Sickly Sweet

A selfless sacrifice for the hope of humanity.

Her pale fingers shook as she reached for the blade. She stopped midway through, her hand lingering in the air for a moment before she brought it back to her lap and clasped it there firmly. She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t.

A soft tear slid down her cheek. It was just too much; all of this. It was too much to handle. And why should it be her responsibility, anyway? She laughed dryly at her own foolish thought. She knew it had to be her. She was the only one left. If she didn’t do it, the monster would surely win. It would invade her mind; make her do things she never imagined. She would become subject to its will. There would be nothing to stop it.

She knew she had to. She’d known for the past seven and a half hours, yet she could not bring herself to do it. Her gaze slid to the large, glass window. Dusk was approaching. She didn’t have much time left. She had to do it, and she had to do it now. There was no disputing it; there was no putting it off any longer.

Again, she reached for the hilt of the dagger. Her long fingers closed around it, and she shut her eyes tightly as more tears came. When she opened them again, the sun had moved farther behind the mountains. The chill throughout the castle was becoming more prominent with every passing second of precious time; time that could never be regained. She could begin to smell it.

Rosewater.

It was a beautiful smell, really. Simply divine. It was intoxicating. It drew you in with its sweet whisperings and soft beckoning. It swirled around the air until it filled the place to the very brim. And then, when it had its hold, it dug its hidden claws into the tempting flesh of your neck and slowly stole your air. And you… you had no choice but to let it. It was too beautiful.

The girl bit her rosy lip. She turned the blade to the perfect angle, in just the right place. It was centimeters away from her heavily beating heart, which thumped more and more painfully in her chest. The scent waxed stronger. It was past time. Clenching both hands round the golden hilt, she pressed the tip into her with as much force as her weak limbs could manage.

A shrill scream split the air, but it was not hers. The girl that was dying as sticky drops of her precious blood spilled onto the expensive carpet wore a satisfied smile on her face. It was not until she noticed with horror the worn, leather-bound book lying a few feet in front of her that her expression flashed.

The diary. She had forgotten to destroy the diary.

The very same voice that had been screaming in such agony was now echoing shrieks of laughter. The dying girl fell to her knees and reached forward, her fingers stretching towards the book. She fell onto her own chest, plunging the dagger further into her heart. Her final breath came out in a short gasp, and then she was gone.

Her outstretched hand lay a single inch from the terrible book as her spirit left her body. Shrill laughter rang through the entire castle, ricocheting off the walls back and forth, again and again, encompassing the heart and soul of the old foundations and causing the rooted trees outside to sway where they stood. There was that lingering scent, one so sweet and lovely that it made the crying violins sound their saddest song.

Rosewater.

Author's Note

This is one of the extremely few chapters that will be this graphic, I promise.