𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗢𝘂𝘁

ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕥 || 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 26

"Whatever," I let out a breathy chuckle, convincing myself that it was the dark of night sending me delusional. I hoisted the door open and let the energy it gave off fade as I made my way in deeper.

What if I did investigate?

I shook my head, using memory to navigate through the large halls of the mansion to my room. The sensenation was left outside to rot away with the coming sunlight, proving it was just another hallucination of being a monster.
I unlatched the door to my room, slowly closing it with a click of security. I watched as the moonlight danced into my window, finding a bit of calmness in all this storm.

Sleep was the only thing on my mind before the world had gone black, and my body hit the comfortable surface of my bed.

*･゜ﾟ(^O^)↝

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The soft echo of the hollow wood penetrated through your peaceful slumber, making your eyes slowly peel open unenthusiastically. The almost pitch black room caused a sense of wonder about the time, making you groan lightly. Craning your neck towards the portable, sliver alarm, the bold red numbers read: 4:37AM - only giving you twenty seven minutes of shut eye. The dark had convinced your body to remain in bed, pleading for you to ignore the being behind the door. It wasn't important.

But you simply couldn't.

Slowly lifting your figure off the bed, you eyed the door, waiting for another rhythmic knock to occur; but it never did. There was a silence that loomed through the air, almost convincing you that the person was gone. Nonetheless, a small shuffle debunked this theory. A small thud sounded lightly at the foot of your door, peaking a sudden interest. Footsteps could have been heard leaving the scene quietly, not a sound pierced the air.

Your half lidded eyes peered at the door, finally letting your feet press against the carpeted floor to gain balance. A small creek followed the pressure of your weight, then it happened.
A soft, muffled tune played from behind the door, one that could've been heard in a children's show or a jack-in-the-box. Stopping in your tracks you felt an uneasiness through your core, resulting in a nervous scoff to escape your lips. You attempted to blink your eyes open, although they remained half closed. Feeling the cold touch of the silver knob in the palm of your hand, you turned it slowly, revealing nothing dangerous behind the closed door- only an emerald green box with a beautifully tied black ribbon.
As your eyes adjusted to fit the darkness, a foul scent violated your senses. A scent so familiar that it left even more questions - a rotting corpse.

The tune became increasingly slower, and it's joyous tone became deep with every passing second- as though it was a cry for help.

Hesitation chewed at your lips, running through your fingers as you slowly reached down to trace the top of the box with your finger tips. That's when the music stopped, setting in the uneasy silence this box was supposed to give.
Moving past the smell, your fingers gently shook the top off of the box to loosen the lid.

Once it was off the smell became intoxicating and suffocating, almost throwing you back with a wheeze.

You covered your nose with your shirt and peered inside the box. 

Your eyes suddenly snapped open, frantically witnessing the bloody horror of the contents of the box.

A female's head laid upright to stare at you, her eyes singing songs of fear and tales of death. Her eyes were bloodshot, wide open staring at you with trauma from the way her poor soul was taken. Her skin was painted with her own blood. Just before her severed head were her beautifully crafted hands presenting a crimson human heart for you.

An offering.

Or, a signal.

As your eyes adjusted more to the darkness you became aware of who this female was. Her blue eyes pleaded for you to recognize her and her soft brown skin was stained with her own tears and blood.

Charlotte.

A gasp escaped your lips as you fell back, taking deep breaths as though the world around you collapsed.
Just then your eyes landed on a piece of paper sticking out behind the back of her head. You almost didn't reach for it, but curiosity made you a subject to its will.
You plucked the paper from the box and shakily unraveled it, biting your tongue as you read it. It's writing was like none you had ever seen.

'Could you kill someone you love?'

Shock made you involuntarily throw the paper, wanting for it to be a nightmare. It couldn't be Masky, right? Was it a mission? A request? It couldn't be him. You were just with him.

It didn't make sense.

There was only one other person that could have done this.

This was manifesting into a bigger problem. If this craft was done by him, then he was now a threat to your well being. This wasn't just hatred anymore, this was… something more sinister.
However, coming to such a conclusion was tricky. If it were Toby his quirks would have made it too obvious and his writing would have given it away.

Dizziness and disgust took over your mind, wanting to murder the person that had done this.

Observing the contents one last time a dark figure had marched beside you, taking you by surprise. Just as the power entered your shaky legs to lunge at the character, a cold, sharp pain entered the left side of your head.

Through blurred vision a dark mask covered their face, leaving them unrecognizable. They hid from the moon light, only letting shadows bless their figure. They were smart.

You were falling, although the impact was pleasant.

You hit the surface of a comfy bed.
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