I returned our home while he toured with her novel Chapter 116

Chapter 12

The chat feed erupted with incoherent screeching.

[Holy shit, what did I miss? She was crawling around digging through a dumpster earlier, so I just assumed

she was hungry.]

[Do not blame yourself, blame the stream for refusing to cut to a close-up. We never saw the newspaper in her hand and honestly thought she was eating trash.]

[We really need to reflect on why Alice, who is practically blind, could see that paper when we could not.]

[She may be half-blind, but strictly speaking, we’re the ones who are truly blind.]

The twin siblings on the twenty-ninth floor had been lured to the roof by their father the day before their

eighteenth birthday.

Their father and his mistress then shoved them off the ledge together.

Their father was a gold digger who had married into the family solely to seize their mother’s fortune.

To prevent the children from coming of age and inheriting the estate, the mistress concocted this vicious

plot, and the father gave his approval.

Three years after the siblings died, the couple was sentenced to death. Their mother liquidated the company

assets and vanished to travel the world, carrying nothing but two framed photographs.

I drained my tea cup as the tragic tale concluded. The twins watched me rise from the table, their eyes

glistening with unshed tears.

I paused at the threshold to gently dust off their shoulders.

“You two need to live now, even in this hellhole.”

“Hold onto that memory, and I promise you will see your mother again.”

They nodded in solemn silence. I turned toward the stairwell and finally exhaled the breath I had been

holding.

I descended to the twenty-eighth floor. The players here had been wiped out long ago, either cowering before my blade or stunned by my beauty.

The resident opened the door the instant I knocked and respectfully offered me a visiting card.

She was a young girl in an elaborate cosplay costume and heavy stage makeup, yet her body appeared completely unblemished.

I was not surprised. She had not died in an accident but had overdosed on sleeping pills.

She was nineteen. A viral witch hunt over a dress had pushed her over the edge.

Chapter 12

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She had fallen in love with an outfit online, bought a replica, and innocently posted a photo. The internet

responded with tens of thousands of venomous comments.

They tore her apart for lacking a wig or professional makeup, claiming she was ruining the fandom and disgracing the character.

They told her she did not deserve to breathe.

Then came the doxxing. They harassed her parents relentlessly, spamming them with memorial portraits

featuring her face and grotesque, explicit edits.

The girl had been terrified and confused. She knew nothing about gatekeeping or toxic community rules; she

just thought the dress was pretty.

Eventually, the guilt broke her. She believed she had to die to atone for her “sin.”

Before swallowing the pills, she put on the full costume, the wig, and the paint.

She was petrified that if she arrived in the afterlife improperly dressed, the gatekeepers would harass her

again or deny her entry.

I picked up a cotton pad and gently wiped the thick layer of foundation from her skin.

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