sunsets and sunrises

11-12

Chapter Eleven – The Memory That Shouldn’t Exist

The new shadow stepped into the weak moonlight, and everything inside me locked.

Not because I recognized the face.
But because I recognized the feeling.

Like a word I’d forgotten.
Like a dream I’d tried to forget.
Like someone who belonged to a version of me I wasn’t supposed to remember.

They stopped a few feet away, hands raised slightly—not in surrendering, but in acknowledgment.
“As much as I’d enjoy the reunion,” the figure said calmly, “we don’t have time.”

Nora sucked in a sharp breath.
“No. Not you. Not now.”

The man with the phone stiffened too, eyes narrowing.
“So you finally crawled back.”

“I didn’t crawl,” the newcomer replied. “I came because he’s remembering.”

Their eyes—dark, steady, not blinking—shifted to me.

“And once he remembers, none of you get to lie anymore.”

My throat tightened. “Who… who are you?”

They smiled—soft, almost sad.
“Someone you trusted before either of us showed up.”

Nora’s voice cracked. “Don’t listen to him—he’s the reason—”

“Enough,” the newcomer said sharply. “You’ve twisted this long enough.”

The two older shadows flared like magnets, repelling from each other.

Whatever history they had, it cut deep.

The newcomer kept their focus on me.

“Tell me,” they asked, voice gentler, “what did you see? In your head. Just now.”

The memory flickered again, uninvited:

A phone.
My own voice whispering.
Someone behind me.
A crash.
Blood.

“I… called someone,” I said slowly. “But I don’t know who.”

“You called me,” the newcomer said. “And you said one sentence.”

They stepped closer.

“Do you want me to repeat it?”

Nora lunged forward, grabbing my arm. “Don’t let him put things in your head! He manipulates memories—”

“Only the ones you broke,” the newcomer shot back.

The man with the phone scoffed. “He called me first. You intercepted.”

“You weren’t supposed to answer,” the newcomer hissed.

The air between them crackled—old anger, old betrayal.

I swallowed hard, voice shaking.
“What… what was the sentence?”

The newcomer held my gaze.

“You told me, ‘If something happens to me, don’t let them find the body.’”

My stomach dropped harder than before.

Nora stepped back as if shoved.

The man with the phone inhaled sharply, jaw tightening.

And something inside me—something locked away—shuddered.
That sentence felt real.
Too real.

Like a key sliding into the right lock.

But I still didn’t understand.

“What body?” I whispered.

The newcomer looked at Nora.
Then at the man.
Then at me.

“You think the story started the night you found the body,” they said quietly. “But it didn’t.”

The wind rattled the chain-link fence again.

The world waited.

“The story started the night before,” they continued. “The night you disappeared for six hours. The night none of them want you to remember.”

My pulse stuttered.

“Why?” I asked.

Nora flinched.

The man’s grip tightened on the pipe.

The newcomer answered:

“Because that’s the night you made the promise that ruined all of us.”

A cold wave rolled through me.

“What promise?”

They stepped closer.

“You promised someone you’d kill him.”

My breath caught.

“And the worst part?” the newcomer whispered.

“You meant it.”

The world folded inward.

The sky felt too close.
The air too thin.
My own heartbeat too loud.

I didn’t know if they were lying.
I didn’t know who was manipulating what.
But I knew one thing—

I wasn’t just missing memories.
I was missing a version of myself I had prayed never existed.

The three of them watched me—waiting, calculating, afraid.

And with that, Chapter Ten could’ve been the ending.
The mystery unsolved.
The shadows undefeated.
The truth buried and burning.

But I didn’t walk away.

Because now, I needed to know the rest.

Whatever it costs.



Chapter Twelve – The Promise I Made

Silence pressed down on the court, thicker than the surrounding darkness.
Three pairs of eyes pinned me in place—Nora’s trembling, the man’s calculating, the newcomer’s steady and unflinching.

And somewhere beneath all of it, the truth clawed like an animal trying to escape its cage.

A cage inside me.

I took an uneven breath.
“I didn’t promise to kill anyone.”

The newcomer watched me carefully. “You want that to be true.”

“It is true,” Nora snapped, stepping between us like a shield. “He’s lying to you. He’s always lied to you.”

