Dance of the Cursed

Alister

As I button up my white shirt, I hope the bandaids around the gem can prevent any blood from staining it.

Unfortunately, trying to pick it out with a needle didn't work, and I just ended up injuring myself. It didn't even show up in the X-ray when I went to the hospital.

...Just fantastic.

I adjust my suit, making sure every detail is immaculate—my hair sleeked back with precision, a touch of cologne lingering in the air around me. Presentation is everything, after all. If I appear confident and in control, then maybe I can push past the gnawing thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind.

I take a slow, deep breath, trying to ground myself. I need to focus on my performance tonight. The music, the audience—I need to be fully in control. Forget everything that happened today.

But as I gaze into the mirror, my eyes drift upward to my face. Right over the spot where she punched me. I recall her expression as she stepped out of my car, purposely shutting the door hard once again, knowing it would annoy me. Not only that, but she forced me to change her car tires, threatening to do the same to mine if I don't. I couldn't even remember when she had stolen my knife for that moment.

I don't know about her, but I'm definitely not going to just sit back and let her have any kind of advantage over me. She's an obstacle in my path anyway. My best bet at the moment will be hacking into her devices and getting rid of the evidence.

But...the fact still stands that she's more powerful than me. I know it. She knows it. That alone is unacceptable.

The sharp chime of the doorbell cuts through the silence, and my muscles tense instinctively, but I push the feeling down. I turn away, grabbing my car keys from the table on my way out.

I pull open the door, and standing before me is a young girl, no older than eleven or twelve. She shifts uncomfortably under my gaze, her hands clasped in front of her pink dress that falls neatly to her knees. The pastel color contrasts sharply with her dark, straight hair, which is styled into two space buns high on her head, stray wisps escaping to frame her round face.

Her large dark eyes flick up to meet mine before darting away just as quickly. There's an awkwardness in the way she stands.

I lean against the doorframe. "Why are you here?" Although I already know why.

She hesitates before answering, her voice meek and barely above a whisper. "We're here to pick you up."

I sigh, already irritated. Of course, they'd send her to confront me. Someone—they assume I won't immediately turn away.

Without another word, I step outside and shut the door behind me, making my way toward the elevator as she follows.

Once inside, she tries again "You're...not coming with us?"

"I prefer to drive alone," I reply flatly, not looking at her. "Not surrounded by anyone."

I don't bother acknowledging her further. I focus on the numbers, watching them count down, already looking forward to the solitude of my own car.

I didn't want my family to come to my show today. When Peter, the owner of 'The Diamond Room,' called me last week, asking me to play the piano on Monday night of all days, I was inclined to refuse. But I did accept it later on, thinking it'll help me let off some steam from the studying. However, I made one thing very clear to him—I didn't want my family there.

I step into the grand lobby; the golden light from the chandelier gleams off the polished marble floor, reflecting back onto the walls lined with cheap artwork. The air smells faintly of fresh flowers, a different arrangement placed at the entrance every day, though I never pay enough attention to notice what kind.

Outside, Parked right by the curb is their car—sleek, black, and spotless. And beside it, she stands.

The woman is dressed in a shimmering black gown, the sequins catching the dim glow of the streetlights, making her look as if she's wrapped in a sky full of stars. Her dark hair is styled into a low bun, and her deep red lips curve into a knowing smile the moment our eyes meet.

I don't slow my steps, though my jaw tightens slightly as I approach.

"You look wonderful, son," she says smoothly, as she steps toward me, heels clicking softly against the pavement.

She reaches for me. "Come, why don't we all go together in the car?" she coaxes, her tone laced with the same effortless charm and warmth she's used for years. "You won't be with us for long at the venue, and without Nora, I'll be all alone." She pouts slightly, tilting her head as if that would make a difference.

I don't waver.

"No," I say flatly, stepping back and adjusting my cufflinks. "I'll see you at the club after you drop Nora off at her friend's place."

I turn away from her, striding toward my own car parked a short distance away. But just as I reach for the door handle, I throw a final remark over my shoulder. "And stop breaking into my apartment and leaving things. I don't need it."

I don't wait for a response as I slip into the driver's seat and shut the door, cutting off whatever carefully crafted words she had prepared next.

I was supposed to relax tonight. That was the whole point of accepting this performance—to lose myself in the music, to forget everything for just a few hours. But now, with my parents coming, that's impossible.

Peter apologized, claiming it was an accident, that he hadn't meant to let it slip—but I know better. He's a businessman first. He just wanted more guests, more attention, and more money. He's just using me to line his pockets.

My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I drive, the familiar city lights casting long shadows across my dashboard. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot it—a single strand of golden hair on the backseat.

It gleams under the dim glow of the car's interior, against the black leather.

For a moment, I just stare at it. The delicate strand feels almost taunting, a whisper of a presence that lingers even when she's not here.

And just like that, she's in my mind again, uninvited.

