I was three days old the first time I saw Father Polycarp Okeke's hands shake. He was pouring holy water over my head. A drop fell into my eyes before the prayer began. I remember the cold. I remember his eyes refusing to meet mine. I remember my mother laughing in the front pew and a nun weeping at the back. I did not understand, at three days old, why a priest trembles over a baby. I understand now. I am eighteen years old. I have died three times. And tonight, I am walking up the hill to St. Anthony's Mission to ask Father Polycarp Okeke a question he has been waiting eighteen years for me to ask. But memory is a door that swings both ways. The letter waiting on my pillow when I came home this morning was written in my own handwriting, in handwriting that has been dead since 1962, and it says four words I cannot stop reading: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨.

Everyone she loves has made the same decision. They just haven't told each other yet. The lies are spent. The performances are over. The enemy that was a rumor is at the gates, and the only people who can stop it are the four who are quietly planning to destroy one another to do it. One of them will write a thousand names into clay and call it mercy. One of them will walk into a child's room with a blade and a reason that works. One of them will offer up the thing that cannot be replaced. And one of them already knows how this ends, and is doing it anyway. There is a night coming when the oaths go silent, and anything can be unmade. Three clocks are ticking toward it. None of them are coincidence. Love won't save them. Being right won't save them. The math is clean, and the math is monstrous, and someone they love is the price. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘴 --- 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘛𝘸𝘰. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘴. 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘣𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦.

𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻. 𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗲. 𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸. Every season, the river takes a bride. Every season, a girl walks into the black water and never returns. The covenant is ancient. The god is hungry. This season, Ama is chosen. But Ama doesn't drown. A stranger who is scarred, silent, and speaking a language she has never heard pulls her from the water. He will not explain why he saved her. He will not tell her what he's running from. And she cannot ask, because the river took her voice as payment for the life it was denied. Now she is cursed. Voiceless. Hunted by something older than the dust they run on. And the only person standing between her and the water's teeth is a man whose hands know how to save... and how to destroy. ♦ 𝗗𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗔𝗳𝗿𝗼-𝗳𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘆 𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗳𝗼𝗹𝗸𝗹𝗼𝗿𝗲❟ 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗰❟ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁 ♦ 𝗗𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗣𝗢𝗩 - 𝗮 𝘃𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗼𝗿 ♦ 𝗙𝗼𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝗼𝗻𝗲❟ 𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗔𝘀𝗵❟ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗔𝗻 𝗘𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗔𝘀𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝘜𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘚𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 · 𝘛𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 · 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘥𝘢𝘺 ⚠️ CONTENT WARNING: violence, sexual content, grief, spiritual horror, themes of sacrifice. 𝗠𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 (𝟭𝟳+) - 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱

"Sometimes, you have to kind of die inside in order to rise from your own ashes and believe in yourself, and love yourself enough to become a new person." _ Gerard Way _ ᪥᪥᪥᪥ Hilary Idara Eghosa has always been one of the Elites in Crestview International Academy. Being one of the kids at the top of the social food chain, most people were of the notion that she was just another privileged rich kid that has had everything handed down to her on a silver platter. She never really allowed the rumours to get to her, basking in the love and care showered on her by her family and friends... as well as the attention she got from being in a relationship with one of the most popular guys at Crestview. What more could she want? But Tragedy struck few weeks to the beginning of her senior year and everything began to fall apart little by little. The Rumors increased, more unbearable than ever and she had no idea how to handle how fast things were spiralling out of control. Hurt, Betrayed and at a Loss, she believed that no one could ever relate to the way she was feeling. However, she realized with time that life didn't revolve only around her and that everyone within her circle and around her also had problems of their own... Way Bigger Problems... Problems they all felt were Unfixable. Started - 30th July 2021 Ended - (Disclaimer: None of the pictures I used are mine. Credit goes to the real owners - Celebrities and Public Figures.)

Adunni is 19, deaf since birth, and the most dangerous person living beneath Oshodi bridge, because she can feel things no one else can. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘃𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝘀｡ 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗵𝗶𝗱𝗱𝗲𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗴𝗼 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀｡ 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗺｡ When her brother sells her to armed men, and she takes a bullet escaping, she collapses at the feet of a beautiful Hausa market seller who hides her, heals her, and looks at her like she's worth seeing. Ladi is gentle. Ladi is kind. Ladi makes Adunni want to trust again for the first time since her little sister died in her arms. Ladi is also an undercover government agent hunting a terrorist cell that's moving bomb-grade explosives through the colonial-era tunnels beneath the train tracks. And Adunni, the girl who reads vibrations, is the most valuable intelligence asset in Lagos. By the time Adunni discovers the truth, she's already in love. By the time Ladi can tell it, the train is already moving. And there's a bomb inside it. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨. 𝙋𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙤. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨... 𝙧𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮❟ 𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙛𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙮❟ 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙮... 𝙥𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣.

A curse is merging their bodies cell by cell, and the only thing more terrifying than becoming one person is how badly they're starting to want it.

A political mastermind is ordered to make a fool into a king... and the cost of success is worse than failure.

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