Cale looked outward, glancing at the clouds wheezing by as small pellets of snow fell down, striking the soil coated with white.
A young boy rested above him, fast asleep.
He mulled over the words spouted by this creature whose heart lost its beat.
'Iye Idiyele...'
The name of the one most likely giving him the ego shard surfaced.
Not only did she resurrect him, she also gave him the tools needed to survive longer than what he thought.
Savior was the only way he could encapsulate her into his mind.
Of course, he knew that she must have had ulterior motives saving him.
There was no such thing as a freebie in this world after all.
But for now, he would be grateful that she saved him, giving credit where it was due.
'I have to move'
Slinging those thoughts to his limbs, he carefully flexed his arms, setting Feigling softly on the bed.
The chains were long, not long enough but enough to move around.
With that information. Cale had considered attacking Feigling, he stopped himself though, knowing that in doing so, he'd be begging for execution.
'The mother, as long as I can avoid her...'
Then escaping wouldn't be much of a labor, is what he thought at first, as time passed, so did his thoughts.
"No"
At the arrogant thoughts that formed, he shook his head.
Right now, he was hanging on by a thread.
Knowing basically nothing of what a storiem is, or how to escape one.
Thinking that escape was as simply as avoidance merely highlighted how foolish he truly is.
Avoiding a specific death flag would permit survival was exactly how idiots thought.
'Well'
His nail scraped his chin.
'I'm not really smart, even a talking dog might be far better than me in this situation for all I know'
Chains scraped on the wood floor with a clank.
With careful and steady moves. Cale scanned the area, noting the furniture sprawled over the room one by one.
A desk with many newspapers and plain A4 blank paper neatly placed, multiple books on its shelves. A closet towering to the ceiling itself, and a few office chairs here and there, with a fireplace spreading its warmth everywhere as the windows shook under the sheer weight of harsh blizzards.
Overall, a relatively normal room, if it were a century ago.
The room lacked anything remotely modern, not even the pens were modern, just single colored fountain pens littered on the desk.
Truly a rare sight.
Cale decided to take a closer look, curious about what the newspaper talked about.
Stroking the wrinkled paper, he briefly looked at all of them, in particular. Cale glimpsed at the dates.
Though. Even Cale was unable to overlook the sheer repetition of incidents strewn together intricately.
On the headlines, in bold, many incidents were tightly packed together.
[Still at large, the serial killer 'Wire Maiden' strikes once more!]
[Greatest detective's thoughts on the Wire Maiden and possible motives]
[True identity of the Wire Maiden?]
[197 confirmed deaths of officers and citizens alike since the appearance of the Wire Maiden]
[—The Wire Maiden shields a demon!—Said by the only eyewitness, but is she really? Is the real question many investigators ask]
Each headline that kept smacking him in the face grew more and more farfetched, it took a while to even find the date.
Scrolling his gaze down at the far edge of the paper, he finally found the date stitched with ink.
"Hm? That...Huh?"
Cale scratched his head a few times at the number shown.
It wasn't a number you'd see in the 21st century, but in the 20th instead.
"1925?"
'That's a whole century apart'
And from what he knew anyway, there wasn't some mass killing of some 'Wire Maiden' ever mentioned in his entire life, the infamy shown here would have surely reached his ears.
"....."
Cale looked at the paper with leering eyes, then at the outside where the blizzard raged fiercely against the world.
Storiem, the words echoed in his mind.
'It literally says it in the name'
A story, this world must be a story based on key individuals.
The placement of the newspaper was also suspiciously placed, further seeding the idea that this world was a mere fake and nothing more.
'Well, it could also mean that this took place in Gardenia....'
He frowned at the thought.
'No, that doesn't matter'
At the very least, not now.
Focusing on that wouldn't lead to anywhere safe, just an endless pit of confusion awaited him further ahead.
So with that mindset.
Fwip!
He flipped the page.
'If this world is fake and is supposed to tell a story....Then these newspapers must have been placed here for the sake of some plot'
In other words, the 'author' was undoubtedly setting up something to help progress the story.
The question is, what?
What is being set up?