“Funny,” the man with the phone said, voice flat and firm, “that’s exactly what she said about me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out their voices, trying to find myself inside the noise. But all I found was—

Red.
A locked room.
A hand grabbing my jacket.
My own voice, whispering something I wasn’t supposed to hear yet.

The newcomer stepped closer. “Take out the flash drive.”

My hand twitched toward my pocket.

Nora’s voice cracked. “Don’t, please—if you watch what’s on there, you won’t come back from it.”

The man scoffed. “Let him see. Let the truth finally destroy something other than us.”

All three of them were begging for control.

But my hand kept moving—slowly, like it belonged to someone else—until the flash drive sat cold against my palm.

The newcomer nodded.
“Good. Now listen carefully.”

Nora shook her head violently. “Stop. Stop—don’t do this to Levi.”

The man took one step forward.
“Finish it now.”

But the newcomer wasn’t looking at them.

They were looking at me.

“You called me that night,” they said quietly but clearly. “And before the line cut out, before the screaming started, before the door slammed—you said something else. Not just the part about the body.”

My breath stalled.

“What… what did I say?”

The newcomer didn’t blink.

“You said, ‘If I go through with this, I need you to stop me.’”

A cold wave shot through my chest.

Nora covered her mouth with her hands.
The man closed his eyes like he’d expected this.

And the memory hit.

Not all of it—just the core, the heart, the thing I’d buried so deep it had shattered me:

I remembered the room.
I remembered the body-shaped blur on the floor.
I remembered the yelling, the fear, the metallic taste in the air.

And worst of all—

I remembered why I was there.

My voice came out small.
“I… wanted him dead.”

The words landed like a gunshot.

Nora stumbled back, shaking her head. “No—no, you didn’t—he forced you—”

“He didn’t force anything,” the man interrupted. “He pushed him. But he didn’t force him.”

The newcomer watched me with something like grief.
“You made the promise. You started the chain reaction. The rest of us just tried to survive it.”

The ground beneath me spun.

I didn’t know the details.
I didn’t know the weapon or the motive or the final moment.
But I knew the feeling.

I knew I’d been willing.
And that horror twisted deeper than any lie between them ever could.

My voice broke. “So… I’m the reason the body appeared.”

The newcomer stepped closer, resting a hand on my shoulder—not comforting, just acknowledging the truth.

“You’re the reason all of this started.”

Nora’s voice was barely a whisper.
“We were trying to protect you.”

The man’s voice was hollow.
“I was trying to expose you.”

The newcomer’s voice was steady.
“I was trying to stop you.”

And mine—

Mine was barely even a voice anymore.

“So what happens now?”

The newcomer looked toward the gate, where dawn’s early light barely touched the horizon.

“Now,” they said, “you choose who you want to be. The person you were that night… or the person you’ve been trying to become ever since.”

The wind blew across the court, cold and sharp.

The three of them stood waiting.

Not for the past.

For my answer.

My throat tightened as I thought of Nora’s first question—the one she whispered the day everything changed.

Would you still love me if I didn’t kill him?

Back then, I hadn’t known the truth.

Now I did.

And there was only one answer left.

I lifted my eyes, steadying my voice as the weight of everything settled into place.

“To answer your question,” “Would you still love me if I didn’t kill him?” would be no.”

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

Chapter Ten – The Night Before the Body

The world didn’t just tilt—it dropped.

The moment the shadow cleared the fence line, the air snapped tight around my lungs. Every instinct screamed to run, but my body stayed rooted, frozen between Nora’s grip and the growing shape in the dark.

Nora’s fingers dug into my wrist.
“Please,” she whispered, voice splintering. “Don’t let him see your face.”

I didn’t get the chance to ask what that meant.

Because the figure stepped fully into the broken moonlight.

Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Moving like someone who already knew exactly where we were.

He didn’t rush.
He didn’t speak.
He advanced with the calm certainty of a nightmare that had found its way back into the waking world.

Noah was already gone—his footsteps echoing faintly before disappearing altogether. Coward or genius, I couldn’t tell.

Nora pulled again, harder this time, her voice sharp with panic.
“Move, please. If he sees you, if he recognizes you, it’s over.”

Recognizes me?

