Prologue Edit

It was normal. A quiet night in New York, with lamp posts lighting the streets, and the occasional car here or there, driving up or down the streets towards their destination.

Two figures were walking down a quiet sidewalk, holding hands. One of them was a young woman, about somewhere in her twenties, while the man holding her hand appeared to be about somewhere in his early thirties. In the night, unless seen under a lamp post, both looked like shadows, slowly walking down the streets.

What happened next would change a certain woman's life, forever. A certain woman known as Cecillia Bennet, or, at the time, Sweet Bunny. 


Everything that happened next was a blur to Cecillia. 

An unclear, massive blur that she just wanted to forget, push to the back of her mind till it finally fell apart.

But, of course, it never would. 

All she remembered was a gunshot. Screaming. Blood. The wail of distant police sirens.

Nothing more, nothing less. 

She didn't remember anything else, and she was glad she didn't. Otherwise it'd be more traumatizing then what she did remember already was.

Cecillia Bennet put down her cup of coffee, staring at her hairclip sitting on the coffee table. Watching her, smiling at her. Taunting her. 

She stared at the hairclip for a long, long time. 

This was when she made a decision. Something she'd be considering what she should've done a long, long time ago.

Slowly, Cecillia picked up the hairclip. She began to walk down a long, narrow hallway -- one of many hallways in the Bennet house -- and began to ascend up the stairs.

Five minutes later, Cecillia stood in front of a box. Just a simple black box, with intricate patterns of red plastered onto the lid. Slowly, she opened it, showing no emotion.

Gently, Cecillia put the hairclip into the box.

Goodbye, old friend. She thought, smiling back at the hairclip as it seemed to smile at her.

Then, her expression of warmth and kindness quickly turned into a straight, serious face with cold, dead eyes, shutting the lid. She showed no remorse, didn't seem like she was fighting back tears. Cecillia actually seemed.. happy. In a cold, twisted way.

After that, Cecillia never touched the box again. Never acknowledged its existence. Never wanted to tell either of her children about it.

Until one day, one curious girl found the box.

And carried on what her Mother had given up.

Chapter One Edit


Seven years later..

Rebbecca was exploring the house. Again. For about the fifth time today.

It was her birthday, after all. In her mind, she deserved to have at least one day of adventure.

Just one, and that was all she wanted for her birthday. Just one day for something to happen in her life.

She slid down the hallways, grinning. She'd never done this before. Rebbecca just felt.. alive. For the first time in seven years, she felt.. happy.


It had been at least about an hour now, and she'd explore every nook and cranny of the house.

Every corner was scoped, every hallway was mapped, every closet was acknowledged.

Except for one room.

Her Mother's room.

The room she'd been afraid to go in for the past seven years.

Her Mother had always told her not to go in there -- but, why, exactly? Rebbecca never wondered about it till now. What could her Mother be keeping in there?

A chest of treasure? A birthday present? Her pair of bunny slippers from when she turned eleven her Mother had borrowed and never given back? Curiosity was blossoming inside of her like a growing flower, slowly but steadily.

And so, Rebbecca slowly let her hand rest on the doorknob, closing her eyes tightly shut.

When she opened her eyes, she blinked. The entire room was.. white. Just white. Like someone had bleached everything in the room, leaving it.. bland. Not a single splatter of color in sight. It vaguely reminded Rebbecca of a tundra: long, white, and desolate.

The dresser, the cosmetics -- all white. Except for one item.

A small black box, set aside on the dresser, decorated with intricate patterns in dark red. It appeared to be incredibly dusty, unlike the rest of the room, so Rebbecca assumed it was incredibly old.

She stepped into the room, glancing back and forth, before walking towards the dresser. 

As if something -- or, someone -- was compelling her to seek out the box. As if it was her destiny.

And, so, Rebbecca took the box without hesitation, running out of the room while shutting the door behind her.

What would happen next would change her life -- forever. 

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