She was everywhere. People shouted her name, waved their hands, and screamed until their voices cracked when she stepped onto the stage. Ji-a, the famous singer, the one whose voice could melt anyone's heart. To her fans, she was a goddess, the star of the nation. Her face graced magazine covers, her songs echoed on every street corner, and her face, those eyes, they were a part of every home.
But the world only knew half of her.
Behind the sparkling lights and glittering dresses, there was another side to Ji-a, one that stayed hidden in the corners of her mind. No one ever saw it coming. How could they? A star who sang songs of love and hope couldn't possibly be capable of anything dark, could she?
Ji-a didn't think of herself as a monster. At least, not at first. She had the world's adoration, the stage was where she felt powerful, but it was also where the emptiness crept in. When the show ended and the crowds went home, when the lights dimmed, the loneliness followed her like a shadow. She had started out like anyone—hitting the high notes, singing about beauty and life—but somewhere along the way, something twisted. She wanted more than just fame. She wanted to feel something, anything, that could fill the hollow space.
It was during one of those dark nights, when the glitter had faded, that the idea first took root. She had driven out to a quiet street on the edge of the city, a place where no one would bother her. The roads were empty, just like her. She saw a man standing at a bus stop, his face obscured by the collar of his coat. He looked lonely, just like her.
She pulled over. At first, she wasn't sure what she was doing. Maybe it was the alcohol she had been drinking earlier or maybe it was the nagging emptiness that made her want to feel in control. She got out of the car, walked up to him. No words. No warnings. Just a smooth, practiced movement that ended with her hand around his throat. She had no fear. She didn't even blink. There was a sense of power she had never known before. When he was gone, she wiped her hands on her coat, took a deep breath, and walked back to her car.
The rush was intoxicating. She didn't feel guilty. She didn't feel anything but the thrill of the control she had taken. He had been nothing. An obstacle. A thing she could erase without anyone noticing. And just like that, she was hooked.
From then on, Ji-a didn't need the crowds. She didn't need the fame. She only needed that feeling again—the sense of absolute, raw control. The victim didn't matter. They were nothing but a means to an end. She picked them out carefully, stalked them for days, observed how they moved, where they went, and when they would be alone. She kept up her public image, sang her songs, gave the world what it wanted, but behind the scenes, she hunted.
The killings grew more frequent. The method was always the same. She found their vulnerabilities, their weaknesses, and snatched them away when they were least expecting it. No one ever suspected the singer who grinned at them from a TV screen, who sang of love and devotion, who made them feel like they could do anything. No one looked twice when she walked by, her heels clicking on the floor like a song.
It wasn't just men either. Ji-a didn't discriminate. Women, children, it didn't matter. If they were alone, if they were weak, she'd take them.
The authorities were clueless. There was no pattern, no reason. The victims were scattered all over the city, no connection, nothing to tie them together. It was like a game. A game she played well, one she never intended to lose.
But as her fame grew, so did her hunger. The killings weren't enough anymore. She needed more. More blood, more bodies, more control. She started taking greater risks, leaving behind more evidence, just to see how close she could get to being caught.
One night, she was performing at a concert. The crowd was alive, their faces lit up by the flashing lights, their hands raised high in admiration. She stood in front of them, a goddess, a queen. But as she sang, she felt the sharp pang of something missing. She was going through the motions, but it didn't feel the same. The screams from the fans didn't send that electric thrill through her chest anymore. They were just noise, like the buzz of a fly she couldn't shake off.
She could feel the eyes on her, their adoration, but it was hollow. She needed more. That night, she did something she had never done before. She let the darkness seep into her public life.
After the concert, she didn't head straight to her car like usual. She lingered in the backstage area, where the staff were cleaning up. One of them, a young woman, was standing near the corner, humming to herself as she wiped down a table. Ji-a walked toward her, unnoticed. The girl was too busy, too distracted. When Ji-a was close enough, she grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into the nearest supply closet.
The girl screamed, but no one could hear her. Ji-a was quick, her hands around the girl's throat, squeezing tighter, until the sound of her struggles faded. When she was finished, she wiped her hands on the girl's clothes and stepped back, her breath steady.
And then she left, like nothing had happened.
But this time, something was different. When Ji-a looked at the girl's body later, her mind was flooded with panic. The girl's eyes were wide open, her mouth still frozen in a scream. It felt different, like her last victim had stolen something from her. The emptiness wasn't gone. It was worse. It had grown, fed by the violence, and now it was so deep she couldn't escape it.
Ji-a had been doing this for so long. She had killed so many, each one a name she didn't need to remember. But the eyes of that girl haunted her. She couldn't stop seeing them.
And so, she tried again. But this time, there was no thrill. She didn't feel the power. It was as if something had broken inside her, a part of her that couldn't be fixed.
The killings stopped.
Ji-a still performed, still sang for the crowds, but now, every note she hit was a reminder of her own emptiness. She was no longer the idol they adored, the star they worshipped. She was just a woman, a killer, and nothing could fill the void she had created.
Then, one night, as she was preparing for a show, Ji-a was arrested. The authorities had pieced it all together, and they had her. It wasn't just the victims' blood they had on her. It was the weight of every life she had stolen, every moment of darkness she had left behind, and they finally caught up to her.
They dragged her through the streets, her hands cuffed behind her back, her head hung low. The crowd that had once worshipped her now looked at her with disdain. No one knew the truth. No one knew what she had become. All they saw was a broken woman, a monster who had once been their queen.
The prison cell was cold, but Ji-a felt nothing. She had been empty for so long that the bars didn't matter. It didn't matter that the world had turned against her. Nothing mattered anymore.
Her fame had been the only thing she had left, and it was gone. But even more than that, her need for blood, her need to control, was gone. It had destroyed her, hollowed her out, and in the end, there was nothing left but a broken shell of a woman.
The last thing Ji-a saw before they locked her away was the eyes of the girl, staring at her from the corner of the cell. Those eyes, the ones that had followed her, the ones that had stayed with her, now burned into her memory, like a scar she could never erase.