Page 43 of Terror Tuesday
Not to hurt me or punish me. But togive me what I asked for.
Does that make it better or worse?
Caliphylla’s sake, Olivia. It’s worse!
Right?
The notes he left after my entries. Those fantasies I spilled from somewhere buried deep. Ones of being watched. Not justseenbut observed. Studied and guarded. Protected from my own restraint. A man who’d let me unravel safely, silently, under his gaze.
Did I want this?Did I leave my doors open and call him here without meaning to?
Is he even real?
Something’s tucked behind that same page—a second butterfly wing. Delicately drawn. Almost perfect. Attached to it is a slip of thick paper. I unfold it with trembling fingers while holding my breath. A poem is typewritten with a worn ink ribbon.
Beneath sacred stone and candle’s light,
A vow is whispered to bind the night.
Kneel where saints once bled and prayed
Where sins are weighed, where ghosts have stayed.
Anointed hands, a fate entwine,
Does the lamb seek, or is she assigned?
A collar of gold or shackles of bone,
Submission is a choice when the choice is your own.
Step where echoes name your sins,
Carved in walls, beneath your skin.
Truth unlocks what doubt has caged?—
Are you the offering, or the blade?
At the bottom, a single line:
Let the games begin.
The air in the room shifts—heavier, tighter. Like something’s watching me read this. It’s too difficult to breathe, to swallow. My vision swims, and I blink hard to steady it.
What does this mean?
What game is he playing?
Nails dig into my forearm, rapidly scratching until red streaks are visible. I rub it away so no one will see. Wasn’t last night enough for him?
That’s when it hits me. All the images filter past my eyes like a horror movie.
Naomi.
My best friend. Her body. The altar. The wordHUSHcarved into her abdomen like a warning or a curse. I’m not sure which.
I saw her. Touched her.