A key character's involvement? Or perhaps appearance?
Nonetheless. He first focused on the Wire Maiden, eager to see more important information about the serial killer. Cale's fingers brushed against the crust of the burns on his neck.
'Likely the mother'
Since she was also the one to have likely used wires in the cave and assuming that the information he found wasn't straight rubbish, he believed making conjectures to be safe.
From the multiple headlines, it could be inferred that the mother, presumed to be the serial killer, missed a few screws when drilling them in.
'I mean...What kind of person would stomp on someone's face the moment they meet?'
A lunatic, plain and tragic bastard that definitely breaks a horse's legs on a Monday.
Nodding to himself. Cale took a closer look at the newspaper regarding the eyewitness.
It started by listing off the many crimes the Wire Maiden committed.
Most being about the buried corpses of strangled victims with burnt necks, the weapon wasn't with them, but investigators were confident to believe that the murder made use of thick, wide wires that stretched longer than the body length of an adult male.
Many doubted it to be the case on a multiple basis, the paper listed off the discord sown between departments and how it delayed the investigations.
Within that window of delay, many other victims appeared, bodies kept piling as the police sat and did nothing, investigations became more and more delayed the longer the winds were allowed to rage and howl with the dead.
Until, a ray of light appeared through the eye of the storm the blizzards accompanied like how a bridesmaid would for a bride.
An eyewitness came rushing toward the closest police he could find, battered and bloodied from top to bottom.
Entering the building, many rushed to his side, closing the doors in an instant while keeping vigilance.
They set him down, already calling the police, an officer stood by his side to ask and calm him about what was going on.
His words came out, flushing into incomprehensible gibberish.
Only after the officer gave him reassurance that he was safe here with a cup of water, did the man begin to speak.
'She's a monster!' He said, vocals screeching as he did. Eyes bloodshot as they squirmed in fear.
The officers asked who she was, but the man only pleaded to save him, clawing at his face in despair.
'I knew...I knew! But I still didn't take the life of that accursed demon! I should have known the moment Charlotte left me for heaven....Ah! My poor daughter!'
Tears kept streaming down the man's face, the officer thought to himself if it was improper of him to watch a grown man break down right in front of him, yet for the sake of making the citizen in front of him feel safe, he stayed by his side until his tears dried.
"....."
Cale frowned at the sudden cut in immersion.
The newspaper ended abruptly, leaving countless questions unanswered.
'It's torn'
Pages were missing, leaving this short story, a rushed, unfinished end.
The other newspapers were the same, missing multiple pages.
'Cheap scare tactics, you don't even need to be a professional to know that'
Sighing, he set aside the disappointing end of the story talked about into the story.
As he checked for other interesting information.
A pointy edge of wood caught his eye.
"...?"
Cale stumbled upon a dusty picture inside a wood frame, compact in its design.
Dusting off the picture didn't make it visible, so Cale, curious about the picture, stood up and searched the room for a towel.
Avoiding the fireplace.
Cale searched high and low for anything damp, but found nothing noteworthy, at the moment when he almost gave up.
At the edge of his peripheral vision.
"...."
A damp towel conversed with the fireplace that pulsed with heat brimming to burn him.
'Do I....Have to?'
Now that he knew that the heat could actually harm him significantly, Cale couldn't help but twitch a considerate amount at the fire cackling at his pathetic self.
But, he couldn't dust off the picture without anything damp. He had to get the towel.
So, with a long sigh.
He trudged toward the towel, rolling his wrists once, hopping as he stole a few deep breaths.
To prepare himself for the burns he was certainly about to suffer from, this much hyping was to be expected.
"Alright, one second is all I need, as long as it isn't more than that..."
Then he'd be fine....Most probably.
Dragging his feet, his eyes shot open at the surging heat and in the next wave of pain that washed over him, he lunged at the towel.
"Ag!"
His palm snapped open like the giant maw of a crane eating a mouthful of coarse dirt.
It closed just as fast as it opened, as if it were a thief entering the home of an unsuspecting old man just paces away from their house.
Cale, with swift reflexes maneuvered back, away from any embers, and certainly any annoying incident caused by tripping over from clumsiness.