My stomach turned inside out with something cold and sour.

I stepped backward—one, two, three steps—my heels scraping on the cracked pavement. But instead of trying to stay calm while trying to get away, my hand drifted unconsciously to my pocket, to the hidden flash drive burning a brand against my thigh.

Something about the man’s silhouette—its stillness, its weight—hit something buried deep inside me, like a match striking a darkened room.

A memory flickered.
Not a full one—just a flash of color and sound:

Red.
Shouting.
A door slamming.
Someone grabbing my collar.
Someone whispering my name like a warning.

¨ Levi Mars Dair.¨

I choked on a gasp.

The man paused, head turning slightly—like he heard it.

Nora stepped in front of me so fast it blurred.
“No,” she yelled at him. “You’re not touching him again.”

Again?

The man didn’t answer. He simply reached into his jacket.

Nora’s breath shattered unevenly.
I felt mine disappear entirely.

But instead of a weapon, he pulled out something else.

A phone.
Old. Cracked.
And he held it up like it was an accusation.

The screen lit his face for the first time.

And I recognized the eyes.
Not from a photograph.
Not from a story.

From that same half-memory.
From the night before, everything collapsed.

My heart stumbled. “I—I know him.”

Nora whipped around, eyes wide and horrified.
“No. You don’t. You think you do, but that’s what he wants.”

The man lifted the phone higher, turning the screen toward us.

A video played.

Shaky.

Dim.

Recorded without our knowledge.

In the frame:
A room.
A fight.
A body on the floor.

And me—
covered in blood,
kneeling beside it.

I stepped back, every nerve screaming.

“That’s not—” My voice cracked, useless.

“It’s manipulated,” Nora said quickly, stepping between the man and me again. “He’s showing you exactly what he wants you to remember.”

But the man finally spoke, voice low and disturbingly even.
“Tell him the truth, Nora. Tell him what he did. Tell him why you ran.”

Nora’s spine stiffened. “You don’t get to rewrite the story. Not after what you did to him.”

“What he did to himself,” the man corrected softly but sternly.

The wind cut between us, cold and metallic.

I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, toes hanging over the edge.
“What’s going on?” I whispered. “What happened that night?”

The man stepped closer.

“So you really don’t remember,” he murmured. “Good. That makes this easier.”

Nora lunged.

Not at me.
At him.

She swung the rusted pipe with a scream that ripped straight from something primal—and I didn’t know whether she was trying to protect me or shut him up before he said more.

The pipe connected with metal.

His arm.

He’d blocked it.

Effortlessly.

He shoved her backward, not hard, but enough that she stumbled into me, almost falling. The pipe clattered to the court.

The man stumbled for it, picked it up, studying it like it was a relic.

“You brought this again,” he said quietly. “Just like that night.”

Nora’s broke. “Don’t.”

“Why?” he asked, voice softening in a way that made my skin crawl. “Because he deserves to know what happened the night before the body appeared?”

He lifted his gaze and locked onto mine.

“You were there.”

My pulse crashed in my ears.

“You’re the one who called me.”

Another memory slammed into me—this one sharper:

A phone ringing.
My own voice whispering, “Please. Hurry.”
A shadow behind me.
The taste of blood in my mouth.

I fell to my knees.

Nora grabbed my shoulders, shaking her head desperately.
“Don’t listen to him. You didn’t call him. He tracked us. He always tracks us.”

The man crouched to my level, eyes unreadable.

“You remember more than she expects. That drive in your pocket—she never told you about that either, did she?”

My hand twitched toward the pocket again.

Nora flinched like I’d pulled a knife.

“Don’t,” she breathed. “Please. Not that.”

My voice cracked. “What’s on it?”

The man answered first.
“The truth.”

Nora answered at the same time.
“Lies.”

Another step from him.
Another desperate breath from her.

I was caught between two collapsing versions of reality.

The night pressed around us.

The fence rattled again.

Something else moved out there—another shadow, smaller, quicker.

The man straightened, suddenly alert.

Nora swore under her breath. “We’re out of time.”

“For what?” I whispered.

He answered:

“For the rest of the story to catch up.”

Nora grabbed my hand.

The man reached for me at the exact same moment.

