CHAPTER Eight: The Second Fragment
"No… no, that wasn't me. That's impossible. Why do I have to see it? Why? Why? Why? What did I do wrong?"
Elara screamed into her hands, curled into herself on the coffee-spilled floor of the bedroom. Her coffee mug lay shattered beside her, the cracks in the wall bleeding across the room as though it were mimicking her insides.
"That wasn't me. I've never… I can't—"
She couldn't stop shaking. Her lips trembled. Her breath caught in stutters, as though her lungs were unsure whether to keep her alive or not.
"I haven't even killed a fly… how could I—"
"Murder someone?"
She repeated the sentence like a mentally unstable person, each word sounding more hollow than the last.
"I can't—I couldn't—It's not possible... I'm not that kind of person."
Her voice was small, childlike, trying to deny the possibility even though she couldn't make sense of it.
But the memory was still vivid.
As if it had happened just yesterday.
The blood.
The dagger.
Lazareth's eyes.
Those eyes.
"Lazareth… Lazareth…," Elara cried aloud.
He was always there, but somehow her screams couldn't reach him this time. It was as though something was holding him back.
She could feel his presence trying to calm her.
But there was still no sign of him.
She stayed there for what felt like hours.
She couldn't tell, as time in this mansion didn't work the way it should, trapped in an endless loop.
But eventually, the tears stopped.
Her voice faded into silence.
"I need… air," she murmured.
She stood.
Her body, still trembling, moved on instinct toward the window.
Breathing.
Reaching for air.
The cold wind brushed against her skin.
Strangely, it felt comforting.
As though it were trying to ease her mind.
Elara couldn't sleep at all that night.
For a few days, Elara locked herself inside her bedroom, and surprisingly, nothing disturbed her peace.
But it felt more like the calm before a storm than actual peace.
The trauma was too much, but she knew she had to find out more eventually.
No.
She had to.
And she knew she couldn't stay like this forever, using her trauma as an excuse to remain locked away.
For Elara, staying in the dark was like a curse slowly eating her alive.
And she hated it even more when things were only half-told.
Elara couldn't think straight because of it.
Even though she wanted comfort, something to ease her mind, the truth was more important to her than anything else.
She had been too busy surviving this horrible mansion and had no will to explore.
So she decided to continue from where she had left off.
But first, she had to clean the mess she had created.
The spilled coffee.
The dried vomit in the basket.
How had she even survived in such a terrible odor?
Then again, considering everything that had happened, it was understandable.
She stood up, carrying only a hollow ache in her chest.
Finally leaving her room.
She hadn't eaten properly these past few days.
She ate something, cleaned her room, took a bath, and finally set out once again to uncover the truth.
She walked down.
Down the long corridor.
Past the dusty library.
Exploring.
The library contained nothing but old, dusty, ominous-looking books.
She scanned them one by one.
Nothing special.
Strange symbols.
Old history.
Literature.
Politics.
Etiquette.
There was another room nearby that looked like an office.
She searched there as well.
Not everything was useless.
She did learn a few things about the mansion's history.
"It seems like this mansion used to belong to some kind of noble person," Elara said while scanning a ledger. "And it seems like they were in quite a bit of debt."
"She also had one daughter…"
And there was no further information about her.
Elara then recalled the contents of the diary she had found in the attic.
It had disappeared a few days after she finished reading it.
She could never find it again.
As though somebody had deliberately hidden it.
"Elara…" she murmured unconsciously.
"So was she the daughter? Maybe her father discarded her after discovering her relationship with an illegitimate child?"
Lost in thought, Elara stood and continued down the corridors.
Through the cracked glass doors that led to the back of the mansion.
The air outside felt heavier than she remembered.
Gray skies hung overhead, heavy with static.
The wind didn't feel like wind.
It felt like a person's breath.
She noticed that the shadows, which had been quiet for a while, had started gathering again in darker corners.
Whispering to one another.
Reminding Elara of her misery.
Trying to distract her, as though they didn't want her to learn more than she already had.
But she couldn't care less.
Elara was used to them.
She had already prepared herself to face everything.
She stepped into the overgrown garden filled with twisted vines and dead roses.
A broken fountain.
Not a single sign of life.
"It's just an old backyard," she told herself.
Then she looked at the dying plants with pity.
"Poor things… no one to care for them…"
Which was ironic.
Elara was in much the same position.
An orphan for as long as she could remember.
The only family. Her ordinary husband's death.
An aunt she had only met once, suddenly leaving her this horrible mansion after her passing.
And now this miserable loneliness.
No normal human could live like this.
She became lost in memories of her own past.
But then—
She saw something hidden behind the dried bushes.
Two gravestones.
Half-sunken and choked by weeds.
As though they had been abandoned long ago.
She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing.
"No…"
The word slipped from her mouth.
She moved closer.
Her heart raced.
Her stomach twisted.
The first grave read:
Lazareth Valemont.
"A misfortunate love that led to his destruction."
And beside it—
Her breath caught.
She nearly collapsed to her knees but somehow managed to stay standing.
Elara Greaves.
"The guilt of killing her own lover took her away."
"WHAT—"
Even if it had nothing to do with her, she felt as though she were looking at herself.
The only thought grounding her was:
Dead people weren't supposed to feel pain like she did.
She clawed at the dirt, as though unearthing the truth might somehow undo it.
As though tearing apart her own grave could save her from it.
And that's when it hit her again.
A small scream split the air like lightning.
As if telling her there's still a lie all this between. An even greater truth she needs to find.
Everything started glitching again.
This time, she was slightly more prepared.
After all, she had already experienced this once before.
The graveyard faded around her.
And suddenly—
She was elsewhere.
Another memory fragment revealing itself.
A candlelit ballroom.
Rain tapping against stained glass.
And there he stood.
Lazareth.
Young.
Smiling.
Full of life.
Dressed in black velvet with golden cuffs.
His hand extended toward her—
No.
Toward a woman who looked like Elara.
Or perhaps Elara herself.
The music played softly.
Like a lullaby woven from melancholy.
"You hate dancing," he said with a smirk. "But you always did it for me."
Elara—or rather, her past self—rolled her eyes.
"Don't push your luck, Mr. Deadly Laz."
They laughed.
Elara could feel the emotions flowing through her.
The warmth.
The connection.
Not horror.
Not manipulation.
Just young love.
The kind the present Elara could only dream of.
"Why do you always call me that?" he asked, twirling her. "You're not even dead—yet."
"Because your love haunts me like one," she said. "And I want the name to fit."
Lazareth spoke.
"Even though you've already lost so much by being with me. Your reputation, your future, and everything else. All for an unwanted illegitimate child—"
"Elara interrupted.
"Laz! Don't speak like that! I told you I lost nothing. I had nothing before. No dreams, no freedom, no choice…"
She smiled.
"Yet I can't say the same now."
"Now I have a lot to lose after meeting you."
He froze.
She didn't notice.
But Elara did.
The current Elara, watching from within the memory, noticed everything.
She could feel how tightly he held her.
How terrified he was of losing her.
Because he already knew.
Somewhere deep inside, he had always known.
They would become each other's downfall.
Two unfortunate souls with no future.
The vision snapped.
Elara collapsed into the overgrown grass between the two graves.
The wind howled.
The sky darkened.
She couldn't breathe.
Her voice trembled as she whispered,
"So foolish…"
Elara wondered whether the present version of herself would have done the same, knowing there was no future waiting for them.
But an even greater mystery remained.
What had truly happened between them?
And how many more secrets would she have to uncover before this misery finally came to an end?
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👻 End of Chapter Eight
To be continued….