There was another laboured breath, unsure now, before he leaned back to his seat. His arms clutched tightly to his stomach in painful discomfort and the action took another shaky groan with it. Without much will to do anything else, Hamae remained still where he was, chest rising up and down unnaturally shallow and caught between the occasional gasps that sounded oddly quiet.

Moonlight rested itself down onto everything inside the room through framework that decorated the space between inside and out with weeping florals- ones that had been chosen years ago with Hamaes strange hobbies in mind.

Light, feathery taps began sounding upon those same frames, and though it was unclear what exactly it had been, the noble became more alert and unconscious at the same time. Perhaps much too much at a time for his weary state as of recent.

When the air became tinged with a smell that of copper or impurities, Hamae lifted his blood-stained hand off of his side and eyed it just for a few seconds as if to confirm he was actually dying. Knowingly or not, at some point, he had become too careless with his movements, and too blind to take note of any abnormalities within his body.

He quickly covered the wound again with the same hand that saved his absent- minded stupor and waited.

Not for the tapping to stop, because it was more like pleasant raindrops knocking at the wooden framed glass of the room that brung stability, if anything.

For someone to notice how the scratching of his quill had stopped- how it was replaced with breaths caught between oceans of unforgiving chastise. Which made his mind wander- for what? Punishment for years of unrelenting dedication to reforming a country long devastated by fierce chains, or working tirelessly in the name of the people he swore so surely to keep safe?

The nobles head fell back with a forced sigh that sounded more guttural than the last, turning just enough to notice the small peony that had sat on his desk since the last of his knights visit. A beautiful little thing, dainty enough to just about take up your palm, even if slightly frayed from its lack of roots.

It didn’t do anything- it didn’t sway nor did it flutter in a manner that would have caught Hamaes attention, but he still ended up looking at it; the most fragile thing in his sight, but it still tugged at his wound until it opened entirely, which sent another wave of aching to the deep of his stomach.

Despite himself, his difficult breaths became sobs, and that small peony dissolved into a blurred mix of pinkish shades before long. Hamaes glassy exterior shattered with intangible force which, perhaps, wouldn’t have been enough to reap tears in any other case. However, now, it would be too straining to call for someone, to move, to give any kind of signal. The man was helpless, and he’d begun to realise just that.

He was helpless to a pitiful extent- from the tight shut of his watery eyes to his teeth that gritted in pain, helpless for the sake of some silly dream he’d envisioned. To think one noble could only do so much, this one was a fool.

In a desperate attempt to alert anyone, Hamae kicked the side of his desk and hunched over at the immediate throb in his side that followed; his wet cheek hit the desk and then made another loud sound that couldn’t be missed.

It didn’t matter to Hamae anymore- he might have even wanted nobody to hear it, so that he may die quietly. After all, it was more convenient. His reputation wouldn’t suffer a stain such as the one that sullied the surface beneath his face, and nobody would know of this tragic display.

Another broken sob escaped his throat as the door on the opposite side of the room gently cracked open, letting warm light seep through. The tapping seemed to have stopped.

The light dims into the late winter afternoon. 4:38 pm. The bell for Vespers will ring in 12 minutes. So is this paragraph intense enough? He keeps writing and hoping that some kind of energy will be generated as more cursives and serifs get on the page as well as on his mind. Not even a quick flash of a thought—how much time do I have now — can he afford. Yet, the cloud of that question hangs over his head ready to burst rain and pour on him from a gutter dipping down from a roof aimed at his computer.