Her lips curved into that sly, knowing smile. Her eyes gleaming with amusement and confidence, as if she already knows she's won. It's the look of someone who has control—someone who enjoys holding all the cards.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. Leather creaks under the force of my fingers, my knuckles turning white. A slow, burning heat spreads through my chest, crawling up my throat like a wildfire.

I picture my hands closing around her fragile throat. Squeezing. Watching the way her breath hitch, the way her smug expression shifts into one of panic. Watching the light in those precious eyes flicker and fade as she struggles—before going still. It had taken everything in me not to kill her back at the cabin.

I had underestimated her. And now, because of that single miscalculation, things had spiraled into this. But not anymore.



The bright lights of the club come into view, illuminating the building in the darkness among other structures on Midnight Avenue. As you get closer, the mid-sized asymmetrical building appears in front. Modern and luxurious, with a glass and steel exterior, sweeping archway entrance, and dark floor-to-ceiling windows. A velvet rope blocks the entrance, and a short line of people, stretched along the side of the building, parallel to the sidewalk, are waiting patiently in anticipation.

Getting out of the car, I approach the entrance, avoiding the line and heading for the big silver door thanks to my membership card.

As I step inside, the golden lighting casts a warm glow over the space. The soft murmur of conversations blends with the enchanting sound of the saxophone, its smooth notes weaving through the air like silk. The scent of rich leather and strong perfumes lingers, mingling with the crisp, cool air.

"Alister! Buddy! Over here!"

God...can this day get any worse?

I wince and turn towards the bar where Zach, wearing a moss green shirt and holding a pina colada, waves enthusiastically at me.

I try to ignore him, yet he calls me again. Begrudgingly, so he doesn't embarrass me further, I walk up to him.

"Why are you here!? And stop calling me that. We are not friends." I say as soon as I'm in infront of him.

"Of course we are, Mr. Class Rep!" He chuckles, patting my back, causing me to wobble a little. "And I came to watch your performance."

I feel a wave of frustration bubbling up. "How'd you even know about that? I didn't tell anyone." I purposely didn't tell a soul since I don't want them to see me in it. I don't want my parents here; do you think I'll want my classmates?

Zach shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head at a distance. "A little birdie mentioned something about a piano prodigy playing tonight at the Diamond Room."

I look at where he is pointing and grit my teeth as I see her. I should have known this was her doing.

Stephanie sits dressed in a red satin suit. Across from her is a tall, unfamiliar gentleman, probably her date for tonight, who looks like the most bland person I've ever seen. He's clearly trying his best to look casual.

Steph catches my eye and flashes me a devilish grin as she raises her glass to me with a wink.

I exhale sharply. Whatever. My parents are going to show up anyway—what's two more unwanted people? It's not like I'm already perfectly miserable.

I spot Peter standing beside the stage, catching my eye. He gives me a quick wave and signals that I'm up next.

"I wish I could invite Clara too. The more the merrier." Zach says as I sit beside him.

"Are you serious? No one could do anything with their catfight going on." I tilt my head towards Stephanie as she laughs at something the guy said.

Zach waves me off with a chuckle. "Come on, give them some credit. They'll know to behave in such places. Don't know about Steph, but Clara is usually level-headed about these things." He takes a sip of his drink, clearly pleased with himself for making a point.

I smirk slightly, knowing full well what Clara is really like.

"Really? Is that how she is to you?" I prod.

Zach looks up, thinking for a moment.

"She's a hard worker. Dedicated to her family. It's kind of... admirable, I'd say."

Admirable?

"What about you? How do you see her?" he asks, turning the question back on me.

I see her as an annoying mosquito that I need to kill. She's creepy, hypocritical, rude, clever, nosy, and emotional. But of course, I say none of that.

"She's..." I begin, but my voice trails off as my mind wanders back to those memories. Her, tied to that chair, wrists bound and breath uneven. Her lips slightly parted, her throat exposed when she swallowed. Her blue eyes, staring daggers while she tried not to show any weakness.

"Brave...resilient..."

When I leaned in, the knife tracing the curve of her jaw, feeling her pulse race beneath the blade. Meeting me with the same fire that had gotten under my skin so many times before.

That look. Daring. Infuriating. Yet so...

"Reckless!" I utter quickly, feeling my mind start to wander off to dangerous territories.

"Reckless?" He questions as I bury my face in my hands, unable to look at anyone right now.

"Yeah...reckless," I say as I sigh, trying to force myself to calm down. I turn my attention to the crowd, pretending to focus on the buzz of conversations around us.

Just then, I spot my parents hurriedly enter the room, their eyes fixed on the stage, and relief washes over them that they've made it in time. They find an empty table and quickly make their way over, eager to secure a good spot.

As the music reaches its end, the man's playing becomes more intense. The audience erupts into applause, cheering and whistling in appreciation of the man's incredible talent.

But then, my gaze lands on a figure, and time seems to suddenly move in slow motion, and silence is the only thing I can hear as every sound fades away.

