#ashenfell

Odilia: "Freeloader, don't listen to her, she speaks only lies."

Mother: "Finish the job with this liar, we have the vessel now."

Odilia: "I told you to get out of here, why didn't you listen?"

Mother: "Malkor, I invoke thy name! Spill the blood, open thy gates."

The reality of the room began to unravel as the floorboards groaned, splitting open along a slow, wet pulse that felt like a throat expanding beneath the wood. An impossible weight hit the air, a sudden, crushing pressure that violently tore the cultists' grip from my skin and hurled me across the room. My body collided hard against the far wall, the back of my head slamming into the solid timber with a sickening crack that flashed white-hot pain behind my eyes and blurred my vision into jagged streaks of red. Yet even through the blinding ache, I could see the foundations of the room tear themselves apart, welcoming Malkor's ascent.

Malkor: "Again, you bleed to wake me, my children…I know the hole in your hearts. I know the boy you scream for."

Pinned by fingers bruising my arms, I watched Odilia's upside-down body give a final, choking gasp as the blade tore deeper into her throat. Before me stood the monster who killed the very son they're now trying to resurrect. Through their eyes, I'm just a vacant husk to be gutted, choked by their sickly stench of rotting blood.

Cultists: Mother Malkor, the blood is being lost; if we don't bind it now, the vessel won't take. It has to be consumed through direct ingestion, from his own connection, there's no time!"

Malkor: "We mustn't keep my weeping children waiting; their grief is far too delicious."

The blinding ache in my skull surrendered to a suffocating weight as the world dissolved around me, the sulphur pouring into my lungs like liquid ash until the screams of the cultists vanished entirely. The solid timber of the wall gave way to a sudden, sickening drop, and when my hands finally slammed down to break my fall, it wasn't wood beneath my fingers, but the baking, scorching earth of a massive, fire-filled burial site.

Quentin: "What the actual fuck is wrong with you guys?"

???: "Is that really how you greet someone you love? A simple hello would have been nice, don't you think…my meadow?

Malkor: I've missed you so much, don't make this harder than it needs to be."

This isn't real

Quentin: Get the fuck off me, stand up, I'm going to kill you."

Chapter 2

Somewhere, there's a version of him who lived an easier life, untouched by my shadow. Sometimes I wish we could have met in that world, where loving each other didn't demand such sacrifice. He kept living. I stayed away.

Lying here, I replay it all, wishing I'd given him peace.

In the moment, I was grateful you skipped school with me.

I truly did love him.

The trail was his idea, offered when my thoughts began to decay from the inside out. He promised the quiet there might keep my safe from myself, if only for a night. Always, he sensed when my mind was slipping beyond my grasp. I didn't know it would be the last place I ever felt truly held.

I knew deep down it would end up this way.

We never should have come here. Deep down, I always knew it. Still, on impulse, I led you forward, clinging to memories that still glowed with warmth and joy. Then came the sound, strange, almost beautiful, threading through the air, only I could hear. In an instant, my mind emptied, thoughts draining away until I was nothing but a hollow vessel.

I remember the warmth of your touch, turned cold.

?: " Oh, Quinny boy, how we've missed you "

Quentin: "What have you done? Why are you doing this?"

?: "Tsk Tsk Tsk…take a look for yourself, filth".

I dropped to my knees beside him, shaking him, calling his name, willing him back. His chest didn't rise, his hands didn't move, he was gone in every way I could reach. I tried again, harder, pressing, shaking, but it was pointless now.

Chapter 2

Folded back into my childhood, half-remembered beneath the daylight of my family home.

This is my home, I've returned to my mother's womb.

This was the earliest memory, a vibrant world of flora and fauna coming alive as she taught me.

As my thoughts swirled, there stood my twin brother. Though I hold dear the memories we share, there's an unmistakable sense of distance that leaves me feeling disconnected from him.

His words echoed in my mind, but they always twisted into a confusing jumble that made no sense at all.

As my mind began to get foggier, HE descended the garden steps, each step echoing with the deep rumble of distant thunder. The air around him was thick with the scent of oil, and mutterings tumbled from his lips, as if he were a tempest himself, bringing turbulence and chaos in his wake.

It wasn't my fault, but his anger was pointed at me, despite it being my brother's actions.

It wasn't my fault; I just needed to get some fresh air, so I stepped outside for a quick ten minutes.

It wasn't my fault.

She still blames me, because mother knows best, right?

"Quentin, I need you in the kitchen, please."

My hand isn't mine. It's a heavy, numb thing buried in her, and I'm just watching it dig, watching it hold her down like I'm stuck behind a sheet of dirty glass. I want to pull back, but my body is just… refusing.

Quentin: "Hold still. Freak, just fucking, hold still."

She doesn't flinch. She just starts this sound, a low, grinding vibration that makes the marrow of my teeth ache. The air curdles, thick with the smell of wet rot, and that old, familiar building nearby, the one that held Mara, her mother, and that goddamn doll, begins to weep rusted iron, the very foundations buckling as if the earth itself is puking up bile.

Malkor: "Ashen-fell, ashen-rise, let the marrow feed the fire."

The area had snapped. The floor just goes, dropping us onto that jagged stone grid. The fire here isn't warm; it's a sick, bruised colour that screams as it tears through the dark.

Quentin: "What… what the hell is this?!"

I couldn't move. My body screamed in a language older than words, warning me to run, to fight, to live, but the flames engulfed me all the same, patient and reverent, as if carrying out a ritual that had begun long before I was born.

Something is under my skin, I am burning from the inside too.

Quentin: "What is happening to me?"

Quentin: "Enough."

Quentin: "Who are these people? What have you done?"

Malkor: "You're looking a little burnt out, Q."

Quentin: "Shut your fucking mouth, Malkor."

