The nausea crept up her throat from the pit of her stomach; the realization that yesterday was real. She had done what she needed to, at least, that's what she told herself in attempt to consolate her conscience. Slowly and methodically, she made her way to the bathroom sink and turned on the faucet, letting it run until steam fogged up the mirror. With hesitation and closed eyes, Cass plunged her hands into the scalding water and willed herself to keep them there until every drop of blood was erased. She closed her eyes to forget the crimson on her hands, but all she saw in her mind's eye was a sink full of reddened water. Again, the nausea made its way up her throat, threatening to release itself. Cass focused instead on the burning water that had suddenly become cold. The image in her head changed; her hands were in ocean water now, a water so pristine and deep blue it became red. The ocean had turned to blood. Cass couldn't forget what she had done. Despite what she told herself, she knew she had something terrible. She would have to learn to live with guilt, everyone would - if they wanted to survive.

My eyes feel heavy, but I fight the sleepiness and urge them open. Warm lights greet my eyes as I glance around my surroundings. I am in a small bed, loaded with warm fur blankets. Elegant furniture and plush rugs spot the small room. Paintings of flowers and castles hang on the crimson red wallpaper walls. I rise up, but pause. The nausea creeps up my throat from the pit of my stomach; realization suddenly hits that yesterday was real. A mirror in the opposite wall reflects my pale, bruised skin. I’m sore all over, with scratches a small cuts spotting my cold skin.

Tears fill my eyes at the memory of yesterday: _It was a cold morning, so I went out to help my father split wood. Everything was quiet, still; almost too peaceful. Smoke was rising from my house’s chimney. I could smell Mother cooking up eggs and potatoes. And then the screaming began. _ _People in the village ran and screamed that the King’s soldiers had arrived to show them what it would be like if we did not pay our expenses. _ _Many of us were near death with the increased expenses. _ _I rushed to Father and we gathered Mother and my brother, Seth. _ _We ran to the woods, but arrows were flying behind us. One struck Father. I screamed. _ _A soldier came behind me, but I fought back. Then another came, and thrust a fist in my face, I fell. _ _Smoke and blood filled my nose, screams sounded around. _ _I lied in the cold mud, slowly drifting away. _ A tall, muscular figure, with familiar dark eyes and hair picked me up and then I fell into darkness.

I shake my head of the memory and attempt to get out of bed, but the door of the room opens and the man that picked me from near-death enters the room. I freeze. “Elena, you must rest. You had a hard morning yesterday,” the man says in his deep voice. I stare at him, trying to figure out his familiar face. And then it clicks. “Davian,” I gasp. He smiles. I jump out of bed and rush to him. I clasp my arms around him in a hug. “Davian! You’re back!” I shout. Joy filled me as I looked upon my dear friend who left for a merchant assembly a year and a half ago. He certainly had grown up more; gained inches in height and muscle. His face fell at the sight of my bruised cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you sooner, Elena.” I shake my head. “You saved me, Davian.” Then the burning question that has been resting on my tongue bursts, “Do you where my family is? Is my father safe?” A soft smile rises from Davian’s lips. “Come.” He signals to the hallway. I follow him down to the kitchen, where the smell of breakfast simmers. I hear my mother and Seth arguing over how to properly eat eggs. And the I hear my father’s laugh. I burst into the room and almost cry with complete joy. Everyone rushed towards me and we all hug. Everyone is okay. “Oh Elena!” My mother cries, hugging me.

I smile at my family and then turn back to to lip “thank you” to Davian. He nods his head with a smile.

when the world is draped in a shroud of bleary confusion, there surged from the very depths of her soul a nauseous wave of truth. the kind of truth that gurgles and churns from the pit of one’s stomach, clawing its way up the throat like a vile serpent intent on revealing its sinister secret. yesterday’s horror, with its crimson stains and the echoes of a scream lost in the abyss, was no dream. it was real, achingly real.