He caressed his burnt hands.
'It wasn't even three seconds'
Yet it was this serious, two layers of his skin were turned into a crisp, and his body was restless in standing upright.
Dizziness had brandished itself onto his face, bile pressed closely at his throat, merely an edge away from throwing up.
'Ah, the hell is this?'
Even standing near a fire burned him considerably, just a single touch of warmth harmed him.
Cale slung himself over to the office chair, rocking it back and forth, the dizziness was far too much to handle standing up.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes blinked into a close for a long time, until his breathing came with soft heaves. Minutes passed as he finally snapped out of it.
His eyes opened with a certain fatigue tugging at them constantly, trying to drag them down while the chains rattled their teeth.
Cale glanced at his right, at the frame where a picture worn from time and unmaintained by caring hands stood on its crusty stool in which it propped it.
The towel in Cale's hands slowly, with delicate consideration tore away the curtains of dust.
The action repeated itself at first for two and three times, but as the time that lagged caught.
"....."
Something made him stop counting, he kept meticulously cleaning the frame, his heart thundered inside him, saliva caught itself onto the far back.
However, no matter how many times he repeatedly cleaned the picture frame.
"....."
It never shined, staying in its rusty shell it built stubbornly.
Cale's lips curved downwards.
He kept cleaning it.
It never shone.
It never winked at him with a blinding sight.
Rattle! Rattle!
Before he knew, the chains that bound him rattled intensely as he rubbed the frame with the towel even harder.
Flick! Flick!
The lights above him flickered into a frenzy.
Drip! Drip!
Blood dripped into a freefall.
Cale couldn't stop himself from rubbing the frame.
If he did, he felt like he'd deeply regret it for the rest of his life.
The room shrunk in his vision, only the frame seemed to matter to him at that point.
"Kugh..."
A groan left his lips that were desperately bit down. The scent of iron announced itself proudly in his mouth.
A lamp hummed to life, he didn't know when the lamp had been there, but attention towards it wasn't allocated.
"Ch-"
His mouth opened, but then closed again as if they had no right to speak the sacred name held dear.
Hands kept their tiresome routine, this time, more gentle.
The room shrunk closer, the lightbulb above burnt out, only the oil lamp singing a slash of fire remained to serve as light to guide.
Cale found it strange, strange that he'd be so fixated on a single picture.
Yet, he also found it strangely....nostalgic to say the very least.
"....."
He didn't like it, the strange feelings rooted into his heart clouded his mind with dark clouds.
'What is this?'
His mouth opened in a small parting.
"C....Sorry..."
His voice broke into an unusually mature tone. The mutter too low for him to catch clearly.
At Cale's right, just at the corner of his eyes, a black envelope sat on top of many stacks of papers.
His hand, blurred grazed across its blackened surface, the hand twitched with hesitation before crushing it, wrinkling it.
The oil lamp's light flickered along with another mutter that growled a curse, the shadows squirmed at the dance of the flicker.
Cale's mouth opened.
Words came out, but the whispers were too low to catch.
Cale's hands numbed, a ticklish prickling kept close company.
"Ah...Ha..."
A smile etched, its low laugh lagging behind.
Drip! Splash—!
The towel dropped with a splash, water dripped slowly. Cale cast a glance downwards.
His reflection rippled onto the desk a puddle of red, blurring into an image impossible to comprehend.
Cale then, finally realized that his surroundings had changed.
Despite that realization, he didn't feel anything, it was quite an underwhelming change after all.
What really sank his heart, and dragged his stomach along with it to the depths of the abyss were words, scene and state.
His—No, not his mouth but someone else's mouth moved with a sound that scratched at the strings holding the heart.
"Cale..."
His name was uttered, the voice broke, pale lips quaked, cracks appearing all over.
Drip!
Blood dripped into a sharp dang!
Cale's eyes hollowed at the scene below him.
Specifically.
At the lower body completely detached and gone from the figure.
"I'm....Sorry...."
A plea for forgiveness reached his ears, digging deeply into the corner of his mind.
Resonating with his soul.