A woman, in her mid-30s, with striking white hair. Her locks styled in a sleek, icy bob, she stands amidst the crowd in a long brown trench coat. She stares at me with a cunning smile; her eyes shine like red rubies under the light. Like embers from a fiery pit.

I blink, and when I open my eyes again, she's vanished, as if she was never there. The crowd continues to cheer.

Why...what just...?

My nerves are still shaky, and the pounding of my heart is the only sound I begin to hear. I scan the crowd again, wondering if I really saw what I think I saw. But there's no sign of her.

Why? Why did I see her just now?

I try to calm myself. It's just a figment of my imagination. It has to be.

"Alister!" Peter yells at my face, causing me to flinch. I look up to see him, frustrated.

"I called you twice! Didn't you hear!? It's your turn! Go up there!" He says and pushes me ahead.

As I stumble towards the stage, my eyes look up to the grand piano being placed at the center. My legs suddenly feel heavy as I step on the stage. The bright light envelops as the spotlight shines down on me. I can feel the weight of the audience's gaze upon me, their eyes fixed with anticipation as the piano looms before me, waiting and inviting me to play.

As I sit down on the bench, my mind keeps drifting back to the woman with white hair and glowing red eyes. My heart is racing as I place them on the white keys. The audience is silent, waiting for me to begin, but I'm frozen in place. I can't shake off the feeling that she's here. She's back and watching me.

The white keys remind me of the white room. The trembling fingers remind me of tiny hands pulling on a shackle and chain fixed on the wall. How moment later, they were covered in blood.

Stop it. Don't go back there.

Then, for whatever reason, her words echo in my mind.

You are a bright, smart, talented, good-looking young man with a future full of potential and who could do anything he puts his mind to.

I take a deep breath, and my hands begin to move, as if guided by an unseen force.

I play a piece that's intense and fast, a piece that's a true showstopper. My fingers blur as I tear through a lightning-fast rendition of Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor.

The notes echo in the air, beautiful and terrifying. The audience is on the edge of their seats, their eyes wide with amazement as I race through the piece with a frenetic energy. The music seems to build and build. My mind feels clear, and I'm glad I came here today to take off the stress.

As I reach the end, the music explodes in a burst of sound that's like fireworks detonating and then slowly fades away, leaving behind a stunned silence. Then the crowd is on its feet, cheering and whistling, including my parents, Steph and Zach.

As I look down upon their faces, I can't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction. I see the awe and admiration in their eyes, the smiles on their faces, and the tears in their eyes. I know that I've touched their hearts and minds and that they've experienced the full range of emotions I aimed to evoke.

As my gaze sweeps across the crowd, my eyes suddenly land on her again—the woman in the trench coat. My heart skips a beat as our eyes lock, and I feel goosebumps all over me.

She's here. She's real. How can that be!?

The applause from the audience fades into the background as I wonder what she's doing. I try to focus on the audience, but I can't look away from her.

I feel like I'm losing control of myself again.

The woman suddenly moves through the crowd, her long coat flowing behind her like a shadow. She navigates through the sea of people with ease, making her way towards the entrance.

Without hesitation, I leap off the stage, pushing through the crowd and making my way through the tables. The audience parts ways, some turning to watch me with curiosity, others continuing to cheer. But before I can follow, I'm suddenly blocked by a wall of people, their faces and bodies obscuring my view. I try to push through, but they're too dense, too tightly packed.

"Alister"

I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to see Steph staring at me with concern etched on her face.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

"Nothing! I need to go!" I say hurriedly and push further. Slowly but surely, I manage to squeeze through the crowd and out the door.

Ignoring the confused stares of the people around me, I look around frantically, my eyes scanning the sidewalk and the street beyond. Where did she go? Did she turn left or right? I look around, trying to find her, but she's nowhere to be seen. I'm alone on the sidewalk; the only sound is the distant hum of traffic and muffled sounds of the next musician playing on the stage inside. I take off in a sprint, my feet pounding the pavement as I race down the street, searching for any sign of her. But she's vanished, disappeared into thin air.

Was it just my imagination again? But why now?

As I'm about to turn back, I see her walking into the alleyway. I wonder if I should follow her again.

While I'm thinking that, I find myself walking towards her as if my feet had a mind of their own. The place is dark, with only a few flickering lights above some backdoors, illuminating a dumpster at the far back. The walls seem to close in around me, casting deep shadows that make it difficult to see.

"Alister"

A chill runs down my spine as I hear that familiar voice. A voice that shouldn't exist. A voice that had been silenced years ago.

I turn towards the glowing crimson eyes in the dark as she slowly steps into the light.

...for some reason, her eyes remind me of blood.

"How are you alive? Yo-You can't be real!" I utter as I clench my fists to steady myself.

She coldly smiles and takes a few steps towards me. I try to move, but my legs feel heavy.

She stops in front of me, and all I could do is stare at the ground, trying to get ahold of myself.

"We finally meet, little lamb."