PROLOGUE

📌 DISCLAIMER:

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

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Apologies in advance for any grammatical or typographical errors. Thank you for your understanding!

📌 Trigger Warning:

This story contains violence, emotional trauma, and themes that may be distressing or triggering to some readers.

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  "Wait, Ellerie… please, just let me live," she pleaded, barely able to meet my eyes.

"What if I don’t want to?" I replied with a smirk, my voice laced with mockery.

"I’ll do anything you want, Ellerie. I swear I won’t hurt you again. Never," her voice trembled.

I stared at her—one long, soul-piercing glare, while I stood there, chest heaving from exhaustion and rage.

And then, a question knocked at the door of my mind—

What if I forgave her?

But before doubt could fully take root, a whisper slid into my ear.

“Do it.”

I turned to my left. Then right. No one. Only flames and the agonized screams of burning bodies. Their leader lay sprawled on the ground, weeping, begging.

“Do it, Elle!”

She made you suffer. And now you’ll just forgive her?!

That voice... that tone... It was Elleo. My twin. I was sure of it.

But he wasn’t there. No shadow. No silhouette. Just a voice—either in my head or a demon that had clawed into my heart.

“I said... do it!” he roared, echoing like thunder in my ears.

I grabbed the shovel.

There was no hesitation.

I struck her—hard. Clean. My body moved like it was on autopilot.

She coughed up blood.

I froze. My hands trembled. I swallowed again and again, not thirsty for water, but for justice. For vengeance.

“Ellerie…” she whispered again, pleading.

But all I could hear was Elleo’s scream inside my mind.

I stepped closer. Shackled her hands and feet—tight.

Even as she cried and begged, I covered her mouth with a cloth. I didn’t want to hear her voice while I did this.

“This wasn’t how I wanted it to end,” I said, my voice cold. “I wanted it quick. One hit. Done. But no... I want you to feel the heat, the pain—like I did.”

“If you had just killed me back then, maybe we wouldn’t be here,” I added.

She shook her head violently, her eyes pleading.

But it was too late.

I picked up the remaining canister of gasoline and the lighter from my pocket.

I poured the gasoline over her. Her entire body soaked.

Only one thing left.

I lit the lighter. Watched the flame flicker on that tiny piece of metal.

“Don’t worry. I’m going to hell too,” I whispered.

And I let the fire go.

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Next Chapter One — The Night That Never End's

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