The next morning, the interrogator found the girl sitting calmly on her bed, eyes closed, hands folded exactly like her grandma had been. She was chanting softly.
When the interrogator tried to check on her, she opened her eyes.
They were completely red. No white, no pupil, just deep, wet crimson. She smiled with blood already trickling from the corners of his mouth.
“It is not a demon,” she said in a voice that was not entirely her own, “It is not an angel either. It is what remains when God and the Devil shake hands. It is the truth they both hide from us, that every prayer feeds something. Every doubt starves it until it gets hungry enough to come collect.”
She raised her hands. They were shaking. The interrogator backed away in horror as the girl’s own hands slowly turned toward her throat.
She kept smiling as she began to choke herself, whispering the same verses her grandma had chanted but now they sounded like laughter.
Before security could reach the room, the girl’s eyes, ears, nose, and mouth all burst open at once in perfect synchronisation. Blood painted the white sheets.
The red face was never seen again in that town but sometimes, late at night, when someone prays a little too desperately or doubts a little too loudly, they feel something red watching from just behind their eyelids. And they wonder, Is it God testing their faith? Is it the Devil punishing their sin? Or is it something far worse, the thing that laughs when both sides claim victory? Because in the end, red is the only colour that remains when light and darkness bleed together. And it is always, always smiling.
ns216.73.216.69da2
and then Add to home screen.