Vol eight. (Chains)

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It was too early in the morning to drink, yet it had become as much of a habit as checking her phone once she woke up

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It was too early in the morning to drink, yet it had become as much of a habit as checking her phone once she woke up. Despite the opulent and lavish lifestyle, it felt empty. There was no one she could share her unbridled joy with. Perhaps it was copium to ignore her loneliness. Maybe it was a mask to hide her weakness from everyone else. Whatever the reason, the only times she was free to be herself was with herself, behind closed doors.

As soon as she set down her breakfast on one of her many wooden tables, the pink haired girl immediately reached for her half-empty bottle of whiskey. Her eyes widened suddenly when she heard a fiendish laughter echo all around the living room. There shouldn't be a single soul in this mansion besides her, but there were far too many places she never bothered checking once.

"Somebody there?" she screams into the desolate void, dread clear in her tone.

"Somebody?" The voice echoes back her question with a sinister growl.

Her senses on edge, she puts everything down and looks up to the wide window on the second floor. She had not drunk a single shot yet; surely this must be a hangover from the night before.

"Don't play innocent with me," the voice continues to ring loud in her ears, sending shivers down her spine.

"Where are you?" She questions the taunting whisper, her eyes scouring around for a sign of this presence.

"Follow the cold shiver running down your spine." It seemed like it knew that she was on edge and wanted to stir a panicky reaction from her uneasy and vulnerable self. She couldn't help but be compelled by this ominous but compelling echo. Her gaze lingers on a collection of historical masks throughout the ages, perhaps their unusual designs were the manifestation of the devil himself.

"I'm right here!" The voice shouts, causing her to look right behind her. When she turns around, she faces herself, reflected in the mirror. Was it her?

"I don't understand," she speaks into the mirror, expecting an answer not from her conscience, but from a tangible entity.

"Did you think it was coincidence? So many good things, all happening for you. All for you." She inches closer toward her reflection, still delusion that it could be anyone but herself. "Sakura."

"What do you want?"

"To say what you won't. To do what you can't. To remove those in your way."

A realisation hits her. Sakura pulls out the newspaper from one of her bathrobe pockets and unfolds it. Her heart sinks when she reads one of its headlines: Four hotel kidnappings caught on camera. Beneath it are supporting words: CEO denies accusations.

"The captives. You took them." she whispers to herself, denying any involvement in the act.

Quickly she turns to her reflection, her features rapidly shifting between shocked and sinister. "We took them!"

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