Writer Games: The Final Twist & A Night in Wattpad Manor & Faction Wattpad

In Memoriam: Females

Two: Mellissande Fleur Vanar

Twelve bodies. Before the idea of being witness to so many deaths was ridiculous to me, and now....now it is only too real.

I have not spoken a  single word since the true realization of everything to befall in this  mansion hit me. How could I? How could I act as if nothing had changed,  as if I were the same person?

I'm not the same  person. At least, I don't think I am. Is it possible to change in one  night? I think it is possible, because it seems more impossible that I  am the same girl that walked into the party. But if I am not her....than  who am I?

I am alive. I can say that much for myself. I have been lucky enough to survive thus far.

Penny wasn't as  lucky. I cannot see her as she is now, a cold stiff body being lowered  into the dirt before me, but as she was, lively and vivacious.

I remember her  laugh, and the way she'd go on and on about her books. Her constant  superior posture annoyed me at the time, but I only miss it now.

Penny's body is covered with dirt. I can't bear to think that she lies beneath the mound of dirt.

I turn to the next body to bury. Essie's.

I knew Essie for  even less time than I knew Penny. But I knew enough about her, enough to  know that there is no way she could have posed a threat to anyone.

It is that fact I  suppose that truly shocks me about Essie's death. Essie was blind; she  couldn't have seen anything anyone didn't want her to see. And so  whoever killed her I know must have killed her out of spite, for the fun  of it. And that truly sickens me.

The next body to be dumped into the dirt is the body of Gwenette Abernathy.

I didn't know  Gwenette at all. In fact, I even thought she was killer. But now that  she's dead, I cannot help but think that was just a victim like the rest  of us. And I hope that, wherever she is now, she is happy.

A cold sprinkle of rain begins to fall down. The cold water slides my thoughts back to their previous course.

Just as the clouds are  not the same after the rain, I am not the same after last night. No  longer am I the sweet bubbly girl that received an invitation to talk to  a relative and entered the party worrying about soup. I couldn't find  that girl if I tried. But if I am not that girl, than who am I?

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Three: Cecily Leblanch-Miles

We are eight.

Everyone else is dead.

Twelve people,  people just like myself, are dead. Killed by an unknown murderer. One of  the people I call companions killed all of them.

And now we are eight.

I survey the  bodies lain on the table before us with tearful eyes. I hate crying-  usually I would scold myself fiercely for even considering letting a  tear fall- but I can't seem to stop myself as I look at the cold corpses  of the people who were alive just a few short days ago. They were here  for reasons like mine; promised something to get them here. And now  they're dead.

And I could be next.

I see Gwenette's  body first. I almost laugh in my sadness because it seems so strange  that she is dead and I am not. She was so lively, so loud. I can  remember sitting in the drawing room with Mr. Peabody and the others and  I could hear her singing in the other room. I was about to go in there  and tell her to stuff it when Jamie's wineglass shattered everywhere,  spraying him with red liquid. And I couldn't help but laugh because he  had sloshed wine on me earlier.