"When I was six, I saw my dad hauling mom's body out of the bathtub. It was brimming with red water. Too callow to comprehend the dynamics, I thought she has used a different kind of bath bomb this time. The white tiles were drenched in crimson and the entire place was ringing with dad's gut-wrenching cries. He ran towards the main doors like a lunatic before he lost the power in his limbs and dropped onto the threshold, acknowledging it was too late. That her body was cold, unmoving, lifeless. That the color of her skin was deathly pale. Chaos broke in the house and the head caretaker locked my little sister and me in our room, asking us to stay put with a quavering smile.

For three days, we remained locked in that room with occasional visits from the nanny. I didn't talk to anyone.

It was a mistake.

A terrible one.

I didn't talk, I didn't cry. I didn't grieve. I stayed, waiting for dad to come and clear what was happening. On the fourth day when the door opened, we were allowed outside. The house was filled with so many people who passed us pitiful glances. I should've said something. The loss of a mother wasn't a child's play. It takes a stone-cold heart to bear that weight. I didn't know if I was even breathing at that time. I was just searching for answers in their eyes, hoping they will disclose the inevitable. But it never reached us, the news of her demise. Nobody uttered a word but vomited a simple assurance- She has left to never return.

Growing up, I realized the meaning of that night. It wasn't a bath bomb, but blood. I discovered she was struggling, both emotionally and mentally. The females in my maternal family had a genetic history of schizophrenia. It was a miracle how she held it for so long. Usually, they all give up before turning 30. She was there for us even after that limit. She smiled for us every day, even when it was killing her from inside.

I wish I was as strong as her.

I am sorry, that you've to see me like this. This ugly me. But I swear I try. Every day, I try to leave the bed and look presentable for you, to love you and...."

"Shh.."

Yagya blinked back his tears and leans to kiss her forehead. Caressing her hair, he passed her a small smile.

"If you look through my eyes, you'll see how beautiful, strong and passionate you are. I understand this sinking feeling, my love. But don't worry, I am here, always as your anchor. The days might seem gloomy and pass in a blur, but we will lay in bed together and talk about everything that disturbs you. Although it might seem too much, never stop fighting for us. If anything happens to you... I... I love you. You are my sanity, Kirti. You are my heart, my madness, my home. Please don't think about abandoning me. Just talk to me, okay?"

He asked softly, she curled in his embrace and cried like there was no tomorrow. In that mere moment, she realized how wrong she was to think he wouldn't notice and ignore the pain in her chest. He knew it and burned along with her. The psychiatrists diagnosed the young queen as bipolar, maniac, and delusional. Whatever she sees wasn't real but a fragment of her imagination. The otherworldly voices and disturbing whispers buzzing in this fort were imaginary.

Only if the bastards could see what she sees every night. The prom of death, the feast of bedlam, and ballads of the lost. In the opaque, it is all a different anecdote. The real crisis was that she was a spectator and impotent. Her role was to stay fixed and register the enormity with open eyes. She doesn't know what was real. Whether it's her mind or the restless creatures that take control of her structure and commit a heinous crime. Her fragile body was littered with scars. She has no memory of them, except hearing that they are self-inflicted.

Kirti sighed tiredly, guilt clawing at her throat. He was suffering because of her. She was holding him back. He was neglecting his duties and not letting anybody see her. He has become over-possessive and territorial as if he can smell it. The stench of death lingering in her pores.

"Goodnight." She whispered and turned on her side while he kept a vigil until the seduction of sleep caressed his lids. His eyes slowly closed and his head rested on the pillow. Immersed in the unconscious, his mind was still active. A monster hardly loses his guard.

All of a sudden, he jolted awake. Yagya's nostrils flared in revulsion at the putrid odor. It was strong. To his astonishment, his wife wasn't in the bed. Like bullets, sweat erupted on his tensed posture. Climbing out of the bed cautiously, he checked the bathroom, below the bed, the closet, and the balcony. She was nowhere. His ears strained to detect any noise. Her heartbeat.

Her heartbeat was unusually fast.

Light on his steps, he followed the unwelcome sound. A prickling sensation embedded in his flesh. It's a familiar feeling of facing the unknown. Horror. The beating of her heart guided him to the kitchen. The palace was still in dark except for little light filtering through the hallway bulbs. But for the first time in his life, he cursed his animalistic ability to see in the dark. The kitchen was fully immersed in phantom.

What he saw next pulled the ground beneath his feet and almost soiled the pants. He forgot to breathe and stood frozen like a lifeless statue, stiff as stone, sculpted by the master of doom.

There on the wide counter, sat a woman on her knees, her hands holding the raw chunk of meat. Blood and plasma were dripping down her chin as she gobbled hungrily on the lamb's meat. Her mouth and nose were buried deep in the gore, snorting and gasping. Her stomach roars as if she hasn't eaten in decades. Her hair flew along the gentle breeze coming from the windows. She munched and licked her fingers then stopped. Her body went from voracious to alert as if she has finally sensed she is being watched. With a speed that might have snapped her fragile neck, she turned to see him. His evil soul almost jumped out of his body when the big eyes he has fallen for stared back emptily before a wide grin stretched on those bloody lips, baring dirty teeth smudged with blood and leftover.