her mind, once a canvas of pastel dreams and naive hopes, was now smeared with the visceral hues of a gruesome reality. yesterday, she had performed an act so brutal, so unfathomably dark, it seemed to defy the very essence of who she thought she was. yet, in the raw, aching aftermath, when the silence of her room pressed down with the weight of unspoken deeds, there was no regret. no quivering hint of remorse.

in the cold light of morning, as she stared into the abyss of her own reflection, she saw the stark truth staring back at her—a truth so horrifyingly stark that it almost seemed poetic in its cruel irony. the act of murder, painted in the deepest shades of night, had become a permanent tattoo on her very essence. the blood that had once seemed foreign was now part of her own veins, and the screams that had pierced the air were now the symphony of her own soul.

she wondered, with a shiver crawling down her spine like a thousand icy tendrils, what this revelation said about her. was it the mark of a soul eternally damned, or merely a mirror reflecting the darkest corners of her nature? the realization that she did not feel even a sliver of remorse, but rather a chilling acceptance, was both a balm and a wound. it suggested something deeply unsettling, like a gaping chasm within her that could swallow whole the notions of right and wrong.

the nausea that rose like bile in her throat was not just a physical reaction but a haunting manifestation of her new reality. the acts of yesterday had etched themselves indelibly into the fibers of her being, and in that grotesque dance between horror and acceptance, she could only wonder if her own essence had been irrevocably twisted by the very act that should have shattered her spirit.

and so, in the quiet solitude of her shattered world, where the ghosts of yesterday whisper their damning truths, she was left with the gnawing, relentless question: what does it mean to murder and not regret? what does it reveal about the labyrinthine darkness that now resides in her heart? the answer, elusive as ever, drifts through her thoughts like a fog, just out of reach, yet ever-present.

The nausea crept up her throat From the pit of her stomach; The realisation that yesterday was real.

And the nausea went to sickness When the walls began to peel, Like those ailing, painted boats.

Up came yesterday and last year with it A mess of promises, Or maybe hopes glued together.

There was peace in burning Letting go of her tether, Emptying the first-aid kit.

And there she lay Counting her carpet fibres, And listening to her skin hum.

Arrangement of alarms Droning until she’s numb, And can say ‘I’m okay’.

Bell felt nausea creep up her throat from the pit of her stomach.

She couldn’t let herself back out, especially because this involved more than just her. It deals with Cross too.

Ugh. It’s been so long, she worries that their friends will be upset with how long they knew and didn’t tell. Being soulmates and discovering powers was not easy for them to process, and not saying anything became normal. Then Roman found his soulmate in Jeremiah, and they befriended Amelie and Ria. Life became so hectic that they kinda forgot to divulge this secret.

But they knew it was time to confess. Cross, while he had a hold on his telekinesis, doesn’t always have complete control. Her mood affects her weather powers. It is just becoming harder to keep the mask up. And they don’t want to lie anymore. They don’t need to.

“Bell? Anyone in that head of yours?” Roman asks, playfully bumping his closed hand against her temple like he was knocking.

Everyone is in her living room. Roman and Jeremiah are sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch. They laying on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows next to one another. Amelie and Ria are sitting close on the end of the L shaped couch. Close enough that their arms and legs are pressed against each other. Lou slouches in the middle, petting her ferret named Fern. Bell and Cross are on the other end, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her.

It would be a perfect time to tell them. If only she could spit out the words.

Glancing at Cross, she can see that he is struggling with the same thing. It is like once you ar win too deep. How do you rectify it now?

“You ok, Bell?” Roman asks. It confuses her how he knows until she realizes that her ankle is against Roman’s arm. He can probably feel her radiating nervous energy.

“I’m fine. Great actually.”

No one appears to believe that with their continuing looks. “We actually have something to tell you guys.”

“It must be big to warrant a big announcement. Are you guys getting married?” Lou teases. Fern the ferret wraps himself around her shoulders, seemingly chuckling at her joke.

“Can we be your bridesmaids?” Ria adds on to the humor.

“No, let me guess,” Jeremiah says, but then frowns, “I can’t think of anything to guess.”

Roman grins at his soulmate. “That’s ok. I think they are just going to tell us.”

