I Killed The Main Characters

The room was quiet.

The soft glow of moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains of Princess Elara's dorm at Silver Crest Hall.

The elegant decor of her space—the finely carved wooden furniture, the delicate embroidery on the bedding—felt cold, distant, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.

She sat on the edge of her bed.

Clutching the small amulet that hung around her neck.

Her fingers trembled as they traced the smooth edges of the charm.

The weight of it both comforting and suffocating.

Her mind began to drift.

As it often did in these quiet hours, pulling her into the depths of memories she had tried so desperately to bury.

It was fragmented at first, like the shards of a shattered mirror.

She was seven—no, eight years old—standing in the dimly lit hall of the imperial palace.

The air had been heavy with tension that night.

The kind that even a child could feel.

Her elder brother, the first prince, stood before her, his voice echoing faintly in her mind, words sharp and cruel.

It was after a swordsmanship training session.

His piercing eyes, the way his lips curled in disdain as he dismissed her—those details were etched into her soul.

Then came the knife.

She didn't remember picking it up, only the cold weight of it in her small hands.

Her breaths had been shallow.

Her heart pounding so loudly she thought it might burst.

The next thing she knew, there was blood.

It spilled across the floor, warm and sticky, staining the perfect marble beneath them.

Her brother's wide, shocked eyes locked onto hers as he fell.

His mouth forming words she couldn't hear over the deafening roar in her ears.

She had dropped the knife.

She remembered that clearly—the metallic clang as it hit the ground.

The way her hands trembled uncontrollably, the sticky red coating her fingers.

And his body, still and lifeless, the vibrant life in him snuffed out by her own hand.

Her breath hitched, pulling her back into the present.

The amulet pressed against her chest as if to anchor her to reality.

She gripped it tighter, her knuckles white, her shoulders trembling.

A memory like that never truly faded.

It lingered, a shadow that clung to her soul, waiting to pounce when she let her guard down.

But the horrors didn't end with the past.

Just days ago, she had found herself too close to the academy cemetery, a mistake she deeply regretted.

She had felt an unexplainable pull.

Something dark and malevolent, guiding her deeper into the misty expanse of gravestones and decayed monuments.

The world around her had seemed to shift.

The vibrant life of the academy giving way to an eerie, suffocating stillness.

And then she had seen him.

Her brother.

He had stood there, the same age as when she had last seen him alive.

His clothes drenched in blood, just as they had been that night.

His eyes—those accusing eyes—bored into hers, freezing her in place.

She had wanted to scream, to run, but her body refused to obey.

When she finally managed to flee, she had convinced herself it was a hallucination.

Stress, exhaustion—anything but the truth.

She hadn't told anyone, not even the mediums she had briefly considered confiding in.

Or even the royal therapist assigned to her.

They would think she was mad, a fragile princess cracking under the weight of her royal responsibilities.

Worse, they might alert her father, the emperor.

If he thought for even a moment that she was unfit, he'd pull her from Ravenwood Academy.

And that was something she couldn't allow.

Ravenwood was her sanctuary, the only place where she felt even a semblance of peace.

A place she had tried so hard to come, it only took a few hundred pleas to her father to agree.

Here, she wasn't just the emperor's daughter, a tool for alliances and politics.

She was Elara—a first year student, a young woman trying to find her place in the world.

If she lost that, if she was dragged back to the suffocating walls of the imperial palace, she didn't know what would become of her.

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.

They rolled down her cheeks in silent streams.

Her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

She buried her face in her hands.

Clutching the amulet tightly as if it could shield her from the memories, the guilt, the fear.

In the solitude of her room, under the watchful gaze of the moon, Elara allowed herself this moment of vulnerability.

No one would see her tears here.

No one would judge her.

She was alone with her pain, her regrets, and the fragile hope that Ravenwood would continue to be her refuge.

Her fingers curled around the amulet, pressing it to her lips.

It was a silent prayer.

A desperate plea for strength to endure, for the courage to face whatever darkness awaited her.

And maybe, just maybe, for forgiveness—

***

The Silver Crest Hall was quiet, its grandeur shrouded in the soft glow of the chandelier above.

The golden light danced on the pristine wallpaper.

Casting intricate patterns that reflected the opulence of the hall reserved for the academy's most elite students.

The silence was broken not by the soft padding of footsteps or the murmurs of students preparing for bed.

But by the low hum of voices near the corner.

In an alcove just beyond the chandelier's reach, a group of knights, tasked with patrolling the hall, had decided to temporarily forgo their duties.

Their spears and swords rested against the wall, forgotten for the moment, as they leaned over a chessboard set precariously on a marble pedestal.

"Checkmate in two moves..."

Muttered one of the knights.

A burly man with a patchy beard.

He leaned back with a smug grin, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"You're dreaming, Gareth."

Snapped his opponent, a wiry, sharp-eyed knight named Leon.

He tapped a finger on the board, scrutinizing every piece.

"I'll take your queen before you even notice."