Every thought urges me to ignore the need to move forward and instead turn around, leave all this behind. The problem is… I can’t. Too much blood has been shed for me to walk away, no matter how much I want to. The fact that I’ve made it this far proves I have to see this through. How could I look at myself in the mirror if I didn’t?

My feet drag across the damp ground, the crunch of roots echoing around me. I can almost feel eyes on me, but with the way the moonlight slips through the mangled trees, I can almost convince myself I’m imagining it.

The closer I get to the clearing, the stronger the smell of decay becomes. The damp scent of earth, mixed with an undertone of iron, crawls up my nose and sears my brain with a memory I’ll never forget. I reach an archway made of those same mangled trees, their branches curving over one another in a grim imitation of an embrace. My breath turns uneven as I stare at it again—but this time is worse, because now… I’m alone. I creep forward, every part of me threatening to make the choice for me: to run.

The familiar crypt is the first thing I see. Oh, how I wish we never found it. What started as dead roots, now shows five red roses in full bloom. Their vivid scarlet too bright against the deathly gray of the stone tomb. For a moment, I almost admire them, captivated by their beauty and how soft the petals look. Then the truth jolts back to memory, sharp and cruel: they only bloom when someone dies. Perhaps this is why the color of them is red.