The Night of the Monsters - Chapter 31 (END)

“I really, really like you, Master Giselle! I like you the most in the whole world!”

“Hey, Ian. You used to say I was your favorite.”

“…But what can I do if I like Master more now? Besides, you’re the one who always said that we’re the only two people in the world that matter, and now you like Master more than me.”

Giselle chuckled softly at the sight of the two boys bickering—so much livelier now than when she had first met them.

Ian ran up to her, beaming, and grabbed her hand. Not wanting to be left out, Hugo scowled and took her other hand.

“Master, Master, I’m way cuter than my troublemaking brother, right?”

“Oh, please. You cry at the sound of rustling leaves, you cry at your own shadow, and you cry when you see bugs. I’m obviously the better one here. If you keep bawling like that all the time, Master might get tired of you and abandon you.”

“N-no! I never cry! You must be mistaken!”

“Mistaken, huh? You’re about to cry right now.”

“S-stop…! That’s not true, Master! I’m not crying! Really!”

Ian, his eyes brimming with tears, shouted desperately.

The sound of their chattering, their bright laughter, their trust and affection for her—it was all so warm.

Giselle pulled them both into her arms.

“Both of you are so, so precious to me.”

“Master Giselle… you won’t ever abandon us, will you?”

“Of course not. I don’t even want to imagine a life without you two.”

“…I don’t want a life without you, either. I want to stay with you forever.”

Giselle simply smiled.

She wanted that too. But if, one day, the boys were given a chance to leave this forest… would they still want to stay by her side?

This warmth was the first she had ever felt after drowning in endless loneliness, and it was so sweet, so intoxicating. But when she thought of the inevitable day they would part, her heart tightened painfully.

She could only hope that day would never come.

Because if it did, Giselle would have no choice but to let them go—for their happiness.

Hugo and Ian were a gift from the heavens.

“…It would have been better if I had never met you.”

And yet—why had she said such a thing?

The night was so silent that even the insects had stopped singing.

When Giselle awoke from her long dream, the fire in the hearth had long since gone out, leaving the room filled with a bitter chill. Wrapped in nothing but a single blanket, she curled into herself. Each breath she exhaled bloomed white in the cold air, but she made no move to rekindle the fire.

Wandering aimlessly in search of something—some trace, some proof—she had eventually returned to the forest. She had no sense of how much time had passed. No, it was more accurate to say she had no intention of keeping track. Hunger, thirst—nothing felt like suffering to her anymore. She was merely waiting for death to come, whenever it chose to arrive.

Giselle stared blankly at a dust-covered corner of the room as tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I can’t do anything on my own.”

That thought shackled her like iron chains.

Thinking for herself, worrying, making decisions, moving forward—none of it was possible anymore. It was as if she were held captive by some formless monster. If she had to name it, it would be regret and loneliness. But she suppressed those feelings. Again and again, she forced them down.

If only she could forget everything.

Dozens, hundreds of times, she had swallowed medicine, hoping to erase her memories. But they always returned. And with them, the terrible waves of loss and guilt surged back, more agonizing than before.

Like a curse.

Her lips parted slightly. A name slipped out. A name filled with longing, with aching tenderness. The names of her disciples—names that could only mean atonement to her now—scattered into the empty air as Giselle closed her eyes.

Why did I say those words?

Why did I do what I did?

Why… couldn’t I have died with them?

She could no longer tell day from night. And when she slept, she always dreamed the same dream.

The dark house, bathed in faint moonlight, looked no different than it did now—void of any sign that a person still lived there.

When the spirits she had once cursed and resented—those she had driven away—called her name, she would suddenly realize it.

That this was just a dream.

A fragment of a day long lost, one she could never return to.

But even knowing that, she could not turn away.

If she did, then in this dream, Hugo and Ian would quietly accept their deaths. They would not hurt others. They would not commit any sins. They would not die by her hands.

At the root of their crimes was Giselle.

For her.

Because of her.

What began as love had turned to obsession. That obsession had birthed darkness.

If she had realized their feelings sooner… If she had neither rejected nor pushed them away… If she had simply loved them back… Would things have turned out differently?

It was she who had made them into monsters.

And yet, in her dream, even knowing that ruin lay at the end of this road, she made the same choice.

Because just as she had been their everything, they had been hers.

Bathed in the warmth of the past, Giselle smiled.

But the dream always ended the same way.

Flames, born from her own hands, consumed the laughing brothers.

She screamed and ran toward them, but no matter how desperately she tried, she could never reach them.