And the flash drive in my pocket pulsed like a heartbeat

right as the second shadow stepped into the light.

Someone else.

Someone new.

Someone who spoke my name, ¨ Levi Mars Dier, ¨ like they’d been waiting for me to wake up:

“Finally. You remember something.”

The world cracked open.

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

8-9
Chapter Eight – The Things That Crawl Out of the Dark

I didn’t sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face—that smile—the one she wore in the hallway when the cops dragged me away. A smile sharpened at the edges like something carved with a knife. A smile that meant she’d planned this far longer than I ever realized.

By the time the sun rose, weak and washed out through the blinds, my body was trembling from exhaustion. But I forced myself up. I needed answers, and I knew exactly where to start.

My phone buzzed the second I touched it.

Unknown Number:
We need to talk. Now.

For a second, my stomach flipped. My first thought was her, but the number wasn’t hers. I stared at it, debating whether to respond. Before I could decide, another text arrived.

Unknown:
It’s about the night of the body.

The body.
No name. No accusation. Just the body, as if the corpse itself was its own entity, a presence that had never really left us.

I typed back before my paranoia could grab the phone out of my hand.

Me:
Who is this?

The reply came instantly.

Unknown:
The person who found something you both missed.

My heart stopped for a second. Someone else knew.

I grabbed my bag and slipped out of the house before my mother could ask questions. The morning air was sharp and cold, enough to wake me fully, but the fear in my gut stayed heavy, unmoving.

The address they sent was an old, abandoned basketball court on the west side of town. The kind of place people only remembered when they needed somewhere hidden.

When I arrived, someone was already there, standing near the broken fence. A guy, maybe a little older than me, hood pulled low, hands in the pockets of a black jacket.

He didn’t look up when I approached.

“Are you the one texting me?” I asked, breathing with fear.

“Yes.” The guy finally turned his head slightly, just enough that I caught the curve of again. Not hers. But something about it made me step back anyway. “You’re jumpier than I expected.”

“Who are you?”

He ignored the question and pulled something from his pocket—a flash drive. He held it between two fingers like it was something delicate, almost sacred.

“You buried more than just a body that night,” he said. “Or did you forget about the camera?”

My blood froze.

“What camera?”

“The one she set up,” he said, shrugging like it was obvious. “The one she angled so it caught everything.”

I stumbled back, words dying in my throat.

“No,” I whispered. “No, she—she wouldn’t—she was.”

“She would.”
He stepped closer. “And she did.”

My lungs squeezed painfully. I remembered that night—her shaking hands, her frantic breathing, her constant glances over her shoulder. I thought she was scared. I thought she regretted what she’d done.

I didn’t realize she kept checking the camera.

The guy flicked the flash drive once, letting it spin.

“I recovered the footage after she deleted the original. She’s smart, but not smart enough to wipe everything.” He paused, studying me. “You didn’t kill him. But she didn’t either.”

The world tilted, swaying under me.

“Then who—"

He smirked again, this time wide enough to reach his eyes.

“That’s the twist, isn’t it?”

He held the drive out.

“You’re going to want to watch this.”

I reached for it—hesitantly. My fingers — the cold plastic—

And a voice sliced through the air.

“Don’t touch that.”

I spun around.

She was standing behind me.

Hair windblown. Eyes wide and bright, like glass about to shatter. Breath coming in fast bursts. She looked… wild. Unhinged. More alive than I’d ever seen her before.

And in her hand was something metallic.
A pipe. Rusted. Heavy.
She must've grabbed it from the wreck of the playground nearby.

“What are you doing here?” she snarled at the guy.

He raised his hands lazily. “Relax. Just telling him the truth.”

“You don’t know the truth,” she hissed.

“Oh, I know exactly what happened that night,” he said. “Because I was there.”

My heart stopped.

“You… what?” I choked out.

The guy shrugged. “You two were too focused on each other to notice another pair of eyes.”

She took a step forward, lowering her voice just slightly.

“Give me the drive,” she demanded.

He shook his head. “No. He deserves to know.”

“Know what?” I shouted, feeling like I was losing my grip on reality.

They both turned to me.

But only one of them had the answer.

And only one of them—

was telling the truth.


Chapter Nine – The Fractured Truth

For a moment, none of us moved.

