Drenched in his own blood, the sound of a cruel storm echoed through the vegetation, now stained a deep crimson.
Clinging to the last thread of life was a nineteen-year-old boy. Ash—matching the color of his eyes—covered the ground like a fading memory.
Leonard's final sight, before a blade pierced his skull through his left eye, was of blood-smeared petals falling from the sky amidst the rain.
They were beautiful and deadly, contrasting with the scene, yet offering the peace he never asked for. A final memory of something that had followed him for so long, now eternalized in his fading mind.
An unspeakable silence settled over the garden, now frozen in time. A life had ended—and the cycle was about to begin again…
…
Leonard jolted upright, the creaking bed echoing softly as he gasped, covering his eyes with his hands. Morning sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting rays of warmth across his body.
"What the hell was that?! That nightmare felt so real... As if insomnia wasn't enough, now I'm getting cursed with dreams too?"
He touched his face and ran a hand down his neck, breathing a sigh of relief as everything felt just as it should.
"Can I still sleep a bit more? I feel so tired…"
On the desk beside his bed—shared with his younger brothers—was a battered phone, barely hanging on but still functional. He checked the time. No luck. 6:43 AM. Time waits for no one.
He got up, stepping carefully so as not to disturb his two younger brothers.
The short hallway, its sky-blue paint faded and peeling, was still his home. Strange noises echoed—like warnings from within the walls.
"The heater's dying again… They say this is the coldest winter in a decade… I hate having to worry about stuff like this, but someone has to. I'll try to do something about it later."
He reached the bathroom, the door already slightly open, and entered quietly.
The space was simple but practical: a shower, a toilet, a sink, and a few accessories hanging from tired walls. The chipped gray paint reminded him that winter had fully arrived.
Turning on the shower, he instinctively stepped back as rusty brown water sprayed out of the ancient pipes. He began undressing, revealing skin as pale as snow.
A minute later, the water cleared. Leonard stepped under the now-steady stream and began his shower.
"I don't think there's anything important today... but this exhaustion just won't go away. Maybe all these sleepless nights are finally catching up to me."
After washing, Leonard faced the mirror above the sink as he dried off. It showed a nineteen-year-old with black hair, average features, and light gray irises that almost seemed to glow.
But something was wrong.
In the reflection, blood slowly began to cover his body.
His breath grew heavy. The image in the mirror drew him in, almost hypnotically. He looked to the side—nothing. Back at the mirror—everything was normal again.
"Damn paranoia. If this keeps up, I'll need medication or something…"
Shaking it off, he finished getting ready and returned to the bedroom.
The three beds were spaced evenly apart. Calli, the middle brother, was asleep to the left. James, the youngest, was on the far right. Leonard's bed was in the center.
"Let's see... what should I wear today?"
A messy pile of clothes and shoes sat at the foot of his bed. He picked out his worn boots and slipped them on. Then came a long-sleeved red shirt with a symbol of three white azaleas, a jacket, some faded brown pants, and an old tattered crimson scarf.
"Eh... good enough."
Heading downstairs, he passed a shelf with five picture frames, undisturbed for a long time.
"I'm heading out, Grandma…"
…
On the way to the library where he worked, Leonard watched his step. He passed a local furniture store, where TVs in the window were already broadcasting the morning news.
[It's 7:23 AM. In the Mont Tremblant news: Meet the new investigation group recently established in Ottawa…]
Leonard didn't even glance at the screen. These reports were common, and he never believed in the so-called supernatural events these groups claimed to study.
"Don't these people have anything better to do? It's obviously just a front to launder money... Stuff like that doesn't exist in the real world."
"That kind of nonsense only shows up in movies."
Further ahead, he spotted the new owner of Blackthorn Bakery unlocking the shop. Something about the place unsettled Leonard—it had changed owners three times this year alone.
Turning the corner, he finally reached the bright sign of "The Knowledge Hub," the library and bookstore where he worked. It was one of the few things helping keep his family afloat.
As he pushed open the door, the familiar bell chimed, pulling him from his sleepy daze once more. At the front desk, Theo scribbled something in a notebook, while Liam—his best friend—booted up the computers.
"Morning, guys," Leonard greeted, trying to sound awake but failing to hide his exhaustion.
"Morning, Leo. You okay?" Liam asked.
"Yeah… just tired, but I guess that's normal for me at this point."
"Probably. You're on book check-in duty today—used ones. A bunch came in yesterday. Once you're done, head out front and help Emma and Aria with the customers."
"Got it… I'm on it."
Leonard made his way to the back room, grabbed an apron, notepad, and pen, and stuffed them into his pockets. Ready, he weaved through the maze of shelves and reached the small, dusty storage room.
Stacks of books awaited him—silent, weathered, and waiting for new readers.