The room had finally gone still, our frantic breaths gradually subsiding into silence—until a lone, piercing sound shattered the fragile calm.
Caw.
It wasn't loud. But in a place like this, even a whisper felt like thunder.
My eyes snapped open, body jolting with alertness. I pushed myself off the wall and turned.
And there, perched atop a worn, dust-coated chair like a self-proclaimed monarch of the ruined room, sat a crow.
Its feathers were a patchwork of grey and shadow, but what caught me wasn't its color—it was its gaze.
Intelligent. Calculating. Too aware.
Ronald spotted it too.
"What's a crow doing here?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
"I don't know," I muttered, not taking my eyes off it.
'If it starts cawing, more zombies might crash through. Don't you dare—'
The crow lifted its wings.
Its beak opened.
'Nope. Not today.'
I lunged forward, closing the gap in a heartbeat and clamping its beak shut. The bird let out a muffled squawk, its beady eyes blinking in outrage.
"If you caw," I warned darkly, "I'll eat you."
Ronald blinked. "I don't think it knows human language."
He wasn't wrong. But it wasn't about communication—it was about dominance.
"What do we do now?" Ronald asked warily.
"Eat." I deadpanned.
"Eat what? I don't have food in my inventory, what about—"
I tossed the bird at him. "The crow."
He fumbled, catching it awkwardly. "But it didn't caw though!"
"It did," I said gravely. "In its brain."
Ronald stared, brows furrowed like I'd just kicked a puppy. "…You never intended to let it go, did you?"
"Of course not. I'm starving. Let's build a fire."
Ronald's expression was a mix of intrigue and fear. "We won't accidentally burn down the house, right?"
"Trust me." I grinned.
Big mistake.
"Ack! The whole room is burning!" Ronald's scream echoed through the chamber.
"Stop screaming and help me put it out!" I snapped, kicking aside the firewood that had caught too well.
"Hiks! Alright!" His panic was real—but so was the smoke.
After a chaotic blur of stomping, slapping, and desperate prayers, the fire was out. Mostly. The room, however, was charred beyond recognition.
"…The room is burnt…" Ronald muttered, looking heartbroken.
"At least we're safe. And the food is cooked perfectly," I said proudly, lifting the crow meat. "I must be a master chef."
"A master chef wouldn't burn the place down," Ronald muttered, eyeing the meat like it was radioactive.
I took a bite. "Yummy!" I declared, ignoring the metallic taste.
Ronald hesitated, then took a cautious nibble. It didn't kill him.
"…What's wrong, Ronald? Lack of flavor?" I teased. "Well, none of us have seasoning."
He stared at the meat in his hand, his voice dropping. "…No, it's just… I feel sorry for the crows. How could you do that? You threatened the innocent crow to call its friends so you could eat more of them. You're such a villain!"
I paused, mid-bite.
'…Villain? Please. I'm the one keeping us alive.'
"…I will never forget their sacrifice," I said solemnly, before continuing to chew.
Ronald gave me a long stare.
"What?"
"Are you not afraid of getting cursed from eating the haunted house's pet?"
I smirked. "Nah, just chill, bro. Don't worry about curses, haunted houses, or zombies. Just relax and ease your mind."
'If I stop to think about curses, I'll go insane.'
"…Easier said than done." He sighed and took another bite.
The room finally quieted, save for our chewing and the occasional pop of charred wood. But even as our stomachs calmed, something else didn't.
"What do we do now? We lost the diary," Ronald said, looking worried again.
"No, we didn't. It's still with us." I smirked.
"I thought you gave it to the ghost!"
"Nah, that was my Master's secret diary."
"…What? So you broke the deal?! Llyne is a fool!"
"I didn't break the deal."
"You did!" Ronald pointed.
"I didn't. I said 'the' diary. Not 'his' diary, bruh."
"…That's cheating."
"Seriously, whose side are you on?"
'Neither, honestly,' Ronald thought, sighing. "So… What do we do now?"
"What else but to continue where we left off?" I shrugged.
"Why?"
"There's a chance it holds the key to getting us out of here."
"Really?"
"Don't know. But we can hope."
"…I guess you're right."
I pulled the diary from my inventory, its weight somehow heavier than before.
But the moment I flipped it open—my breath hitched.
Cold sweat formed at the back of my neck.
My heart stopped.
"Llyne?" Ronald's voice rose in pitch. "What's wrong? Your face is turning ghostly. Did the ghost bite you?! Are you going to turn into a ghost!?"
"That's a zombie!" I snapped.
"You're going to turn into a zombie?!"
"This conversation is going absolutely nowhere," I sighed, clutching my temple.
"Anyways—remember what I said about my Master's secret diary?"
"Yeah… what about it?"
"I just realized…" I whispered. "I gave away the wrong one."
"…What?"
"I HANDED MY MASTER'S MOST PRIZED COLLECTION TO THE GHOST. I'M IN DEEP TROUBLE. SHE'S GONNA KILL ME. HELP ME, RONALD!" I wailed, shaking him like a maraca.
"W-W-Waaah!" Ronald flailed. "S-Stop! Hold on! It's just a diary, right? How special can it be? How many diaries does she even—no, wait, I don't want to know. But really, I doubt she'd go to such extremes…"
"She absolutely would."
"…What kind of diary is it?" he asked nervously.
"Something you normies wouldn't understand."
"…Normies? What does that even mean?"
"You see?" I collapsed to the floor dramatically. "You don't even know what 'normie' means. Ugh! My heart!"
I continued. "If I'd known this was going to happen, I might have let that ghost have his way and kill us."
"If you knew this was gonna happen, you would've double-checked the diary," Ronald pointed out.
I sat up, brushing off the dust on my clothes. "Let's not cry over spilled milk. Let's read the ghost's diary."
"Ermm… okay?" Ronald blinked, confused.
'Well, I guess it wasn't that big of a deal. I'm relieved,' he thought, finally relaxing.
Little did he know… it was a big deal.
A massive, terrifyingly lethal deal.
And my brain had entered a temporary shutdown just to preserve what little sanity I had left.