Her hazel eyes pierce the skin “Is there anything left from the man that’s within?” Her voice calms me The somber wandering of her melancholy mind It eases me to put my head back on the pillow There’s no world for tomorrow If you can’t remember the past today I exclaim in excitement She pushes back Her soft skin brushes up against mine Goosebumps form on my arm I can’t get past this dopamine fast It always goes away in the end I say But just take it day by day The path isn’t always clear But all you need is here

Murders and Mittens got the most votes! BUT, before I start this series, I need a few characters. I’ve already got the main character; Ella Jackson, but I need some more! Here is how to set your character sheet up:

Name: Age: Gender: (preferably just male or female) Personality: Description: Hobbies: Backstory:

And if you want to add any more details, feel free to! Have fun! And if I get too many, only the first few will be secondary characters and the rest will be minor :3

The truth that I tell you is this: I got out of bed. Which took only a moment. Unless you really want to know. Want to know the weight of the metal chains that tug when I force my body from its only reprieve. A reprieve that is lost, to the abyss and to the twisted version of my life that runs through my dreams. Maybe I would tell you what it’s like to look around and realize that I’m still alive. That I will have to do it all over again, when it feels like I just finished yesterday. The way my brain has to catch up to my head when I turn, lagging behind and seeing the furniture in my room but not knowing that it’s really there. The defeat of giving in when I shift my weight to the ground and drag my feet like dead weight toward the same thing. Over and over again.

One more time.

One more time.

One more time.

A man in a crisp blue suit gets out of a jeep ahead of the cargo trailer. His face is locked in a perpetual scowl and the sparse hair on his shaved head is just starting to grow back in a grey horseshoe. He walked down the line of Wolfbanes he noticed Romingo a wicked sneer split across his face “Welcome back to Nail this time you won't ever escape I'll see to that personally.” he said to Romingo quietly Then stepped back clearing his throat. Then spoke loud enough for all the Wolfbanes to hear

“My name is Warden John Washburn. The prisoners of Nail call me “Sir.” That's sir with a capital “S” for those of you with book learning. Proper noun you get me?.”

No one said a thing. The grammar lesson seemed utterly incongruous with being treated like animals during the mostly silent hours of transportation. The warden remains silent waiting.

Romingo was only loyal to Corin he wasn't going to submit to the warden anytime soon

The warden spoke up again “As you all know Nail is a place you'll never escape. There was only one escape Nail and I can assure you anyone who tries will receive the same punishment he has.” the warden pointed at Romingo and two guards shoved him forward One of them handed the warden handed whip then the soldiers went back to their place except one who held Romingo in place

“Let me make this clear to anyone who decides to try to escape. If you even so as attempt like this man right here you will get the same fate.”

The warden started slashing Romingo He growled in pain as he struggled under the soldier's grip. Twenty slashes later the soldier picked Romingo off the ground and then shoved him back in line

The warden walked down the line of wolfbanes staring each one in the face. Once he hit the end of the line he turned his heel starting back when he walked back to Romingo he turned to him his lip twisted upward in a smirk he watched the blood trickle down Romingo’s face. He was about to speak to him when one of the Wolfbanes stepped out of line and spoke with a deep lupine timbre, muffled by the muzzle. “Not sure I get you, John.” Romingo tried to look over without being noticed it was a wolfbane Girl.

The warden slinks up to her and then looks her up and down. “Some balls on you.” He feigns an obvious squint. “Ah, my mistake. Nothing between your legs but a tuft of fur and a bristling tail.”

Two things happened then almost in unison. The Girl wolfbane growled and before the rumbling fury so much existed in her throat, Washburn’s hand snapped down to his right side like a whip-crack and came up with a gleaming revolver. The Girl’s growl turned into a howl of pain as her knee blossomed with a splattering flower of blood. The warden steps forward into melee range, frowning as he holds his weapon to the girl’s temple and thumbs back the hammer. He looks up and down the line of wolfbanes as the other soldiers behind him twitch uncomfortably.

“I'm only going to say this once.” Washburn announces coldly. “From here on out I am your god. You will eat when I tell you to eat. You will shit when I tell you to shit. If I tell you to clean the floor with your tongue The only thing I want to hear out of your mouth is “Yes, Sir.” he looks back to the Girl “We understand each other?.”

Her only response was a groan of pain, but Romingo could almost hear her unspoken promise of revenge.

The warden lowers his revolver and makes a causal display of De-cocking it by feel, his left hand easing the hammer back into place While his eyes stayed locked with the Girl’s amber eyes.

Romingo felt tense it was just as traumatic as when he first arrived he hoped corin would find him soon. That his people would no longer have to suffer.

