People collect books, coins, or seashells-simple treasures counted over and over just to admire the set.
I collect things, too.
It's comforting. Satisfying.
Most people collect stamps, coins, or seashells-counting their treasures day after day.
M...
(Disclaimer: Contains dark psychological themes and graphic violence. Read at your own risk and kindly proceed only if you are 16+)
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"One... two... three..." I trailed my finger across each one, counting slowly, carefully - I never miss the count.
"Eleven... Twelve... thirteen." I froze. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯? A sharp, physical discomfort bloomed beneath my ribs. Thirteen felt wrong. Thirteen felt like an itch under my skin.
I had always loved counting things. Books on shelves. Flowers in gardens. Steps on staircases. But I loved it most when the numbers came out perfectly even.
The palace halls were silent tonight. The kind of silence that made every small sound feel enormous. A strange smell lingered in the walls - dirt, rust, something like old metal left too long in the rain. I liked it. It's a strange thing to like, I know. But strange things are only strange until you get used to them.
That's when I heard it - a sound, soft and distant, drifting from somewhere down the east corridor.
A slow smile crept across my face. I hit my forehead with my palm, laughing at myself, and started walking toward it.
The corridor grew darker with every step. Moonlight slipped through the tall windows, painting silver patterns across the marble floor. "Fourteen?"
I frowned. 𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺.
"Fourteen." I shouted it this time. Reaching near the place I heard the sound from. I never lose my temper - I stay calm, always, never shout. Until today. Until my mother crossed a line she had no business crossing.
But now she rests 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, eyes closed, too still, 𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦. She was the first. She had to be the first - she's my mother, after all. Some things are only fair.
I was still turning that thought over in my head when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned sharply.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 He stood there, gripping a dagger with trembling hands. His face was pale, his eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief. People call him my uncle.
I laughed- I couldn't help it. He looked so adorable, holding that dagger
He lunged, clumsy, desperate. I pushed him back before the blade even got close, and in one clean motion swept my sword across his throat. Silence returned.
His head came away from his shoulders almost gently, like it had been waiting for permission.
The smell hit me again - my favorite smell - warm and metallic, splashing itself across my face in a fine red splatter. I closed my eyes for a second, just to feel it settle.
I picked up his head, carried it across the hall, and set it down beside my grandmother's, completing the row. "And fourteen... done!"
Fourteen. Even. Complete. The number sat right in my chest the way it always does when a count finally closes - that small, satisfying click of finished.
I looked down the line of them, quiet now, all resting so peacefully together. My family. My collection. Satisfied now, I smiled