The wind rolled across the empty court, rattling the broken chain-link fence and stirring old leaves into tiny spirals. The world felt suspended, caught between three breaths. Nora’s grip tightened around the rusted pipe, knuckles pale, eyes unblinking. The guy in the hoodie—still holding the truth hostage between his fingers—waited like he had all the time in the world.

But she was the one who broke the silence.

Nora stared at the guy in the hoodie for the longest time.

Not blinking.
Not breathing.
Not present.

It was like she’d just watched something crawl out of the dark—something she’d sworn she’d never have to see again.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “What is your name?” I demanded, trying to anchor the moment before it slipped off the edge entirely.

He hesitated. His smirk faded. Something uncertain flickered in his expression.

He leaned closer, voice low enough that it almost got lost in the wind.

“My name is…”
He paused, almost flinching.
“Noah. Noah Andrew Walker.”

Nora reacted like the name wasn’t just a name.
Like it was a trigger.

She looked at me as if she’d seen a ghost wearing my face. Her whole body went pale, carved from stone. She still didn’t move—like a rock set in place, unable or unwilling to shift even an inch.

A cold pulse ran down my spine.

“Nora,” I said, forcing calm into my voice even as fear clawed up my ribs. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her eyes flicked past Noah, past me, to the far corner of the fence like she expected something—or someone—to step out at any second.

She looked at me like she was worried something might happen… as someone or something would come after her.

“Nora,” I said again, softer this time.

Her lips parted slightly. Not to speak—just to breathe. A shaky, uneven inhale.

Noah’s gaze slipped between us, and that slow grin returned, though thinner now, edged with something almost nervous.

“So,” he said lightly, “I see you recognize the name.”

“I thought you were dead,” Nora whispered.

The words hit the concrete like a stone.

Noah blinked. His jaw tightened. “Funny. That’s what I was told about you.”

Nora’s grip on the pipe trembled for the first time. “You shouldn’t be here. Not after what happened. Not after—”

“After what you did?” Noah cut in.

Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second, I thought she was going to swing.

“No,” she hissed, “after what he did.”

A chill carved its way down my back.

He.
He who?

Noah tilted his head, amused. “So you’re admitting there’s a fourth person. Good. Saves me the trouble.”

My pulse spiked. “There was someone else that night?”

They both spoke at once.

“Yes,” Nora said.
“No,” Noah said.

They glared at each other, then at me, each desperate for control of the moment.

Noah stepped forward, lowering his voice. “She’s lying to you. She lied then, and she’s lying now.”

Nora shook her head violently. “He’s manipulating you. He always did. You can’t trust a word he says.”

Their voices collided, accusations turning into static in my ears. My breathing went shallow, vision tightening at the edges. The world tilted.

I needed truth.
I needed something solid.

And then—almost without realizing—I spotted something under the bleachers behind Noah. Something small, glinting. I moved past them, ignoring their arguments, crouching down.

Dust.
Broken metal.
Footprints.

And a flash drive.
Not the one Noah had.

A second one.
Hidden intentionally.

I slipped it into my pocket before either of them could see.

When I stood, both of them were staring at me again—waiting for my choice, my loyalty, my fear.

But before I could speak, a sound cracked through the stillness.

A snap.
A footstep.
Too close.

Every muscle in Nora’s body locked. Her expression collapsed into pure terror.

“He’s here,” she whispered. Not to me. Not to Noah. To herself.

Noah went pale, all his arrogance draining in an instant. “No. No, that’s impossible.”

The chain-link fence rattled again, harsher this time.

Something was out there.
Something both of them feared.

I took a step back, heart hammering.

“Nora,” I whispered, “who is he?”

But she never got the chance to answer.

A shadow shifted behind the fence—tall, slow-moving, deliberate.

Noah bolted without a word, sprinting toward the far exit.

Nora grabbed my arm with cold fingers, yanking me in the opposite direction. “Run,” she breathed. “Please. You don’t understand. If he catches us—”

I jerked free.
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Her eyes filled—not with tears, but with dread older than both of us combined.

“You already know,” she whispered. “You just don’t remember the night before the body.”

The shadow behind the fence stepped closer.

My heart stuttered.

Nora grabbed my hand. “Please—run.”

