He struck her again, as always.

She was quiet too quiet.

No one dared to speak, but everyone knew.Then one night, he took her life.

Before dying, she whispered a curse:

“You will remember… wherever you go.”He thought it empty, a dying breath.

But shadows followed him,

pressing on his chest like mountains,

whispering, waiting, reminding.Years passed. He slapped himself for every act,

living alone, scorned, abandoned.

The wind moaned through empty streets,

and the silence pressed heavier than his guilt.He threw himself into the river,

water cold as ice swallowing him whole,

hoping it would wash him clean.But even the river could not erase him.

The laughter left his home.

And her figure returned, silent, watching

her eyes glinting in the dark, her shadow brushing the walls,

her memory sharp and unrelenting.No one dares look.

Perhaps… we live forever in fear.