Possession (ON HOLD)

Prologue

"Prae? Prae, what is the matter with you? Prae? Wake up, Prae!"

Motionless with her eyes wide open, but lifeless, the young woman lies on the cold marble floor. The dark hair spread out like a fan on the floor. The skin cold, pale, waxy, almost translucent. Large, dark eyes open in a distorted face. The mouth is contorted to a grimace of pain. The dress, yellow-stained, inadequately covers the emaciated body, which has come to rest once and for all in the midst of the convulsion. The deadly last syringe broke next to the young woman's outstretched arm.

"Prae? Prae, wake up, Prae! Prae?"

And as much as the young boy begs, the woman has already taken her last breath. Can't hear the boy's plea, can't fulfill his wish.

And the plea becomes a lamenting sound that penetrates the silence of the hall. A sound of sorrow, of despair, but also of anger. After all, the situation that he always feared and yet foretold occurred: The beloved sister has lost the battle. A battle that could not be won in the first place. The temptation was too great, the despair too deep, the escape too easy. And although he was only 14 years old, no longer a child, but not an adult either, he did superhuman things to tear her out of the claws of the promising white powder. Long nights of fighting, long days of guarding. And yet: in the end, it wasn't him who won, but the syringe. He lost the battle because of a fatal mistake. If he had been more careful, if he had checked the cream jar before, she would still be alive. But how could he have known that she kept the powder in an old creme jar? How should he have known that? But he should have noticed when she stowed the can in her pocket and then left the room quickly. Should have known she was planning something. Something she wanted to keep secret from him. It's all his fault. Her death all alone his fault. Fault which he can never make up for. Because the dead do not need compensation.

"Get rid of her!" A man's voice gives orders emotionless and ice-cold.

Strong hands reach for the woman and also for the boy. They drag her out of the hall, pull him onto his feet, drag him towards the stairs.

Sobs escape from his throat and make his body tremble. But the hands hold him tight, preventing him from falling to the ground.

Cold and distant are the eyes he now looks into as he lifts his head. Eyes that know no pity, no sympathy, no mercy. These eyes know only business, profit, power. And then the man's face turns into a smug grin.

"I had warned her, but she wouldn't listen."

"You, you... you bastard! She is dead! Dead, you hear!"

"Moderate your voice, boy! It is obvious that she is dead. Otherwise, she would not disfigure the optics of this hall with her sight."

Unbelief, grief, anger, just some of the many emotions reflected on the boy's face. "You will pay for that!"

The resounding, evil-sounding laughter haunts him as he is pushed up the stairs. A laugh that has burned itself into his memory, a laugh that he will never forget. A laugh that makes him swear that he will take revenge.

- - - - - - TBC- - - - - -