But my legs refused to move.

Behind me, something metallic clinked against the pavement.

In my pocket, the hidden flash drive burned like it was alive.

And in front of me, two conflicting truths—two people who should never have met—were begging me in their own ways to choose.

The fence groaned.
The shadow grew.
Nora’s breath hitched.

And the world tipped forward, pulling me into whatever waited in the dark.

3 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

6-7 chapter and yes lol
Chapter Six 

For a moment, everything inside the room fell silent. The fire alarm still screamed in the hallway, the red lights still pulsed across the walls, but none of it seemed real. Her hands were on my shoulders, trembling, her eyes locked on the boy standing outside the window.

The boy we supposedly kill.
The boy she claimed she didn’t kill.
The boy who shouldn’t be alive.

The boy who framed me.

“He did,” she repeated, her voice calm but scared.

My breath left my body. “But how—why—he’s supposed to be—.”

“Dead?” she whispered. “Yeah. I thought so too.”

She stepped back, letting her hands fall. I had never seen her shaken like this, not once—not even on the night of the accident. Her confidence, her calm, the control she used like a weapon… it was slipping.

And that scared me more than anything.

She looked over her shoulder again, but the boy at the window was gone. Vanished. Like he  had simply dissolved into the smoke-filled air of the hall.

I swallowed hard. “Tell me everything. Now.”

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the door slammed open so violently it cracked against the wall.

My mother stumbled in, followed by one of the officers.

“There you are!” the officer yelled violently. “You can’t just run off—”

But then he saw her. The girl. Standing too close to me, trying to grab my arm.                  Looking a little frightened.                                                                                                    

His hand drifted instinctively toward his belt.

“Both of you step away from each other,” he ordered.

She lifted her hands slowly, her expression smoothing back into practiced innocence.
Too smooth.
Too perfect.

My mother rushed to my side, holding my arm as if she could shield me physically from everything that was closing in.

The officer looked me straight in the eyes. “Your statement isn’t optional anymore. We’re taking you to the station.”

“No!” my mother shouted. “He hasn’t done anything—”

“He’s involved in a major crime,” the officer said firmly. “We have enough probable cause—”

Before he could finish, a voice echoed sharply from the doorway behind him.

“No, you don’t.”

Everyone turned.

It was the principal.

Principal Mayfield stepped inside, a strange expression on his face—tight, cold, too serious even for this situation.

“There’s something you all need to see,” he said, motioning for the officer.

“What is it?” the officer asked suspiciously.                                                                          

Principal Mayfield held up his phone.

“A video,” he said. “Sent to the school’s emergency email just now.”

He pressed play and turned the screen toward us.

The footage was grainy, taken at night. The camera shook as if someone was running. Through the darkness, shapes moved—two figures in the woods.

One was me.

The other was… Nora.

Dragging something between us.

The body.

I felt my stomach twist violently.

But then everything changed.

The camera panned up, shakily, toward a tree.

And perched in the branches—legs dangling like he was casually watching a movie—was him.

The boy.

Alive.
Breathing.
Staring directly into the camera.

His eyes were glowing unnaturally bright.
His mouth twisted into a grin that didn’t look human.

Nora's hand flew to her mouth. “No… no, no, no. This can’t be—”

The video suddenly blurred, distorted, static, and green streaks cutting across the screen. A deep, warped voice crackled through the speakers:

“You buried the wrong body.”

My legs went weak.

The video cut to black.

The room spun.

The officer looked at us, at the screen, at everything, trying to make sense of the impossible.

The principal swallowed hard. “That was sent from an untraceable account. It came with a message.”

“What message?” my mother demanded.

The principal read from the screen:

“You’re chasing the wrong killer.”

Silence crashed down on all of us.

The officer stared pale-faced at the phone. “But we… we identified the victim. We checked the body.”

Nora shook her head aggressively. “No, you didn’t. You assumed. You never confirmed. You took my statement and—”

“That’s enough,” the officer snapped ,he still had a pale face.

But Nora wasn’t listening anymore. She turned toward me, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, voice shaking with something between terror and realization.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You don’t get it. He wasn’t dead… because he was never the one we buried.”

My heart pounded. “Then whose body was it?”

Nora looked at me—slow, terrified, and defeated.

