GHOSTLY Kingdom

CHAPTER 27:Pain?

Hey chapter 27 is hereeee enjoy also it might have a p2-p3(not sure about p3) though but yeah enjoy also after this chapter we going back to the NORTHHH LET'S GO

Anthony POV

The lies… the deceit… it’s all unraveling before my eyes, and I can barely hold on to reality anymore.

Ever since we learned the truth from Father, everything feels like it’s falling apart. Henry's death, Mother's murder, the web of lies that has bound our family together—it’s all too much. The weight of it all presses down on me, suffocating, crushing.

I thought we were doing what was best for the kingdom. That’s what Father always said. We were protecting our legacy, our bloodline. But now, all I see is the blood that stains our hands. The innocent lives we've taken, the pain we've caused...

And Henry… Henry, who we betrayed.

I see him now, everywhere. Every shadow, every flicker of movement at the corner of my vision—it’s him. His face haunts me, pale and cold, his eyes filled with a sorrow so deep it cuts through me like a blade.

"You did this to me, Anthony," he whispers, his voice echoing in my mind. "You betrayed me."

"No," I try to say, but the words catch in my throat. I feel like I'm choking on them. "We had no choice."

Henry’s ghost steps closer, his form wavering like smoke. "You had a choice. You could have stopped this. But you let them kill me, your own brother."

"Stop!" I shout, my hands clenching into fists. But he doesn’t stop. He never stops.

Henry's ghost is relentless, tormenting me with memories I wish I could forget. The day we pushed him off that cliff… the look of shock and betrayal in his eyes as he fell... the way my heart pounded in my chest, not with fear, but with the exhilaration of finally being rid of him.

But now that exhilaration has turned to horror. The blood on my hands—it won’t wash away.

"You’re a murderer, Anthony," Henry says, his voice growing louder, more insistent. "You’ll never be free of me."

"No... no..." I mutter, clutching my head as the images flash through my mind—Henry's fall, Mother's dying breath, the smirk on Father's face when he told us the truth. It’s all too much.

I can’t escape it.

I see Mother, too, now. Her kind eyes, the way she used to stroke my hair and tell me everything would be alright. But in these visions, her eyes are filled with disappointment, her lips twisted in a sad smile.

"Anthony, my sweet boy," she says, her voice soft, but there’s an edge to it that wasn’t there before. "How did you become like this?"

"I didn’t want this!" I cry out, falling to my knees. "I never wanted any of this!"

But they don’t listen. They never listen.

My mind is a whirlpool, dragging me down, down, down into the darkness. I can’t think, can’t breathe. All I can see is Henry’s face, hear his voice accusing me over and over, and Mother’s disappointment, the weight of her expectations crushing me.

"Make it stop," I whisper, tears streaming down my face. "Please, make it stop."

But it won’t stop. The torment just keeps coming, wave after wave, until I feel like I’m drowning. I see the dagger on my bedside table, glinting in the dim light, and for a moment, I wonder if that could be the answer.

Maybe if I end it, this torment will stop. Maybe then, Henry will forgive me. Maybe then, I’ll find peace.

But even as I reach for the blade, Henry’s voice whispers in my ear, "You think this will end it? You think you can escape that easily?"

My hand freezes, the dagger just inches from my grasp.

"You can’t run from this, Anthony," he says, his voice as cold as death itself. "You can’t run from what you’ve done."

I collapse to the floor, the dagger slipping from my fingers. I curl up, clutching my head, trying to shut out the voices, the memories, but they won’t go away. They keep coming, relentless, merciless.

And in the darkness, I hear Henry laughing, a low, bitter sound that echoes in my mind.

"You’ll never be free of me," he says, and I know it’s true.

I’m trapped in this nightmare, and there’s no way out.

ANTHONY!!! come out of your room.

How long has he been inside? Sam asked.

30minutes.

Hours later—or maybe it’s days, I can’t tell anymore—I find myself staring blankly at the ceiling. I’m so tired, so utterly drained, but I can’t sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see them—Henry, Mother, all the people we’ve hurt.

The weight of it all is crushing me, and I don’t know how much longer I can bear it.

I wish... I wish I could go back. I wish I could change things. But it’s too late now. The damage is done, and there’s no going back.

I’m a prisoner of my own mind, trapped in this endless cycle of guilt and torment. And the worst part is, I know I deserve it.

I deserve every bit of this suffering. Because I’m not just a murderer—I’m a coward.

A coward who couldn’t even stand up for what was right.

The room is quiet now, but I know the peace won’t last. Henry will be back. He always comes back.

And when he does, I’ll be here, waiting, ready to endure his torment.

Because what else can I do?