It began with a question.
"My life's dearest desire?" Lily repeated after her friend asked, her eyes drifting away in thought. She drew a deep breath, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Hard to say," she whispered.
Her friend giggled, expecting something lighthearted, but Lily wasn't joking. "Because," she added softly, "a person has many desires in life… but I simply wish that my life wasn't such a mess."
They talked in the library, their favorite place during free class hours, surrounded by the quiet rustle of pages. When the bell rang, their conversation broke, swallowed by the hum of another ordinary school day.
That evening, Lily walked home alone. On the corner near the old bridge, she noticed an elderly woman muttering words she couldn't understand. Their eyes met briefly, and a cold chill ran down Lily's spine. She hurried home and tried to forget.
Days passed. The same old lady appeared again and again—always in the same place, whispering to the wind. Lily ignored her until one afternoon the woman called out.
"My dear, what is your life's dearest desire?"
Lily froze. The question mirrored her own thoughts. "My… life's dearest desire?" she stammered. That same chill returned, climbing up her back. "I just wish," she said hesitantly, "that my life wasn't such a mess."
"Oh dear," the old lady replied, her grin curling strangely, "no life is a mess. But I shall show you how to be contented in one's diminished soul."
Before she could say more, Lily turned and ran. Her heart pounded as if something unseen was chasing her. That night, the woman's words echoed through her dreams.
Two months later, summer finally arrived.
Lily's cousin Anne spent her afternoons at the park, tossing pebbles while Lily watched over her.
One day, Anne suddenly asked, "Liz, do you ever miss your parents? Because today, I really missed mine."
Lily's heart ached. "Anne, your parents are gone… but I'm sure they miss you too. I miss my parents as well."
Anne smiled sadly but then pointed across the street, her eyes lighting up. "Liz! Look! The old lady came back! She told me my parents would be home soon!"
Lily turned—but saw nothing. She brushed it off as Anne's imagination and took her home.
That night, a nightmare jolted Lily awake. She dreamt of her parents arguing about the same old lady Anne mentioned. Shaken, she went downstairs to drink water. While setting down her glass, she noticed something odd—a small hole beside the old clock. She moved it aside, revealing a hidden cabinet with a dusty album inside.
The album belonged to her grandmother, Maria, a former journalist during the world war. When Maria's husband, Adrian, died in the war, she spent her final days clinging to his memory, believing he would return for her. The album held pictures of their love, the people who opposed it, and of their daughter—Emily, Lily's mother.
Lily flipped through the photos, a wave of melancholy washing over her. The air behind her shifted, and the door creaked open slightly. She froze, then closed the album and returned to her room.
By morning, she couldn't stop thinking about it. At school, on her way home, she saw the old lady again—this time dressed in black that smelled faintly of burned smoke.
"Our eyes…" the woman whispered. "They're the same."
Lily turned to look, but the woman had vanished.
That same week, news spread of a girl named Zuri—a name whispered through the halls of Moore Academy, the nearby town's private school. Every time a strange death occurred, "Zuri" The name that haunts the whole school. Whenever a crime scene happens, zuri's name is written in blood. The victim asking forgiveness, begging, and cursing.
One of the new students—Lily's classmate—had just transferred from Moore Academy. He said the story was a curse that connected certain bloodlines.
Lily didn't believe in curses—until she saw one name etched faintly in her grandmother's album: Zuri Maria Adrianne.
Her grandmother's full name.
That night, she woke again to a banging sound against her walls, louder and louder until she couldn't bear it. In the mirror, her reflection twisted—skin turning black, eyes blood-red, tears streaking down like blood.
And behind her reflection… the old lady smiled.