They called me into the room like it was something normal.
"You may come in now, Emma."
Like I was just being invited for tea. Like I wasn't walking into the final breath of my mother.
The hallway was cold. Or maybe I was. I don't know anymore. Everything feels the same now. The walls, the air, the silence—it's all gray. Just different shades of it.
Liam walked with me till the door. He squeezed my hand. I didn't squeeze back. He said something—I don't remember what. All I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat, heavy like footsteps in a silent corridor.
And then… I stepped in.
The room was white. White walls. White bedsheet. White light. But nothing felt pure about it.
She was lying there like she'd been asleep for years. Peaceful, but hollow. Lips slightly parted. Skin pale, but not cold—yet.
There were no machines hooked up anymore.
Just her.
Just me.
I walked up to her slowly. One step at a time. My boots made a sound against the tiles. Click.Click.Click.
Her hand lay beside her. I reached out and placed my fingers on it.
It was warm.
Still warm.
I looked at her face. Her eyes were shut like she was dreaming. Like maybe if I stood there long enough, she'd wake up and ask me if I wanted toast.
But nothing happened.
I didn't cry.
I wanted to.
God, I wanted to rip my own heart out just so I could feel something again. But I couldn't.
There was nothing left inside me.
The doctor behind me cleared his throat.
"They said she—" I paused. I couldn't finish the sentence.
He nodded gently. "We found a blade. Near the base of the forest. The wounds match. We're… classifying it as a suicide."
Suicide.
That word. That damn word.
Like she gave up. Like she chose this.
She didn't. Amelia chose this.
She took her. Took her mind, her hands, her life.
And now all that was left was a shell. And a daughter staring at it.
I sat down in the chair beside her. I brushed a hair away from her forehead. It didn't move like it used to. My fingers shook.
I tried to say something. Something important. Something final.
But nothing came out.
Just silence.
"I'm sorry," I finally whispered. "I should've protected you."
I wanted her to answer. I wanted her to say no, baby, you did your best. But all I got in return was a blank ceiling and a fading heartbeat.
My tears didn't fall.
Not because I didn't love her.
But because my grief had swallowed me whole.
There was nothing left to give.
Aftermath – Corridor
I stepped out of the room.
Everyone looked at me—Liam, Chloe, Peter, Edward. Waiting. Expecting. Searching my face for a reaction.
But I didn't stop. I just kept walking. Past the corridor. Past the nurse's station. Past the place where they had once saved my life.
Liam followed me.
He didn't speak.
We sat outside, on the bench, under a sky that didn't care.
"Emma," he said, gently.
I looked at him. Eyes dry. Voice steady.
"She's gone."
"I know."
"She was all I had left."
"You still have us," he said.
I looked at him. His face, tired. His eyes, hurting.
I nodded slowly. "Do I?"
He didn't answer.
Night – Hospital Room
That night, I lay in the hospital bed again. Same bed. Different grief.
I stared at the ceiling.
I didn't blink for a long time.
I kept thinking… why didn't I scream? Why didn't I collapse into pieces like they show in the movies?
Maybe because I had already broken too many times before. There was nothing left to shatter.
My fingers still smelled like her shampoo.
My shirt still had her blood.
And still… not one tear fell.
Just silence.
e world had blurred into a soft hum of white lights and distant footsteps. The beeping of machines had turned into background music, like a song playing on repeat, too tired to feel, too numb to stop.
It had been days since I saw her face—my mom's lifeless face—before the ambulance doors shut.
I hadn't cried.
I hadn't spoken, not really.
I had smiled, once. I think.
It was fake.
My fingers still twitched at times, like they remembered the weight of her head in my lap. My lips hadn't formed her name since the hospital staff zipped the body bag.
And now I was lying still. Flat against the stiff bed. The world silent around me.
And that's when it began.
---
At first, I thought I was dreaming.
I was standing… in a room I'd never seen before. It was beautiful in the worst way. Cracked chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the walls bleeding out with vines, and candles floating mid-air, flickering a sickly green.
There was a mirror in front of me, but it didn't reflect me. It reflected someone else. Someone darker. Someone smiling.
Then I heard her voice.
Amelia.
"Oh, sweet Emma…" she cooed mockingly. "Still haven't cried yet? You must be made of steel. Or maybe… just hollow."
I turned.
She stood there. Elegant. Mocking. Her black dress hugged her like smoke, and her eyes shimmered red.
She grinned.
"I must admit," she said with a laugh, "I actually felt a little bad… when I saw your mother's brains painted across that tree bark."
I didn't speak. I didn't flinch. I just looked at her.
She tilted her head. "Not even a blink? Are you sure you're not the villain here? Even I shed a tear when my cat died."
I clenched my fists.
She noticed.
"Oh don't get mad, darling. It wasn't me who killed her."
She stepped closer. Her feet didn't touch the ground.
"It was the other ones."
I blinked. "What?"
"You remember that little ritual you did?" she whispered. "The one you thought would defeat me?"
She laughed, loud and echoing.
"You broke the seal, sweetheart. That ritual... unlocked more than you know. You didn't just hurt me. You let them out. The old ones. The ones who used to wear human skins as party costumes."
I shook my head slowly.
"Oh come on," she grinned. "You thought your little spell only touched me? You think you're that special? You opened the door. And they walked right in."
She circled me like a hawk.
"They were with me all along, Emma. They helped me crawl out of the dark. And when they saw how you clung to that little 'mother' of yours like a lifeboat..." Her smile dropped. "They decided to have fun."
Her eyes burned.
"It wasn't about revenge. It wasn't personal."
She leaned in close.
"They just wanted to play."
I felt my knees buckle. But I didn't fall. I wouldn't let her see me break.
"You're lying," I muttered.
She smirked. "Am I? Or maybe you're just too scared to admit it. Your ritual killed your mom. You killed her, Emma."
She stepped back, her arms wide, spinning.
"Congratulations. Your magic worked."
---
The Real World – Waking Up
My eyes opened sharply.
White ceiling. Beeping sound. IV drip.
I was back.
Same bed. Same numbness.
But my chest was caving in. Not from panic. From something worse.
Understanding.
It wasn't Amelia.
It was me.
It was me.
The ritual I performed—the one I thought would save everyone—it had let them in.
They had been silent since that night, hiding in the cracks of the world. But Amelia's words echoed inside me like poison.
"You opened the door."
I didn't cry.
I just lay there.
Hollow.
Dead behind the eyes.
---
Funeral – Three Days Later
It was cloudy. The sky wore grief like a second skin.
Peter held my hand.
Liam stood behind me. Quiet. Present.
Chloe had her arms wrapped around Edward's, her face red from sobbing.
They all watched me.
I stood still.
I didn't shed a single tear.
The priest said words I didn't hear. Someone handed me a rose. I dropped it into the grave like I was pressing a key on a broken piano.
I didn't say goodbye.
Because I never got the chance to say hello again.
---
After the Burial
People came. Spoke. Hugged. Left.
I didn't speak much.
I didn't eat.
Liam stayed beside me. Silent. Gentle.
He didn't push me.
Peter tried. He really tried. He sat beside me and whispered stories from middle school. Jokes about Percy. Our old locker that never closed properly.
I smiled.
It wasn't real.
But I appreciated the effort.
That night, I lay on my bed again.
Alone.
And for the first time in weeks…
I whispered, "I miss you, Mom."
The air didn't respond.
And finally...
Finally...
A tear rolled down my cheek.
But just one.
---