“I don’t know.”

And then the real twist hit.

From the hallway, a shrilling sound. 

BANG
BANG
BANG 

We all turned.

Standing in the doorway—the one we all thought was closed—was the boy.

Alive.
Gaining.
But with a thing in his hand.

My missing sweatshirt.

The one found in the woods 1,000 miles in.

He held it up like a trophy, then tilted his head, studying me and Nora like we were an experiment.

And the quiet between us was interrupted; he spoke for the first time:

“Why did you kill my brother?”

Chapter Seven — The Brother

For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

The fire alarm shrieked overhead, the red lights flashing across the boy’s face—if he was a boy at all. His shadow stretched down the hallway like it was reaching for us, long and warped and wrong.

My missing sweatshirt dripped with something dark near the sleeve.

Not mud.

Not water.

Something thicker.

My mouth tasted like metal. “Your… your brother?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe normally. His chest rose slowly, too controlled, like he was mimicking the motions of being alive.

Nora’s hand latched onto my wrist. Tightly. “Don’t talk to him,” she scuffled under her breath. “Don’t answer—whatever you do, don’t answer.”

But he heard her.

His bright blue eyes slid toward her, the grin stretching wider, unnatural.

“You should talk, Nora.” His voice was soft, almost kind, but in a demanding tone. “You were there. You helped.”

Nora’s entire body went rigid. “I didn’t help— I didn’t know— I thought—”

He lifted his hand, silencing her instantly.

Then he stepped inside the room.

The officer reached for his gun.

“Stop right there—!”

The boy didn’t stop.

He laughed.

Not loudly.
Not wildly.
A small, childlike chuckle—something you would hear in a horror movie.

“You really think that will help?” he asked the officer sarcastically. You really think a gun is going to fix this?”

The officer’s hand trembled. “I said STOP!”

“Or what?” the boy whispered.

And then the lights flickered.

Just once.
Just a blink.

But when they settled—

He was gone.

My mother gasped and grabbed me, pulling my arm a little too tight. “Where did he go? Where—”

The boy’s voice came from the far corner of the room.

“Right here.”

He stood beside the principal now.
Too close.
So close, his breath fogged the principal’s glasses.

Principal Mayfield froze, pupils uncontrollably shaking.

The boy leaned down slowly, whispered something we couldn’t hear—
and then pulled the sweatshirt tight in his hands, stretching the fabric.

“I only want one thing,” he said clearly and calmly. “The truth.”

He looked directly at me.

“Why did you kill my brother?”

My pulse hammered. “I didn’t. We didn’t. I swear—”

Nora yanked my arm again, harder this time. “STOP TALKING!”

“Why?” I shot back, breathless. “He wants answers—”

“You don’t give him ANYTHING,” she snapped. “You have no idea what he— what they— are.”

My stomach dropped. “They?”

Her face was white as paper. She shot a glance at the boy, who was watching us like a delighted spectator.

“He wasn’t alone that night,” she whispered. “There was someone else. Something else. Before I even called you.”

The boy tilted his head, amused. “Tell him, Nora. Tell him how my brother really died.”

Nora’s lips trembled violently.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” she whispered. “I didn’t touch him. He was already— already—”

She couldn’t finish.

The boy’s smile trembled for the first time. Not fading—twitching.

Like he was struggling to hold it in place.

“He wasn’t dead,” he said quietly. “He was waiting. You buried him alive.”

The officer’s breath hitched. My mother covered her mouth.

Nora shook her head so hard her hair whipped around her face. “No. NO. That’s not possible—he wasn’t breathing—he wasn’t—”

“What you saw,” the boy said softly, “wasn’t a body. It was a shell.”

I felt cold seep into my bones.

“A shell?” I echoed.

The boy looked at me again—deeply, like he was searching inside my skull for something only he knew existed.

“You buried the wrong body,” he repeated from the video, voice now darker. “You touched the wrong corpse. You helped hide something you should’ve run from.”

He took a step toward me.

Nora moved in front of me instantly. “If you touch him—”

The boy’s smile returned, bigger than before.

“I’m not here for him,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

The room fell dead silent.

He lifted the sweatshirt one more time, letting it drop to the floor.

