The Seven Deaths

Let us begin the tale of love and death, a sweetness rivaling heaven with the potential to rival even hell. But I shan't begin at the start; instead, I shall start at the end. I died not once, not twice, but seven times.

My life has always been a brilliant display of hues, though the journey was seldom easy. Countless times, I fell madly in love, only to fall apart once more.

As a lawyer, my calling was to fight against the brutality inflicted on women. My work transformed me into an iron lady, impervious to men and any attempt at meaningful relationships. Though I tried to connect through Tinder, matchmaking, and friends, my trust was shattered. Until the day I met the man who ended my life.

As late November arrived, the sun's warmth dwindled, but I welcomed the cooler weather. Unlike the noisy chaos of summer, I preferred serene and tranquil surroundings, especially in the woods, away from the bustling city. It had been almost a decade since I last took a vacation, and I decided to return to my small hometown, a place that seemed dull during my youth. But now, at the age of 27, I saw it with new eyes, as if my departure from home was just yesterday.

My family history was riddled with tragedy. My parents passed away when I was a child, and I was raised by my grandparents, who also eventually left this world, leaving me alone. I never admitted it, but I feared being alone in the darkness, and that fear haunted me for years. Perhaps that's why I dedicated my life to helping others, hoping it would make me stronger. But it didn't work.

My home was a massive, ancient house nestled in the woods, with three floors and an extensive, untended yard. According to my grandparents, it was over 500 years old. Despite the numerous renovations and upgrades, the antiquity of the house persisted.

Kalligramm, my small town, was named after an ancient butterfly breed, the Kalligrammatids, eventually butterflies lit up the area every year in the most peculiar way. But that was not the only strangeness of the town; there was also a week of unbearable heat. Although Kalligramm was home to nearly 400,000 people, they were not the warmest or most hospitable bunch, but they were all incredibly wealthy, including my ancestors. And of course, I have lots of money too, but to be honest, it doesn’t make any difference, or I guess when you have the money you never feel like you desperately need it.

My grandparents had raised me to be a skilled hunter, rider, and linguist, just like an ancient warrior. Yet, they couldn't protect me from my inner demons, fears, and phobias.

Oh, and my name is Selene, nice to meet you…

Greetings

I arrived early in town, it was 6 o'clock in the morning, and our friends and employees have been taking care of my home since I was gone. I was sure that they wouldn’t be up so early but I was wrong, as soon as my car entered my property rode, I saw everyone waiting for me. It hasn’t changed a bit, these people make me feel so creepy.

The main reason for me to be here is my grandparent's death anniversary, I know, it sounds weird but it’s our tradition. Since I was not able to attend the funeral, now i feel like I have betrayed them…

My grandma was so beautiful, she was like a unique creature, her hair was always glowing, her face was always without wrinkles, and her body, even in her 60s was as perfect as teenagers… this was like a mystery for me. My grandfather was a worm man, never used to talk much, and never saw him angry about anything, his eyes were blue and deep, but he was a good hunter.

Grannies never told me much about my parents, it was like a taboo. I barely had any memories of them and had only 4 pictures. They were like so happy, holding me and hugging me, but as I have researched we use to live in a different country, in a sunny place, my mom was a Literature lecturer and my father was Geologist.

I have searched every inch of evidence I could dig on my parent's life and death and the only thing I found was tax documentation, my birth certificate, and their death certificates, reason for death: An accident, an attack by a stray animal during a picnic. I was 4, with a nanny. The only thing that bothers me is that I couldn’t find a nanny, as if she has disappeared.

And here we go. The road from the gate of my home has ended. Here it is, Home sweet home….

“My Lady” has greeted me the Houskeeper of our home, Tomas. Old man without a smile on his face.

“Hello Tomas, how are you, luggage is in the back of my car, could you please… oh… okay…” until I was able to end the sentence he has already ordered me to get my stuff and bring it to my chambers, oh, sometimes I just miss home…

“Tell me, Tomas, how many?” we were already entering my home and I was so excited and terrified, this weird home, all the memories. Without them, this place is cold as hell…

“Invitations have been sent to only close members of the family” Oh, great, this means that all the unpleasant relatives will gather here in two days.

“How many Tomas”

“65 people”

“Great, ill be up in my room” I tried to escape the attention of the maids and headed to my room…

“You need to see letters, my lady, your grannies have left letters for you, only for you” he was even weirder now.

“I'll read them, Tomas, at night, with my wine.”

“One more thing my lady, you should read this too” He handed me the letter, gosh, who on earth is sending now the freaking letters?!

“It smells good” I smiled and went up.

Room with all the paintings I draw when I was a child, little ponies, roses, rainbows… everything was here. This place, this little room feels so warm. And here we go… knock on the door.

“Yes,” I wasn’t even hiding that I am annoyed.

“This room is your old room, my Lady, now we have prepared the appropriate one for you” it was Tomas again.

“Okay Tomas, okay…” It's like I'm living in someone else's house, not mine.

A new room of mine, big and shiny, okay, I'm gonna admit, this one is extraordinary. The bed features a white satin canopy and curtains adorned with Chinese bird and figure patterns, lace edges, and tassels. The same fabric dresses the room's furniture. Religious images, playful paintings of women in white and red, a Venetian mirror, a Florentine cabinet with silver and "pietra dura" mosaics, and Turkish and Persian carpets add splashes of color. The bedroom leads to a cabinet mainly filled with artwork, likely to be used as a working room. This room is amazing.

After reclining on the bed, I recollected the letter given to me by Tomas which seemed odd. I'm unfamiliar with anyone named Duncan, let alone someone who knows about my vacation spot. Admittingly, I was put on leave for a month and my actions in my previous case went beyond bounds and appeared intimidatory. The letter only contained a small card with the words "Today at 18:00, I will have the pleasure to see you", Thank you Duncan, and I discarded it, goodbye Duncan.

Why is everything so peculiar here?