Page 58 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

I was different then, but I was loved. And when the only people who taught me to smile were killed mercilessly, I died too.

Chapter 35

Wild Rose

Through the Eyes of the Abyss

Some say death is quiet, like a whisper, a senseless breath of smoke, threading its way through the air without notice, as if it’s never really there, just a soft murmur, a pause. Others say it’s loud, an eruption, a shotgun blast that ruptures time and tears the fabric of life with the brutality of its call. But theirs, theirs came at night—a quiet, unassuming thing, like any other moment in the waking world. A car accident. An innocent sound that cut through the air, but under that illusion of normalcy lay something darker, far more sinister, something nurtured in the shadows of my uncle’s soul, twisted by his hands, planted in the soil of intent.

And on that night, I too died, though I still breathe. I became a mausoleum entombed with grief, a ship sinking slowly into a sea of fire, choking on its own smoke. I became a walking corpse, dragging my limbs in the hollow past of what I once was. What perished within me, however, was the greatest loss—a piece of myself that crumbled andturned to dust, a piece that, despite my body still existing, would never rise again.

Every time I lock myself behind these pale, cold walls, I ache to scream, to tear myself apart in some cathartic way, but the sound never comes. My mouth moves, but no words ever fall. The silence mocks me. The suffocating quiet of my own mind. Despair grows there like a garden of shadows. It fills me to the brim, crushing me, and at night, when he watches, it all unravels. I fall apart in the dark, eyes red from the storms of my sobs, my throat raw, burning like the touch of fire. My heart shatters again and again, and still, I remain silent, as if the act of mourning itself would be too loud for this fragile shell I’ve become.

It’s a strange bond between us, something unspoken yet ever-present. He knows my suffering, and I—his twisted affliction. There’s an understanding between us, one that doesn’t require words, a silent pact woven into the very air we breathe. But it festers, this unspoken thing, like an invisible burden pressing down upon us, choking, draining us piece by piece, until nothing remains but the faint whisper of what we dare not speak.

My mind battles with itself, a deceptive fog swirling within me, pulling me into its cold, endless abyss. It’s a place where I lose myself, where the world slips away like a forgotten dream. I am no longer tethered to the human, to the warmth of flesh and blood. My body becomes inhuman, an empty shell that is distant and floating in a void. I feel so alone, as though the very fabric of my existence is slipping through my fingers. My vision blurs, and I lose all sense of time, all sense of place.

I no longer see my mother’s face, so serene in her final rest, nor do I feel his eyes on me, haunting me from the doorway. They linger like ghosts, unseen but alwayspresent. My heart rots in my chest, like something left too long in the dark, decaying, forgotten. And yet I can do nothing to stop it. I cannot pull myself from this slow spiral, cannot reach out to stop the crumbling of my soul.

I am losing touch with everything that was once real. My memories, the warmth of the sun, the sound of laughter, all fading away, like leaves carried off by the wind. I am locked in a tower of my own nightmares, a prison of my own making. And then, in the quiet dark, I see it, the sorrow that stares back at me, rocking on its feet in the corner of my mind, a silent figure in the darkness, crying out to me.

Sebastian’s touch pulls me back to the present. His hand at the nape of my neck is a reminder that I am still alive. I had crumbled, and the reality of it sinks in when I taste the salt of my tears on my lips and see the marks of my nails etched into my palms.

He kneels beside me, gently taking my hands in his and kissing the bruises softly. “How can I make it hurt less?” His voice is tender, full of care.

My gaze drifts to my mother, and a damning pain pricks at my heart at the thought of losing her. When we returned, I visited Papa’s grave, the feeling of something heavy pressing against me until I spoke the words aloud, facing his cold stone. It’s time

“I have to let her go, but I don’t know how,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Her doctor says she is dying. Her hair has lost its shine, her skin is pale, and she no longer feels warm, only numb—as though her life is slipping away, and I can do nothing to stop it.

Not everything is as it seems. While Madgar helped me pay the Sanatorium bill, it hadn’t crossed my mind that Sebastian was the one who owned the place. He took mymoney only to return it, slipping it back onto the card Oscar gave me when I first moved in with him. He told me this as if it were just passing news, and I found myself deeply grateful beyond words.

But his acts of kindness didn’t end there. He sought out the best physicians to examine my mother, though they all gave him the same grim answer. Last night, like another page in his book, he told me everything.

“The first time I met you, my parents had just been killed. I remember watching you walk down the hallway to Dr. Holly’s office, holding your father’s hand.”

“Did she know everything?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“She knew most of it. She listened. She cared.”

I could hear the fondness in his tone, the reverence he had for her. He was just a child when Iris forced him to witness such unimaginable loss.

“Before you, I stood for years, unshaken. But in your presence, the ground moves beneath me and my legs tremble,” his hand caresses my cheek. “You’re water—pure enough to save, yet fierce enough to drown in. Your eyes hold the power to bind my soul in your hands.”

His thumb brushes away a tear that slips down my face.

“My mother always said the brightest stars carry the deepest love. And whenever you miss those who have left us, just look up at the sky.”

More tears follow, and he gently wipes each one away, his touch tender and steady.

“And what if I can’t stand anymore? What if I fall and never rise again?” My voice cracks.

“When we hold on to the people we love, we’re never wrong for it,” his hand rests over my heart. “Letting her go doesn’t mean you’re losing a part of her, she remains here, inyour heart. When you love as fiercely as you do, their memories will always stay with you.”

“I never wanted them to be a memory.” My voice falters, and my strength shatters. He catches me before I fall. “It hurts, Sebastian. It hurts so much, I can’t breathe.”

His arms tighten around me, pulling me close.

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