"Hey."
Bill looked up, his eyes meeting a wide grin plastered across the canvas. The smile was too broad, too perfect—a crimson crescent curving like a sickle moon, as if painted by a hand trembling with suppressed laughter.
The painting was silent. Only its smile lingered, frozen in false joy.
"How do I set you free?" Bill's voice cracked, rougher than he intended.
A sudden, booming laugh filled the room—a giggling cacophony bouncing from wall to wall, like dozens of children hiding behind the canvas. Then, as quickly as it came, the sound vanished.
"Well," the painting whispered, "I figured you'd come back."
Its smile stretched wider, nearly reaching the canvas's edges. "Just… sooner than expected."
The air grew heavy. Bill clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.
"Just give me a drop of your blood. Place it here."
Bill studied the painting. The red streaks around its mouth twitched faintly, like a snake's tongue tasting the air. How could a single drop of blood unleash a demon? His mind screamed, but his hand moved on its own—teeth biting into the skin of his index finger until blood welled up.
The blood dripped onto the canvas.
And the smile on the painting—
Widened.
Its red lips parted to the frame's edges, jagged teeth emerging like rows of rusted nails. Its eyes, once mere black dots, now swelled—round, gleaming, ravenous.
Bill had no time to scream.
The canvas absorbed his blood in an instant, and then—
Cold.
Something slithered through his wound, seeping into his veins, piercing his spine. Bill choked, his knees slamming into the floor. His hands spasmed, clawing at his throat as if to rip out something lodged within.
Blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, dripping to his lips, then falling—plop—onto the floor.
Then…
Silence.
Bill stood again, his body light, as if the ordeal had been a fleeting nightmare. But the air around him felt different now—thicker, as if something lurked behind every breath he took.
"I'm inside," the voice hissed within his skull, gleeful.
Bill dragged his tongue across the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. "How will you grant my wish?"
Another laugh—short, piercing. "Everything takes time, Bill."
Damn it. I've been tricked.
"Tricked?" The voice quivered with delight. "Perhaps a little."
Bill froze. You… can read my thoughts?
"You know," it whispered, as if grinning widely, "we're one body now. So… let's get along."
…
Arthur trudged through the forest, the rustle of wind stirring the leaves and brushing against his ears. His steps on the grass produced soft whispers that mingled with the breeze. Yet an unnatural silence gripped the air.
"Hey, why've you guys been so quiet?" Arthur called, turning around.
His eyes widened. The space behind him was empty. Furina and Charles had vanished. Where were they? A chill crept down his spine, fear tightening around his heart.
"Lady?!" he shouted, spinning to scan his surroundings.
Silence. No response. Arthur retraced his steps, calling out for Charles and Lady Furina again and again. Only the echo of his own voice answered, as if he were utterly alone.
"They…" His steps faltered, his head bowed. Arthur's eyes widened. "They're gone…"
A sudden gust of wind buffeted his body. Moments later, a faint creak sounded from behind him, like a wooden door swinging open in the breeze.
Startled, Arthur whipped his head toward the noise. His mouth parted slightly, uncertainty flickering across his face. He stepped toward the source.
Tall grass obstructed his path, his hands pushing it aside to clear the way. Each movement produced a faint rustle in his ears. He closed his eyes briefly.
When his eyelids lifted, a large wooden house loomed before him. It looked weathered, lifeless, devoid of light. Only its windows and door swayed in the wind, creating an eerie scene that sent shivers down his spine. The hairs on Arthur's neck stood on end just looking at it.
His lips pressed together, his fists clenched. Maybe they're inside! he thought. With cautious steps, he approached, as if afraid to disturb something hidden.
A memory flashed through his mind: a dark screen, the silhouette of a girl entering a haunted house. In the next scene, the door slammed shut, ominous music swelling… Arthur shook his head vigorously, trying to banish the image.
He swallowed hard, forcing his legs to move forward. His hand brushed the rough surface of the wooden door before pushing it open slowly. I hope what happened in that movie doesn't happen to me… he whispered to himself.
Trembling, Arthur stepped inside. He'd barely taken a few steps when a loud noise thundered.
SLAM! The door shut behind him.
Arthur spun around. It's just the wind… right? he thought, trying to quell the panic rising within.
Then he heard it again—the creak of a door opening and closing in the wind, coming from a room ahead. A cold draft from within brushed his face, lifting strands of his hair. The chill pierced his skin.
As if drawn by an invisible invitation, the room beckoned him. Arthur swallowed and stepped forward. This time, he grabbed an object by the door, propping it open to prevent it from closing again.
With slow steps, Arthur surveyed the room. It was dark, but he could faintly make out shapes within. A strange scent, mingled with the aroma of books and candles, filled his senses. His hand brushed a cold, textured surface—perhaps a bookshelf. His fingers traced further, touching the spine of a book.
A library? he wondered.
Arthur pulled a book from the shelf and opened it, but the darkness obscured its contents. He sighed and dropped it carelessly.
He moved on, trying to discern the room in the dim light. Suddenly, his foot struck something hard. Pain shot through him, and he winced softly.
"Who puts a table in the middle of the way?!" he grumbled.
He examined the table he'd bumped into and noticed a book lying on it. Arthur picked it up, brushed off the dust, and inspected the front and back covers. Then he opened the first page. The soft rustle of paper filled the air.
A single word was written there: History.
Arthur's eyes widened.
Written in English!
He quickly flipped to the next page. The sound of turning pages echoed again. But all he found was a blank page.
He tilted his head, confused. Suddenly, the book in his hands trembled. Arthur dropped it back onto the table. Instantly, a brilliant light erupted from the book's empty pages.
"What's happening?!" he cried, panic surging as he bolted out of the room.
The light grew stronger, engulfing the entire room in its blinding glow.
...
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