The city lights flickered below, a sprawling tapestry of life oblivious to the predator perched above. From the penthouse balcony, I watched them—tiny, insignificant beings scurrying about their mundane existences. They were ants, and I had the magnifying glass.
Inside, the opulence of our home gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers. Marble floors, priceless artworks, and an ambiance curated to scream perfection. Yet, amidst this grandeur, a suffocating emptiness lingered—a void only one act could fill.
My mother, Seong Minji, floated through the room with her usual grace, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a shared darkness neither dared to voice. She paused, her lips curling into a knowing smile before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
Tonight was the night.
I descended the spiral staircase, each step echoing the thrum of my heartbeat. The basement—a place off-limits, a place I had never dared to explore—beckoned. The door creaked open, revealing a world starkly different from the elegance above.
The scent hit me first—a metallic tang mixed with the musk of decay. The walls, lined with soundproof padding, absorbed the gasp that escaped my lips. Instruments of pain and restraint adorned the room, each meticulously arranged, gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light.
In the center, a chair. And on it, my father—Seong Hyunwoo.
His head lolled forward, blood matting his once immaculate hair. Bruises blossomed across his face, a grotesque canvas of purples and blues. His wrists, bound with coarse rope, bore deep lacerations, the crimson trails a testament to his futile struggle.
I approached, each step measured, deliberate. The thrill coursing through my veins was intoxicating, a euphoria I had only dreamed of. I reached out, fingers grazing the cold steel of a blade resting on the table beside him.
His eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain and confusion. "Jiwon... why?" he rasped, blood flecking his lips.
I tilted my head, observing the raw vulnerability before me. "Why not?" The words slipped out, devoid of emotion, a mere reflection of the abyss within.
The blade felt right in my hand, an extension of my very being. I pressed it against his throat, watching as realization dawned in his eyes—a mirror to my own soulless gaze.
"Please..." he whimpered, tears mingling with the blood.
I leaned in closer, inhaling the scent of fear. "Shh," I whispered, "this is necessary."
With a swift motion, the blade danced across his skin, a crimson smile forming beneath his chin. The gurgling sound that followed was a symphony, the light fading from his eyes the final crescendo.
I stood there, drenched in his life's essence, a sense of completion washing over me. This was my genesis, the birth of my true self.
Footsteps echoed behind me. I turned to see my mother, her expression one of pride, not horror. She approached, her hand caressing my blood-streaked cheek.
"You've done well, my son," she murmured, her voice a lullaby of darkness.
In that moment, I understood. This was our legacy, a bond forged in blood and deceit. And the world beyond our sanctuary had no inkling of the monsters lurking within.
As the city continued its oblivious dance below, I embraced my destiny, ready to play my part in the grand masquerade of normalcy.
For beneath the veneer of perfection, the beast had awakened.