"Number 150."
The nurse's voice echoed—she wore a short uniform, her hair a glaring blonde, her lipstick cheap and crimson. She gestured toward the black door behind her, ordering the holder of the number to step forward.
At the time, many people were waiting their turn for the annual blood test in the waiting hall. This test was the decisive factor in the course of their lives—everyone's lives in this kingdom, not just the elite.
The atmosphere was unbearably bleak. No one spoke or chatted; everyone was lost in overthinking. Adam, meanwhile, was counting sheep.
"Twenty-nine… thirty… thirty-one… thirty-two… thirty-three… thirty-five…"
Yes, he was counting sheep, trying to ease his tension a little. Among the crowd, Adam was the calmest and most composed. As he counted, his gaze drifted downward.
"Thirty-six… thirty-seven… thirty-eight… thirty-nine… forty…"
She had taught him this method—soothing him and his siblings during the night of the Red Moon, when monsters attacked their village.
Not much left until my turn, he thought, as the number before him was called.
Two possibilities lay ahead of Adam: either to live out his life alone and purposeless, only to meet the same fate as his mother and siblings—martyrs of the Red Moon Friday—or…
"Number 152, please proceed to the examination room."
He sighed, then laughed softly as he heard the words. "Well," he said, "I suppose it's time to face my destiny."
It was then he realized it was too late for his life to flash before his eyes—every regretful act, every pain he had felt. Even the happy moments refused to surface.
He walked steadily toward the door as people around him watched. Then a girl with diamond-colored hair appeared before his eyes. The first word that came to him to describe her was star.
To him, she shone like a diamond star—breathtakingly beautiful.
He stopped before the black door, above which hung a sign marked XX. Pausing for a moment, he smiled and said,
"Hey there, diamond-haired."
She looked at him with her gray eyes. "What?"
"In case we don't meet again—just in case—I don't want to add another regret to my list." He fell silent for a few moments, gazing at her with his stormy blue eyes, then asked,
"What's your name?"
The nurse smiled bitterly as she opened the door. The diamond-haired girl replied,
"Charlotte… my name is Charlotte."
Adam smiled as he stepped into the darkness beyond the black door. Moments later, everyone heard a whisper from within:
"Thank you."
Soon, all returned to their thoughts, their silence, their anxious worry. The diamond-haired girl remained standing, staring at the door. The nurse closed it and glanced at her.
Entering her office, she asked, "What's wrong, girl? Why are you still standing?"
"Oh—sorry," Charlotte replied. "I'll sit."
I forgot to ask his name, she murmured to herself.
---
In a narrow corridor shrouded in darkness, Adam walked toward the unknown. The gloom did not frighten him, nor did the strange sounds he heard from time to time—the whispers and unsettling murmurs. All that occupied his mind was how incredibly long the corridor was; he had been walking for nearly five consecutive minutes.
Is this corridor really inside the building? The question seemed reasonable.
Then he saw the door ahead—a copper hue with a metallic sheen. He quickened his pace until he stood before it, noticing the same XX sign that had been on the black door.
"I suppose I'm heading the right way," he said sarcastically.
"Please, come in," a voice called from inside.
Adam clenched his fingers, trying to calm himself, and resumed counting aloud.
"Forty-six… forty-seven… forty-eight… forty-nine… fifty."
He closed his eyes and looked at the door handle, carved in the shape of a skeletal hand.
"Alright," he said. "Let's do this."
He reached out, grasped the bony hand, and turned it forcefully, pushing his way inside.
---
Inside was an ordinary room with a balcony—Victorian-modern furniture made of the finest wood. Yet the floor clashed horribly with the elegance of the furnishings. The green carpet was soaked in blood, with scraps of flesh scattered here and there.
Midway to the balcony sat a woman with silver hair, rigid features, and translucent white eyes. Pointing to the wooden bed before her, she said,
"Rest, so we may begin the examination."
I suppose I'm to lie on this gray bed, Adam realized as he stepped toward it. The woman was cold as ice—motionless, unblinking—dressed in a black, funeral-like gown. Her appearance was deeply unsettling.
Still, Adam paid it little mind. He slipped into the bed, pulling aside the gray blanket, then sighed.
"Well, here I am. What's next?"
"Alright, Adam. Your blood analysis has begun," she said, extending a wooden tray for him to place upon the bed. Then she looked at him.
"Adam, the test is very simple. All you must do is choose the red flower or the blue one."
She lifted the cover of the tray, revealing two flowers—one blue, one red—and sat back down.
"Choose wisely."
Hmm… just choose. Adam stared at the engraved vase before him. Candles around the room pushed back the darkness slightly. Air drifted in from the balcony—which he now noticed opened onto nothingness at all. He was in an entire world contained within a small apartment filled with blood and remnants of flesh.
"Alright… blue or red?" he muttered. He searched within himself for a sign, for guidance, while also wondering about the purpose behind it all. He reached for the blue flower, then hesitated and withdrew his hand. He did the same with the red.
Wait a moment.
An idea struck him. He looked at her and asked,
"What is the purpose of this test?"
"I don't know," she replied coldly, her voice monotonous.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" he asked, confused.
"I truly don't. I am merely the supervisor of this examination. I was appointed by Lady Barda, head of the medical division. All I know is that this room is not fixed across examinations."
"Does everything change depending on the person taking the test?"
"Not everything," she corrected him. "Only the test itself. Otherwise, the room and its contents remain exactly as you see them."
So this test revolves entirely around me, Adam thought. He rested his hand beneath his chin and tilted his head, contemplating the flowers. Then, for a moment, he remembered.
He remembered a moment shared with his martyred sister, Claire…
She had been a girl in the spring of her sixth year, with eyes like diamond stars and hair as dark as a moonless night. She used to comfort him through life's troubles.
He remembered the days they played in the garden. She had loved gardening—especially flowers.
And then he remembered. That day. That moment.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said in a steady, slightly hoarse voice. "May I ask a small favor?"
"Go ahead."
"Would you hand me the flower beside the left leg of the bed?"
She froze in place for a few moments upon hearing his request. Then she bent down near the bed's leg and pulled something free. Adam heard the sound of something being plucked.
"Just as I expected," he said.
"In the same place where Claire left it."
It was a sunflower—its petals pure white, shimmering faintly as though carved from ice. He took it from her as she asked,
"How did you know it was there?"
"I promised her," he replied, struggling to contain his sorrow. "I promised that if she died before me, I would bring it to her when I died."
"But if this flower is here," he realized aloud, "then that means—"
She cut him off before he could finish.
"Yes, Adam… it means you are afflicted by the Blood Curse."
At her words, every candle went out, plunging the room into darkness—while within that darkness, the faint glow of the icy sunflower shone.