He wanted to run away, far away from Rajwada Palace, and break into his parent's bedroom unannounced. It was a nightmare. His heart thumped so hard, that he thought it was fighting for its last race.

She tilted her head at a weird angle, unfazed that she's been caught in the middle of a sinful venture as if she knew he was no different but the same monster of a different breed. Picking another untouched piece, she offered it to him, and unable to hold it any longer, he bent over to spill his guts.

Demonic laughter erupted from her mouth, sinister and deadly, something he never heard before. Before he fainted, he contemplated if it was multiple personality disorder or an otherworldly personality possessing her.

Yagya woke up with a gasp. His kernel throbbing in pain. Rubbing his bare chest, he straightened in his leather chair in the study room and decided upon having another round of neat scotch. Since his mother wasn't around and there was no meeting tomorrow, he thought of sleeping through the day. The formality of attending breakfast with parents didn't need to be followed anymore. At least no for the next 7 days. This is how he has chosen to punish his mother for abandoning them at a time like this.

She was aware of the pressure he was facing; the amount of times police invaded his privacy in the name of investigation and whatnot. None in the Rajwada palace were allowed to leave the city since they were suspects of the maid's murder. His mother being the lucky candidate for residing in Chitrakoot, had an advantage, and taking the first opportunity, she fled.

Not for a second, he bought her excuse of conducting a holy ritual for a lowly maid's soul. He was an atheist, a non-believer. On the other hand, Vasundhara kept blind faith in stone idols. She might go to depths like this but not at the cost of leaving her new daughter-in-law alone and taking care of her paralyzed husband. That was so out of her character. He wanted her observed, to know where she goes but as if she read his thoughts during that little confrontation before her departure, warned against it.

"Swear on me, you wouldn't send spies." Her tone was hard, laced with a cold warning he didn't hear in years. He wanted to scoff but couldn't bring himself to deny her order. However old and tired, she was still his mother, his superior.

"Then tell me where are you going?" the demand was not fulfilled. Instead, she looked deep into his eyes and whispered lowly.

"I gave birth to you after suffering labor of 22 hours and betting my life on it. Throughout these years, you were the only person who truly loved me and genuinely cared. I am your mother and I will never betray you. Whatever I do is after taking you in the highest regard. So, when I ask you not to question my decision or had me follow, I mean it. If you respect me, you would know where to put boundaries. Ever since Kirti died, you closed off and barely talked, blaming everyone around you for being helpless and unable to help. I tried my best to be there and hold her when she suffered, but I also hated her because she was making you mourn with her. You loved her too deeply, probably how a husband must love his wife. I was proud that I've raised a gentleman like you and you turned out different from your father. But I hated how that woman slowly stole it from you. Your light and your smile.

I didn't hate her because she was not someone, I had selected for you as a bride. I accepted it wholeheartedly because that made you happy until I saw she was not your strength, but weakness. She tore emotions from your heart. she made you want to give up on life.

What mother would like to see her only child like that?

Yes, I was selfish in the last part and wished every day for her death so you could be spared from this pain. She wasn't right in the head and you were devoted, doting on her to get better when she left you behind a long time ago and held the hand of insanity.

It is about time you understand that what happened to her wasn't our fault. We tried our best. What happened to her was inevitable yet decided from the beginning. I was glad it ended, for it was slowly leeching on your life essence and polluting my household."

Hearing Vasundhara's crude words for the first time, Yagya fell back on his chair. He felt so many emotions at that moment that he failed to express what truly intrigued him the most. Her truth or her harshness.

"I love her."

He whispered brokenly and she smiled through tears. One rebellious salty drop kissed her cheek and she immediately wipes it away, refusing to show her vulnerability when she was his pillar, his mother.

"Yes. You loved her how a man should love his wife and she loved you too. But now she is gone to a better place where she doesn't have to hurt. I am not asking you to forget her for she made you feel alive. I am asking you to stop blaming yourself when you were as helpless as everybody else. It was her pain, her fate. We were just spectators who could feel bad, but not share her pain."

Yagya shook his head, not ready to accept it.

"It is this curse. It has already swallowed all our family."

Vasundhara cuts the distance between them and squeezes his shoulder firmly.

"And I'm going to make sure this ends with us, not another innocent soul."

And then she left without looking back. He had followed her and jumped on the terrace of Chitrakoot palace. Too broken to bid her farewell in front of onlookers.

This was the first time after Kirti's death they talked for so long.

Back in his study, Yagya downed the entire scotch at once, feeling the soothing burn in his throat. Alcohol surely takes the edge away and numbs the senses to feel any hunger.

Noticing it was way past midnight, he turns to hit the bed but tensed hearing a commotion breaking in the distance. The loud shouts and familiar cries of his new bride.

"Seven Hells."

He swore as anger took over driving away the exhaustion and with lightning speed, he ran outside Rajwada Palace to see what devil has occurred this time.