And from within the black fire, as their bodies melted away, Ian and Hugo whispered to her.

“In the end, Giselle, you will love us. Forever.”

“Don’t forget who it was that killed me.”

Those words clung to her like a curse.

Giselle woke up with a wrenching sense of loss and regret, clutching at her chest as she sobbed. She wanted to die. She wanted to die. But no matter how many times she tried to take her own life, she always ended up choosing to go on living.

Because she had to love Hugo and Ian forever. Because she had to remember who had killed them. Because, just as their younger sibling had told her, she could never forget. She had to live a lifetime of atonement.

As she choked out her cries with a parched throat, she eventually drifted back into sleep.

Then, suddenly, she heard it—someone knocking at the door.

Knock, knock.

Still trapped in an unreal sense of weightlessness, Giselle glanced at the door, the door that would never open first. Another hallucination.

Dragging her heavy body up, she made her way toward it. The moon was veiled by clouds, making the darkness even thicker. Her vision blurred, and she tripped multiple times before finally reaching the door. She stared at the key.

Knock.

The second knock was shorter, firmer.

She had heard these hallucinations many times before. The first time, she had run to the door and flung it open in shock. But there had been no one there. The second time, the third time—always the same. She had even tried covering her ears, refusing to check.

But when she did, she would always hear their voices instead. The voices of Hugo and Ian from their childhood, calling out to her.

Shutting her eyes tightly, she turned the key.

Creak.

The door, long unpolished, groaned open with an unpleasant sound.

The moment she realized there was someone there, she sucked in a sharp breath.

Pitch-black darkness obscured her sight, but she knew—it was a person.

…No. It couldn’t be. It had to be another illusion. No one would wander so far into this desolate place.

Her mind must have been completely broken.

Just as she lowered her eyes and moved to shut the door—

Scratch. Scrape.

A sound, right in front of her.

At that moment, a lamp flickered in the darkness, its glow momentarily blinding her.

Reality came rushing back.

This wasn’t a hallucination.

Giselle’s trembling eyelids fluttered open. She lowered her gaze to the ground—then, slowly, she looked up.

The light revealed two shadows.

Her heart pounded violently, her stomach twisting into a cold knot.

No. No.

Her bloodless lips trembled. A sick feeling rose in her throat, but having eaten nothing for so long, all that surfaced was a bitter taste. Swallowing down the nausea, she forced herself to look higher.

Her unfocused eyes locked onto the lamp. Then, gradually, they trailed upward.

The hand holding the lamp was a man’s—scarred, covered in old wounds. Through the gap in his sleeve, a glimpse of burn marks was visible.

Giselle clutched at her clothes, her heart hammering wildly.

As her bewildered gaze traveled up to his throat, the lamp’s flame suddenly went out.

Darkness swallowed her vision once more. She instinctively recoiled, eyes darting around in panic.

Scratch. Tap.

That sound again.

A faint glow flickered, then strengthened.

As the light illuminated their faces, Giselle could only stare.

She thought it must be another dream.

Because standing there—before her eyes—were people who should not exist in this place.

*

There were no large scars, but a face covered in countless small wounds appeared before her, just as she had envisioned even in her dreams. No, he looked more mature now—and perhaps a little thinner. His clothes were covered in dust, as if he had been wandering for a long time.

Giselle instinctively reached out, but soon shook her head and stepped back.

No, no. They both died by my hands. I killed them.

She was now facing the disciples she had killed with her own hands.

Her dry lips moved quickly. Giselle sobbed, cursing the illusion that showed her the hollow shells of those she had loved most.

Hugo, who had been staring at her as if spellbound, slowly reached out, just as Giselle had done moments before. His cold hand, devoid of warmth, gently caressed her frozen cheek.

His crimson eyes gleamed eerily under the flickering light.

“I found you, Master.”

Her motionless hand was caught in an unyielding grip, as if time itself had stopped. Ian smiled serenely and pressed his lips against the back of her hand.

“We’re back, Giselle.”

Was this a dream born from longing? A mere illusion? It didn’t matter. Either way…

One step, then another. The brothers embraced the woman and crossed the threshold. The nearby light was swallowed by shadows in an instant.

Beyond the tightly shut door, no sound could be heard.

Before long, the silent forest filled with the chirping of insects. The moon, hidden behind the clouds, cast its pale glow over the solitary cabin.

Through the window, one could see the woman and the two men tangled together like beasts.

In the end, they had claimed every last piece of her.

The Night of Monsters – The End