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She’s crying.

She’s begging.

It’s fucking gorgeous.

But all those prayers, they’re empty, meaningless. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s not praying to her god—she’s begging me, her puppet master, to loosen the strings.

I won’t.

I can’t, until she’s strangling at the end of the noose.

Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, her body folding in on itself. She’s breaking, piece by piece. She’s falling apart right in front of me.

The room grows darker, the shadows creeping in as if returning home, where they belong.

Soon, so will she.

She’ll crawl to me.

But tonight, I will go to her. I’ll go to her, and I’ll let her feel it.

Chapter 3

Mercy

Isit on the edge of my bed.

My eyes are glued to the phone in my hand.

Emma’s name is at the top of the screen, the last words I sent hanging there, unanswered for hours.

How long had it been since the last time she spoke to me?

I couldn’t remember now.

Weeks, at least.

Did I say something wrong?

Did I offend her somehow?

My mind races, a whirlwind spinning through my head.

I scroll back through our conversation, dissecting each line, each word.

Everything was normal.

Nothing had changed.

“Is something wrong, Em?”

I type out the message, my thumbs hovering over the send button, but I delete it.

No. I had already asked enough questions.

I stand, the sudden movement sending a rush of blood to my head. The room sways for a moment before righting itself. I walk to the bathroom, my steps echoing in the hallway.

The face in the mirror, staring back at me, is a face I barely recognize. My usual fair complexion is even more pronounced, the shadows under my eyes a stark contrast to my usually rosy cheeks. My eyes are dull and listless behind the thick black rims of my glasses. I look like a specter, haunted by everything that happened to me today.