It was midnight, and the fog hung low over the town. My hands were shaking, and the metallic smell of blood was still thick in the air. I had done something unthinkable. I had killed her… my soulmate. She had looked at me with her piercing, all-knowing eyes and whispered, “It won’t end like this.”
I remember it as clear as day. I met her a year ago at a bookstore; it was as if fate had drawn us together. Our connection was immediate and deep, like our souls recognized each other from another life. We quickly grew inseparable. But then, strange things started happening. I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her standing over me, her face blank, eyes dark and lifeless. She’d smile and say, “I see you, even in your dreams.”
One night, her strange behavior escalated. She attacked me, whispering that our souls were forever bound, but only one could truly live. In self-defense, I killed her. But that’s not the end.
Days later, I started seeing her again. In the corners of rooms, in reflections, in shadows. She’d appear, closer each time, with the same words, “I’m still here, and I won’t let go.” Driven by fear and insanity, I killed her again. But she returned once more, stronger, darker, angrier.
I realize now that this is our curse, our tragic bond. I can’t outrun her, and I can’t escape the horror. Our souls are bound beyond death.
If you see her, tell her I’m sorry. And pray she doesn’t follow you.
The days bled into each other after that last encounter. I could feel her presence, always lurking just beyond my sight, a shadow that never left. Every night, the whispers grew louder, her voice calling to me from the void, filled with bitterness and sorrow, promising that there would be no end until I joined her.
Desperate for answers, I sought out an old mystic rumored to understand matters of the soul. Her eyes held secrets, and her voice was low, barely more than a whisper. “You’ve tied yourselves in a knot of fate,” she said, looking at me with pity. “She’ll come for you until one of you surrenders… not in death, but in forgiveness.”
The weight of her words settled over me. I realized that every time I’d acted out of fear, out of anger, I had only strengthened the curse. I had to face her, not with violence, but with love and understanding. That night, I waited, summoning every bit of courage I had.
When she appeared, I didn’t flinch. I reached out and whispered, “I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me too.” Her eyes softened for the first time, and the cold lifted from the air. Slowly, she faded into a warm light, and a sense of peace washed over me, lifting the burden that had haunted me.
In the end, our love had transcended the curse. She was gone, but not lost, and I knew she was finally at peace. The haunting was over—our bond, released.
And from that night forward, I was free.