Amelie hasn’t said anything yet which isn’t unusually, but she meets Bell’s gaze. She nods, and Bell gains a bit of confidence. She is the only one that knew about her and Cross having powers and being soulmates.

“Cross and I found out that we’re soulmates,” she blurts out. Cross takes her hand and squeezes it in support.

All (except Amelie) jaws drop and eyes go wide. No one speaks for a solid thirty seconds. Bell understands the shock since she and across both thought they were soulmateless, but it doesn’t help her anxiety.

“Could you guys say something?” Cross pushes, hoping for some kind of reaction. Anything but silence.

All at once, they all move. In a blur, both she and Cross are tackled. “You guys! Congrats!” Jeremiah shouts. The houseplants in the living room getting visibly greener and healthier.

It feels nice to finally tell someone. Amelie found out on her own, but these are the first people that they got to tell together.

“How did you find out?”

“When did you find out?”

“Why didn’t you know before?”

A bunch of questions are thrown at them, and Bell isn’t sure how to answer the last one.

“You don’t seem surprised, Amelie,” Roman observes. His tone isn’t accusatory, just stating a fact. “Yeah, I figured it out the day Bell invited me to sit at your lunch table.”

“I guess that makes sense. The weather does kinda get weird around you, Bell.” Lou mentions, thinking about to the random cold moments. Her cheeks grow a bit warm, remembering how she tried to cover her abilities. She waves her hand and a small breeze runs over them. Cross lifts the pillows in the room and makes them spin to showcase his power.

Once they all have settled back into their previous spots, Jeremiah says, “Well, Jelly Belly, tell us how you and Cross discovered this.”

So she spills. She and Cross take turns describing the moment they kissed and realized they had powers. Snow in her room. His telekinesis making things float. It is a joyful moment. The story does take a turn when they say why they didn’t say anything before. The fact that someone manipulated their minds to forget. Someone like her mom who has telepathic powers.

“Wow, that’s a lot to take in. No wonder you’ve been anxious,” Roman comments.

“It’s a lot to carry,” Amelie takes Bell’s hand and gives it a squeeze before letting go.

“You think you’re mom did this?” Jeremiah questions. His disbelief is evident, though Bell knows he isn’t doubting them. Just shocked that someone may be capable of that. It isn’t a thought that Bell likes to consider.

Cross shrugs his shoulders, “She never liked me.”

A noncommittal sound comes from Ria. They all turn towards her, their attention diverted. “You know, if I were in a room long enough with your mom, I could probably find out.”

That statement short circuits Bell’s brain for a brief minute. She always associates Ria’s abilities to manipulating dreams and brushes aside the fact that she can do the same with memories.

“You think so? That might be a lot shifting through memories until you find that specific one,” Amelie worries. Bell has never seen her worry for someone more than she does with Ria. She makes a mental note to ask her about that later.

“Maybe? My only issue would be if she would feel me. Telepathic powers may give her the ability to know if someone is tampering with her mind. We don’t want whoever did this to just make you guys forget again.”

“What about Greta?” Lou speaks up.

Bell’s nose scrunches up in confusion. “What about my sister?”

“Lou’s right. Greta would’ve known you and been more aware that you had a soulmate. Someone would have had to repress her memories. It would be safer to explain it to her and have Ria probe her head,” Roman explains in his calm voice, being the voice of reason.

Ria reaches down and hits Roman on the shoulder, “Don’t be gross. I don’t probe.”

“Greta comes home for spring break in a month, so I’ll approach her then.”

It’s about time they get to the bottom of this. Who doesn’t want them to know they are soulmates?

There is a long pause, perhaps the heaviness of the situation settling in.

“So you’re like Storm from the X-Men?” Jeremiah asks, breaking the silence.

Even with the weight of potentially her mom messing with her memories, Bell laughs. “Yeah, I guess so!”

“Can you make it cooler in here? Fern says it’s a bit warm in here,” Lou requests, stroking Fern.

Closing her eyes to concentrate on letting the cold washing over her, the temperature noticeable gets chillier.