A midnight-black slash splits the road ahead in two, and Romingo felt the usual rumbling beneath his feet as if he was welcoming him back to the nightmares. Steel doors part ways, revealing a ramp descending into the blackness below. As the walkway is revealed, bright spotlights snap in pairs, two by two into the depths of the earth.

“Well then.” the warden says, turning to his victim. “Now that we developed an understanding, I'd like to welcome Romingo back to Nail, and to the rest of you welcome to your new home.”

The soldiers converged around Romingo and pushed the line of reluctant Wolfbanes toward the hole in the ground

“Welcome to Nail.”

Crimson droplets race down the textured grey walls. She’s screaming, maniacally laughing. She’s insane, broken beyond repair. She’s a clock ticking away; counting down your darkened minutes to life.

She’s the blade in your back; pretty, bloody, and sharp. She’s angry, a raging black fire… she’d pop your teary eyes out and use them as colored dice in her game.

The sharpened stone arrow is pierced through your thudding heart. She’s dangerous. Watch your step, crunching over the sharp pieces scattered on the polished bathroom tile.

When she’s near, run. When she looks your way, turn.

If she pulls your head from your neck, opens up your brains and claws at the wounds with taloned fingers, if she kills you deep and paints a canvas with your scorching insides—

Walk it off.

The body has already gone cold.

The three girls arrive before the twisted figure, his body contorted into an unnatural position. Joints broken, limbs bent, and an expression of pure terror frozen on his once-handsome face. A trail of blood trickles from his severed jaw, and more flows from a cloak once white, now stained with his last moments. An icy chill permeates the air, and the girls' breaths draw taut by the gruesome state of his body. They expected it, but can never be fully prepared.

"He was here", Viktoria whispers, her voice giving out. She looks down noticing the blood she stands on and takes a step back.

“Who is he?” Kaya asks, placing a gloved hand to the man’s coat. She tears it off, revealing the full extent of his injuries.

His heart has been ripped out, leaving a hollow hole overflowed with blood and fluids. Just like the others.

“James Benson, father of the lady who sent the letter” Eva reads. She uses her journal like a shield, obscuring her view from the body. “She reported the usual. Paranoid behaviors, frequent disappearances, signs of distress.”

“So what is this, the fifth body? We still have no clue who’s doing this or why in the spirits names they’re ripping hearts out!” Kaya exasperates. When the queen sent her three favorite knights to catch the killer, it was Kaya who was placed under the greatest stakes. Find a killer and free another. Her sister; better know as the noble killer. Not because she was noble, but because of all the gentry she seduced and killed over her time in the castle.

“We don’t know who they are, but we have come closer to an understanding than three months ago” Viktoria says. “We knows he’s male based on witness descriptions. We even got a boy to make a drawing—“

“That was a crappy drawing.”

Viktoria lips roll tight against her teeth, picturing the drawing of a cloaked figure. It could have easily been one of them. “A drawing nevertheless. But most importantly, we know he uses shadow magic to get away.”

They all look down, indeed finding no shadow following them. It will only be like this for a few hours here, but it’s still unsettling.

Eva sets her journal back in the satchel, still refusing to look at the body. Kaya and Viktoria were knights, and though Eva had the title she was only the queens handmaiden. And niece.

“So are you going to do something, or just stand there princess?” Kaya seethes.

Eva shoots her a daring look. “I’m no princess. But if I were, I would have advised the queen to have never sent you with us.”

Kaya takes a step forward with white knuckles, then pauses. “There’s something on the ground” she says. It could easily be a shiny rock with her eyesight, but the killer has a thing for leaving messages. And though she pretends not to notice for all their sakes, she sees the way Viktoria flinches every time.

Viktoria bends down and picks up a little white lamb, the type that kids use while playing Jeva. The game is simple; throw the piece and see what square it lands in. Depending on the square you land in, you are given a certain amount of chances to use your piece and knock the other off the board. If you mess up and throw yourself off, you lose.

