, her eyes wide, she stared at Layall.
"How… how do you know my name?" she asked, confused.
Layall tilted her head slightly, casual once more."Oh, a few days ago, I found a phone. Yours, I think. Your name was engraved on the back… and the lock screen had your photo. With her."
Before Sim could respond, Maera's voice sliced through the air again—cold and deliberate.
"Where is that phone?"
Layall turned to look at her, studied her expression, and then smiled slowly…
A calm, knowing, almost dangerous smile.....
Layall unlocked the door to her apartment and motioned for them to enter.
Maera stepped inside—and immediately felt a wave of unease. Something was off.
Just past the entrance, shattered glass lay scattered across the floor beneath a broken vase. Layall, unfazed, slipped off her shoes and walked barefoot—right over the jagged shards—into the kitchen.
Maera's eyes widened. She felt an instinctive, almost primal discomfort watching her.
Layall calmly poured herself a glass of water and drank it slowly, as though nothing had happened.
Growing irritated, Maera spoke up, "Can you please give us our phone now?"
Layall let out a sudden, wild laugh—something between a witch and a demon.
"HAAHAHAHAHA!"
"Sorry, sorry," she chuckled, recovering. "I'll get it now."
She turned and walked toward a back room. Her feet, pierced by the glass, were leaving bloody prints across the floor.
Maera watched in stunned silence. Crimson footsteps tracked across the tile, trailing into the dim hallway.
Moments later, Layall returned with a phone in hand. "Here you go," she said sweetly.
Sim grabbed it. "Oh my God—my phone!" she beamed.
Maera, however, couldn't stop staring at Layall's feet. Blood trickled down from the wounds.
"Y-Your feet… you're bleeding a lot," Maera stammered, her voice uneven.
There was something wrong. Something deeply wrong.
Layall looked down as if noticing it for the first time. "Oh… right. When did that happen?" she asked herself aloud.
"Oh, the vase," she remembered suddenly, turning casually and kneeling down to collect the rest of the glass with her bare hands. Splinters embedded themselves in her palms, but she didn't even flinch.
She scooped all the shards into her fists and dumped them into the trash. Blood now dripped freely from her hands.
"If you two want to sit, you can. I thought you were in a hurry," she said politely, still wearing her mask. Her tone was shifting—darker now, layered with something unsettling. Something feral.
But it wasn't just her tone.
It was the smell.
The metallic scent of her blood was filling the space. Maera could feel herself growing faint, and it was becoming hard for layall to control herself anymore.
"No, we should get going. Thank you," Maera said quickly. She didn't like the atmosphere here. And Layall's shifting demeanor was beginning to truly frighten her.
But then, stupidly, impulsively, she asked, "Um... can I use your washroom?"
She hated herself the moment the words left her mouth.
"Sure," Layall said, stepping aside. "It's just to the left."
Maera turned to Sim. "Wait for me outside."
Sim nodded and stepped out.
Layall guided Maera down the hallway. "Right there," she said.
While Maera washed her hands inside, Layall remained downstairs.
She was no longer pretending.
Blood still dripping from her hands, she leaned forward… and began to lick it clean.
She lapped at it hungrily, almost desperately—like a creature starved for days. She was fully lost to herself now. The hunger had returned. The mask no longer mattered.
When Maera came back down and saw her—
She froze.
Layall's face was smeared with blood. Her eyes, hollow and gleaming, looked like they belonged to someone else entirely.
"Oh my God," Maera whispered. "She's… she's really a psychopath. We handed our phone over to a psychopath."
A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. Her pulse raced.
She turned quickly and bolted toward the door.
That's when she heard it—a deep, distorted voice behind her. Not Layall's usual voice. Something else.
"You're leaving already?" it growled."Stay a little longer. I haven't even looked at you properly yet…"
Maera's entire body went cold.
She could feel her skin crawl. The voice sounded like it was right behind her.
Without looking back, she ran.
Outside, she grabbed Sim by the wrist. "We need to go. Now. Before we end up on the news."
Sim, startled, didn't question it. Maera dragged her down the street at full speed.
Just as they turned the corner, they slammed straight into someone—
Alexa.
She had just arrived, hoping to see Sara.
The two girls didn't stop. They just kept going, brushing past her.
Alexa blinked. One of them looked familiar. But before she could place it—before she could even speak—they were gone.
She shook off the strange feeling and stepped inside Layall's building.
She only made it a few steps.
What she saw stopped her cold.
Blood.
Everywhere.
A trembling scream escaped her throat as her bag and phone dropped from her hands, landing with a sickening splash in the blood pooled across the floor.
TO BE CONTINUED...