Malkor isn't even fighting me anymore. She's just laying there, staring up at the sky like she's finally seeing God. She looks like she's been waiting for this her whole life

Malkor: "The circle is closed. He's here."

The static in my head hits a breaking point. The fire has bridged the gap; it's in my marrow, turning everything I am into molten slag.

Quentin: "I don't care, I'll burn the whole town down with you in it!"

???: "SIT!"

The command isn't a sound. It's a weight that hits the floor like a guillotine.

???: "I left you in the world to rot, and you forget how to bite back."

???: "You've always been so violent, Quentin. It's such a shame."

My vision is breaking up. I look up, and I'm staring at my own face. He reaches out, grabbing my jaw, his grip cold as stone.

Quentin: "How are you here? They told me you died. The fire, the ritual, it all ended in ash. Mum mourned you for years, waiting for a voice that never answered, a knock that never came. My brother is dead. I buried him long ago. So what are you, and why are you wearing his face?"

Milo?: "You buried a body, not a purpose. The fire was only the beginning. I was never meant to stay dead, Quentin. I was meant to return changed. The ritual did not fail. It is still happening, and I am its proof."

Milo: " Hello, Brother."

Chapter 3

Quentin: "How long was I out? My head is splitting."

Mara: "Poor guy, come on, get moving. A shower might help."

Quentin: "Alright, but before anything else, you need to tell me, how did you manage to find me?"

Mara: "Does it really matter? What's important is that you're safe now. Let's get moving."

Everything still feels knotted in the nightmare. My head throbs, old memories clawing their way up from where I'd tried to bury them. I almost believed they weren't real. Yet Mara stands over me, as if she always knew where I'd be. I never told anyone, never asked for help, still, she found me. A cold prickle creeps along my back, right where the dream burned. Whatever's out there hasn't lost track of me.

We began walking towards a building on the lake

The place Mara leads me to feels familiar; I've been here before. The place I first visited upon entering this town. The one with the old lady, who kept staring at me like she knew something I didn't.

Mara waits until the bathroom door shuts and the shower starts running. "Mama," Mara calls softly, "I'm home. And the vermin came back just like you said he would."

Quentin: "Fuck, I smell like death warmed up. How long was I out?"

Mama: "My prayers have been answered finally."

Chapter 2

Micah: "While I am ecstatic to see you, where have you been, man?"

Jane: "It was pretty inconsiderate to disappear on us again. The year isn't over yet, so you can't just leave us hanging. Plus, everyone has been asking about you. I know something is going on with you. So, what's up?"

Quentin: "It doesn't matter, I'm here now."

I know they care, even if I rarely show it. They reach out, checking in with genuine concern, yet somehow, I always end up slipping away before anyone gets too close. Disappearing isn't a habit; it's my shield, a way to keep everyone at arm's length for a reason. I can't risk letting them see the truth. If they did, everything could unravel. I won't drag them into what's coming.

I've hurt many people, and I know people preferred Milo.

I've always felt like everyone preferred Milo. No Matter what I do, I can't shake the sense that I'm just the one they tolerate; the shadows of my twin. It isn't just a passing thought; it sits deep inside me, rooted and persistent. Even now, I can't convince myself otherwise.

Jane and Micah have been our friends since childhood, and as my final year here unfolds, I find myself quietly preparing them for the inevitable. Disappearing is easy, except when it comes to one person. That's the only one I've never quite managed to vanish from, no matter how hard I try. Somehow, leaving gets harder when he's near. Some might call it love, but to me, it feels like a safe space, a silent understanding that whatever we have is only temporary.

Unbeknownst to me, a photo began circulating at the school.

One day back, and my world is analysed under a microscope.

Every glance feels weighted, every question loaded with things unsaid. I can sense the worry in their voices and the way conversations pause when I enter the room. It's as if my presence alone disturbs the fragile balance they've managed to build in my absence. I wish I could reassure them, promise that everything will be all right, but the words catch in my throat. The truth is, I'm not sure I believe them myself.

Every single glance, I felt but couldn't always see.

Chapter 3

The shower was blisteringly hot; even with the cold nozzle wide open, steam clung to my skin like a second layer. Something smelled off, though, not a sharp stench, but a low, creeping scent of something scorched. Sulphur, maybe. I don’t remember that being there before.

Quentin: "Next time, I'm sticking to rivers."

I shoved my feet into my boots, barely bothering to dry off. Every second spent dressing felt like a second wasted as the acrid scent of burning drifted through the cracks in the floorboards.

(Visual: Quentin rushes down the carpeted stairs, his movements hurried and frantic.)

I hit the ground floor and paused. The sulphur wasn't just a scent anymore; it felt like a heat radiating from the room ahead. Voices hummed behind the door, a steady stream of chatter that ignored the stench of scorched earth filling the hallway.

(Visual: Quentin cautiously pushes open the heavy door, his hand resting tentatively on the frame as he peers into the dimly lit room.)

Quentin: "What the fuck? That’s not a baby, it’s just a doll."

Mara: "Quentin, do you ever miss him? Worry not, he’s here."

(Visual: Mara is seen cradling a lifeless doll in a room filled with candlelight and religious iconography.)

Quentin: "Your grief is a lie. Who are you to speak on his name?"

Sulphur flooded my throat as I pushed deeper into the heat, the air thickening into ash. Then, I saw them. A face from my past. Someone I thought hated me. They were suspended from a beam by their ankles, a raw scream tearing from their throat until the soot choked it into a pathetic, wet rattle.

Quentin: “Odilia?”

(Visual: The camera pulls back. Odilia hangs inverted, behind her, two towering sentinels in spiked sun-crowns stand guard, their hands raised in a ritualistic pose as embers drift through the basement.)