She hated using the white lamb as a child, since the one who played the wolf always had the ability to knock her off the board easily. The lamb was too light and unbalanced, while the wolf was heavy with a flat bottom. So her brother always let her use the wolf, and he used the sheep. Still, she always lost.

“Does this mean anything to you?” Eva asks when she stares at it to long.

Viktoria attempts to seem casual as she pockets the piece in her trousers. Only a handful of people would know about the sheep—one being her brother, and she won’t utter a word until she was sure of everything. “No, not at all.”

“Good. Let’s keep things that way.” Kaya swabs the mans blood from the slash on his chest to send back to the mages. “Guards will be here for his body by sundown. Let’s get going before another body appears.”

The three shadowless girls mount their horses, leaving yet another body with more questions.

Freddy wasn’t half as amused by what he saw in Ms. Carmine’s kitchen. To be blunt, he was mortified, he wanted nothing more than to return home, crawl under his sheets and discard what he’d just seen. Hundreds if not thousands of crabs crawled haphazardly around the old woman’s kitchen. Crawling over one another, snapping and snarling at each other. He could hear the click’s from their claws and the snaps from their jaws.

“I believe they ate her, I don’t see the old witch anywhere…do you?” Questioned Ivan with a sneer.

“I don’t want to be here. We have to tell mother, Ms. Carmine could be in trouble,” He insisted, a chill holding tight to his vocal cords.

“Since when do you care about that old crow? You said so yourself that you wished she’d drop dead,” Argued Ivan.

But he didn’t mean it, he never really meant it…right? Freddy looked with wide eyes of fear, trying to scan across the floor for the body of Ms. Carmine, but his eyes couldn’t make sense of what he was looking at. All he saw were the dark burgundy shells of the sea creatures that overtook her kitchen. He thought he saw a disfigured hand under the carnage but he couldn’t be sure, he didn’t want to be sure.

One of the crabs clicked and clacked up to the counter and Freddy almost screamed. It stared directly at them, snapping its claws and snarling at them. Then it lunged forward into the window, hard, its strength causing the glass to stir in its frame. Soon after three more crabs joined in on the window bashing.

“Ivan we need to…” But Freddy’s words were cut short by the sound of cracking glass. He watched in horror as the crack from the first crab spiderwebbed across the window at an alarming rate.

Freddy and Ivan staggered back in horror as the glass shattered and gave way, the following was a sea of ocean crustaceans, spilling out onto the front lawn. The two friends fled in horror, screaming as the crabs gave chase at an alarming rate. Freddy ran, his eyes glued to the pavement as the creatures swiped and bit at his heels.

“They're too fast!” Screamed Ivan.

At that moment, Freddy realized that Ivan wasn’t by his side. He spun around in horror to see Ivan on the floor, screaming in terror, screeching in pain as the sea life consumed him. There was no time to react, Freddy had to run.

He snatched a departed tree branch from off the floor and swiped it viciously at the creatures as they closed in on him. He gave one last look at the friend he couldn’t see, then turned and ran, his legs burned and his chest heaved, but he refused to give up as he headed towards the sunset.

The large, echoey room was pitch black and frigidly cold. If you stepped inside, your footsteps would echo loudly, sending shivers down your spine, and you would immediately wished you had worn your thick, warm sweater. Sometimes, a spotlight would flicker into the middle of the room, providing temporarily relief. The shining light focused on a single blood red flower, withering in your midst. And when the lights would flicker off, you would start breathing heavily and your heart beat quicker once again. You would look around the room for an exit, only to find you couldn’t see. The room was so large, it would take you ages to even reach the edge once again. If you were to run your hand against the wall in hope of finding any passage leading you far away from here, you wouldn’t find anything. There wouldn’t be any forms of entry or exit whatsoever. Then the spotlight would flicker in the distance onto the dying flower again, frightening you beyond imagination. And as soon as the lights would flicker off, you would hear noises. No, not noises, a voice. A single voice would echo through the room, telling you to run, hide, that you were alone. Which you would be. At least, you thought so… And that, lovely as it is, is what would happen if you were to step into the room of doom.