When she opens them, all her friends are shivering. “Oopsie, maybe not that cold.”

——— (I kinda forgot that I never had them formally tell everyone! Also, I didn’t know how to end this.)

“Hey, why did you murder that chick”

The nausea crept up her throat from the pit of her stomach as she realized. Yesterday was real.

“I accidentally sat on it” tears falling heavily.

“Woah, calm down” he gave her a hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It was just an accident.”

She sobbed

“It was just a little chicken baby, it deserved to have a life!” I cried out

“Geez, you get all emotional about chicks, I wasn’t even talking about a chicken”

“Than what where you talking about?”

“That chick Tena, that you don’t like. You murdered her… remember?”

“Oh, so?”

The nausea crept up her throat from the pit of her stomach, the realization that yesterday was real. Her mother didn’t want her, she chose money over her own child.

It had been four months since the little girl had come out to a teacher that her step dad was being abusive.

Four long months that she would go through hell with her mother, the therapy, group meetings, meetings with lawyers, she was only eleven.

Her mother said” this can’t be happening to me, I trusted him with you, please tell me you are lying!”

She smacked the girl in the face in hopes she would recant her statement. The little girl just sat and cried being scared of what might happen next.

The mother got tired of dealing with everything and sent her to a behavioral health facility where she would go and be treated for depression.

Two weeks had gone by, the little girl was ready to go home. The case worker called and stated that her mother would not be taking her back and that she would be going into foster care.

After one year of being in foster care the little girl was adopted after her mother signed over her rights.

The mother said “I have my own family to think about and I can’t lose my financial stability at the moment”

The mother was selfish, because of her selfishness it would alter the little girls life forever.

Eighteen years later the little girl is now a thriving young woman with all the love to give in her heart.

The nausea crept up her throat from the pit of her stomach; the realisation that yesterday was real. She had just had what a sorcerer in another world called a live dream.

Ade and Rowena The Goth, fell under this bus. They left Marsh Bank House traumatised. True, Rowena did not fall foul of Stringers prediction, a large part of that was a selfless course of action by Conrad, but death did fall upon part of her psyche. At the time of this book their nice solid friendship had failed. Things that needed talking about, were left in denial. School suffered, but both managed reasonable grades, and progressed into sixth form. Rowena tried going out with someone, but it failed after two hours. Ade never bothered. Both continued to stare at each other from a distance.

Rowena cried herself to sleep at night, while Ade sat looking at an old text message, “I love you Ade, never let anything come between us.”

It had. The smoking gun, and something they had both seen, that nobody else alive had, Elisabeth Beechwood.

Ade was dropping out of life in a big way, back to who he was before Rowena found him, looking at the world beyond the school fencing. She was looking at university courses, to escape Houghton, and the boyfriend she still wanted. Emma Strickland knew how Rowena felt, the first man she had begun forming a real bond with was “missing.” It sucked, she wanted to bang Ade and Rowena's heads together. But she hadn't. Her own life was part of that collateral damage. She knew the house destroyed her parents. It's what it did, history said so. It ate you up, and spat corpses out. Sometimes it didn't even do that, it just swallowed you up whole.

It's why she took it off the market, and boarded it up. That was eighteen months ago, before her therapist, Kevin Whittaker, suggested taking a step back. Stop overwhelming, and start living again. Emma lapped that one up, and decided never going back to the house was the best thing since sliced bread.

Still, all broken jigsaws start in bits, and two years after the puzzle was smashed, Joseph and Allan were beginning to start picking them up. There was business to attend, friends to re-acquaint with, and lives demanding answers, that science and forensics drew blanks on.

The nausea crept up her throat from the pit of her stomach; the realisation that yesterday was real. She replayed the events over and over again in her head, anguish and hurt dancing inside her.

"It's over." He had said, and walked out like the last 3 and a half years never existed.

Like she never mattered to him.

She had stood at the door, clutching the frame, thinking that he would turn back around. That he would flash her his dazzling smile, say that he was only joking, and evelope her in a crushing hug.

