You are quite like a wilted flower,
neglected,
dried out,
and crumbled into pieces.
But, why did you still catch my attention with that beyond-belief beauty of yours?
All you need is a little love to bloom,
a little care to grow colorful,
and a litt...
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XXXIX: Wilted Flower
Vicious Whim | Acting on a cruel impulse.
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The day dragged on like a nightmare in slow motion, each hour bleeding into the next until Minho could barely tell them apart.
He slouched over his desk, idly tracing doodles on his paper, his mind drifting far from the classroom.
He glanced around, his gaze falling on Iris's empty seat.
He hadn't seen her since she excused herself for the bathroom earlier, and as time ticked by, worry clawed its way up his throat. When the final bell rang, his worry intensified into urgency.
Pushing through the crowded hallway, Minho moved quickly, scanning each face as he made his way toward the bathrooms.
But then, a shriek cut through the noise, sharp and piercing, making everyone freeze.
The scream was followed by horrified gasps, murmurs, and the sound of someone gagging.
A chilling dread twisted in Minho's gut, but something compelled him to move forward, his legs working on autopilot as he pushed through the throng of students gathering at the end of the hallway.
There, in the center of the crowd, stood Iris's clone, her hands drenched in crimson, dripping with fresh blood.
Minho felt his breath hitch, horror flooding his veins like ice. The source of the blood was the small, lifeless form hanging from her hands.
A cat, limp and mangled.
Its fur, once soft and white, was matted and torn, dangling grotesquely from her hands as though it were a broken toy.
The cat's vacant, glassy eyes stared back at him, as though its final moments had been pure terror.
The crowd around them began to murmur in shocked horror, some students backing away with looks of disgust and horror etched across their faces.