But this wasn't a fairy tale. Nothing ended the way you wanted it to. He walked out and never came back. He didn't so much as explain why he left.

And now she was left to clean up the peices. Sweeping away all the remnants of the man from her life. He had left so much of his stuff at her house. It was like he wanted her to think of him forever. Every thought was of the man who left her. Every whisper of the wind called his name.

When the shock wore off, when the self-worth questions disappeared, she would be left in agony.

"Clay. Clay. Clay." The broom repeated with each swipe on the ground.

Was that a peice of his hair there? A toenail clipping? No. This was unhealthy. She needed to knock him out of her head.

But how would it ever be possible? How could this feeling be so blissful at one moment and then the next, so irrevocably painful?

And then a thought blossomed. She picked up a picture of the couple together. The girl’s head rested tiredly on the male’s shoulder. His arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

“Love is a chemical reaction,” she reminded herself, whispering to the antagonizing photo.

It isn’t real. It’s a bunch of measly chemicals reacting in your body.

“I don’t love him. I never loved him”

No matter how many times she repeated that single line in her head, she could and would never believe herself.

“I don’t need him.”

Fat, wells of tears built up behind her eyes.

Love was made up so people could feel like they accomplished something. So people could feel like they had a purpose in someone else’s life.

When in fact everything was a trick from the body.

Only a chemical reaction.

But chemical reactions can still leave you in withering agony.

They still leave you with permanent scars.

Chattering teeth called for attention. Shaking hands demanded attention. Turning stomach screamed for attention. Pits of dying embers flickered open, staring blankly at the ceiling. A ceiling of smokers’ yellow. Attention.

Ignored gnashing teeth bit down hard on her flat pink muscle. Scared hands fumbled desperately with the edge of the fraying blanket. Unable to bare the wretched twisting and turning the stomach launched the remaining contents up and out. Choking on burning bile, her nose filled with an acrid scent, she rolled clumsily onto your side, finally finding clean air.

Closing her eyes, she begged for reprieve. The memories wouldn’t die peacefully, no they raged in a furious swirling flutter. Recapping forever what she had done, there was no way she could deny what she had done. This was her doing, this would be her downfall. Silently chained by the mind to hell she relived the moment of yesterday. A day that should have been insignificant, a day that turned off the straight and narrow.

You gaze around the small space. No more that four walls, a desk, a chair, and a photo frame. Unremarkable and mundane. Yet each would partake in the crime of the century, an unwilling accomplice. A forfeit of innocence.

“Be there at before sunrise,” they said, “Don’t be late, I am very punctual.”

Here you were at 3am. They weren’t here. Punctual indeed. Pushing yourself off the dull beige wall you began to pace, like a caged beast. Four strides were all it took to reach the other wall. As you continued your short walks, you began to wonder what was taking them so long. Perhaps it was the traffic… not likely in the depths of the morning yawn, the hour before sunrise. Family emergency, no they were a medical recluse. Excuse after excuse built up.

Gathering in your mind, bumping busily against the smooth bony walls. Three hours had slipped by, a ghostly reminder that the world kept on moving even if you were stuck in the same place. You would be patient for a single hour more.

Legs grew stiff, aching with the fizzing build up of lactic acid. There was not even a window, a portal, to the outside realm to keep toxic thoughts at bay. Just as you rose, unexpected like a spring flower, the door at last flew open in a triumphant gesture.

Despite being four hours late, they still had the audacity to stroll in calm as a summer’s day. You stared at them incredulous, your building storm cast an ugly shadow across their sunbeam smile. Whipping up like a startled whisper on the breeze, your slender fingers wrapped around the wooden frame, deadly intent disguised with feigned interest.

Unleashing the pent-up anger, you hurled the frame at their face. Oh, how glorious was the sound of the descending tinkling laugh, and the sickening crunch as the stout frame landed a heavy blow. “What time do you call this? You said you were punctual, now I am very late, and I’ll have you know I don’t like being kept waiting.” Spittle flew from your lips as you hissed.

Clutching their nose unfazed they chuckled lowly, a sound akin to pounding ocean waves caressing the shingle, “I do apologise, you have to understand being the boss of a very lucrative business requires,” the pause shifting the weight on their neck, “Unexpected meetings. As much as I hate keeping clients waiting, sometimes needs must.”

Remaining perched authoritatively on the desk, you forced them to look down on you, “Now, I do understand, but I too have places to be. Don’t forget I have connections to the other mafia cartels, and I won’t be afraid to take my business elsewhere.” Pushing back a lock of icy blonde hair, you fixed them with a stare that could easily wither the dead’s skeletons.

“It seems we are both very busy peop-“ Your frayed patience finally let go of the remaining strand of cold calmness, as you grabbed their throat and shoving them forcefully against one of the walls. Four feet ground down the shatter fragments of ice; a sound that set your teeth on edge.

Leaning your whole slender frame against their soft wasted muscles, “Do you hear a clock ticking?” Silence answered you, despite the panic rising in their dark mahogany eyes and in that instant, you knew that they were trying to think of a quick witted answer. “No, I didn’t think you did. Guess your time is up then.” Pulling your Devil red painted lips back into a condescending smirk, you raised your free hand.

In the lithe fist a short simple blade. Nothing too flashy. It had to be practical, not decorative. Excruciatingly and deliberately, you traced a sharp ‘X’ across their left cheek. You felt the muscles tremble to remain neutrally unfazed, as you delicately mined for seams of scarlet. Hypnotized under your pulsing aura of nuclear power, they let you tie them deftly to the wooden chair.

Rule one always carry rope.

You couldn’t help but notice the flaking chips of splintered hope of the tree, one that had been sacrificed for the greed of humanity. Perhaps one day the soul of the forest will get the burial it deserved. An animalistic stare locked onto you, as you methodically turned the small office upside down.

It wasn’t a necessity, just a game to play as they gradually lost their mind, you knew where they hid the goods. Pretending to be surprised at finding your treasure, you turned to face them once more, “Oh, here is what I wanted all along! How difficult would it have been to just give them to me, we could have avoided all of this drama.” Condescension dripped from every syllable.

“Please! Forgive me… They aren’t for you!” Soulless windows began to water as they grovelled. Arms straining to break free from the confines of the rough papilla that licked at their bare wrists. Your feet planted firmly in the sea of glinting petrified sand, you folded your arms across your chest, with one eyebrow raised you waited.

Seizing their final chance, they gabbled, “They are for the boss a large firm in Russia, he needs the money from selling those drugs. I promise that you will get your share soon… Tomorrow even! I can get my best worker on the case; I can phone them now if you just untie me!”

Studying the alabaster powder through the tiny clear pouch, you ruminated their offer. Seconds turned to minutes. Silence slunk in, hanging in the corners waiting… just waiting. “No.” A final definitive answer, “You have had your chance.”

Amused you chuckled darkly, as you watched their throat bob in fear. They knew their time was up. You witnessed the lightbulb flicker on in their dim mind, as they realised that the cross on their cheek was deliberate, a warning. Nodding slowly, you confirmed their thoughts. Relishing as terror bloomed like a poisoned black rose in their eyes, thorns etched their mark as they dug into the thin flesh.

Spinning on your heel you began to walk away, hips swaying in victory. Just as you reached for the brass handle, you turned back to face them. “Goodbye,” a mournful word of passing as you discharged your pistol.

Following the thunderous crack and faint smell of surprise, the golden bullet whistled, pirouetted, flew straight and true. It buried itself deep into their chest, pulling out hunks of discarded flesh. Desperately, trying to remove the foreign object the body spat droplets of crimson in all directions, convulsing violently to no avail. The flash of fatal tooth sunk into the heart, releasing its venom, bringing a deathly veil over the once rich eyes. A scarlet bloom blossomed elegantly around the site of the grave, a lonely reminder of who once live. Petals darkened by tears reached out and climbed into the cavernous hole, searching for something lost.

Jolting up right she broke free of her reverie. The nausea crept up her throat from the pit of her stomach; the realisation that yesterday was real.