“I just need one of you to answer the question.”

His eyes glowed brighter.

“Why did you kill my brother?”

Nora squeezed her eyes shut.

And then—

Another sound erupted behind him.

Not a bang.
Not a scream.

A rattling.

Like nails dragging across metal.

The boy stiffened.

Nora’s eyes snapped open. Terror flooded her face again—but this time, it wasn’t directed at him.

She grabbed my arm with both hands, tighter than ever before.

“Oh God,” she breathed. “He’s not alone.”

The boy turned slightly, scanning the hallway.

For the first time—
he looked afraid, terrified even.

And that told me everything.

Whatever was rattling out there…
whatever was coming next…

was worse than him.

3 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

Chapter 4-5
Chapter Four

The officer closed the door behind her, but the echo of her words stayed—settling over me like a suffocating fog. Don’t fight me. As if she already owned my choices, my voice, my future.

The room felt smaller than before. The table seemed closer, the walls more narrow, the air somehow heavier. I sat down because my knees were shaking too hard to keep standing.

My mom was coming.

That should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

Not when I knew what the officers were going to say. Not when I knew who they would believe.

I pressed my palms to the table, trying to breathe normally. I tried to think of any way out of this—any angle I could use to prove the truth—but every path led straight back to the same impossible wall.

My fingerprints.
My hesitation.
My lies.
My involvement.

And her. Always her.

The door opened again. I straightened instinctively, even though my body felt like it was collapsing inward. But it wasn’t the officers. It was Principal Mayfield, his expression tight and unreadable.

He sat across from me with a heavy sigh, resting his hands on the table.

“You’re in a very serious situation,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t do anything,” I whispered.

He exhaled slowly. “I want to believe that. Truly. But the police need answers.”

“I’m telling the truth. She’s lying—”

“Be careful,” he cut in, not harshly, but firmly. “Accusing someone else won’t help you.”

“But she—”

“Listen,” he said, leaning forward, lowering his voice as if afraid someone might hear us. “The officers showed me the report. There’s evidence placing you near the area where the body was found.”

My stomach dropped. “What evidence?”

He hesitated. That alone terrified me more than anything he could have said.

“Footprints,” he finally answered. “And traces of the victim’s blood on an item near the site.”

My head snapped up. “What item?”

“A sweatshirt.”

My heart stopped.

A sweatshirt.
My sweatshirt.

I could picture it immediately—black, worn, with the faded logo on the sleeve. I wore it constantly. I had it with me that night. I took it off when we were moving him because my hands were shaking and I didn’t want blood on it. I thought I left it in my car.

I hadn’t.

Somewhere in the dirt, it must have fallen. And she didn’t tell me.

She saw it.
She left it.
She used it.

My breathing turned shallow. “I— I didn’t mean— I didn’t know—”

Principal Mayfield raised a hand gently, trying to calm me. “Don’t say anything more. Not without your mother and a lawyer present.”

Lawyer.
The word felt unreal, too adult, too final.

Before I could respond, another knock sounded at the door. One of the officers poked his head in.

“She’s here.”

I froze.

My mother rushed in a moment later, her face pale and frightened. She came straight to me, cupping my face in her hands like she was checking that I was still real, still breathing.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “Baby, are you okay? What’s happening?”

I didn’t have an answer. Not one that wouldn’t destroy her.

The officers explained the situation in calm, professional voices. They talked about “investigation,” “statements,” “evidence,” “time discrepancies,” “inconsistencies.” My mother’s expression shifted from confusion to fear to disbelief to something close to horror.

“You think my child did this?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“We’re not accusing him,” one officer said gently. “We’re gathering information.”

But his eyes said otherwise.

They escorted my mom and me back into the conference room. She gripped my hand so tightly my fingers tingled.

“Tell me everything,” she whispered. “Please.”

I opened my mouth—then closed it. The truth vibrated in my throat, desperate to escape, but another voice echoed louder:

Don’t fight me.

If I told my mother what really happened—that I helped hide a body—everything would be over. Not just for me, but for her. For our whole family. They’d arrest me immediately.

My mother would watch her child get handcuffed for murder.

Tears blurred my vision. “Mom… I—I didn’t kill anyone.”

She squeezed my hand. “I know. I know you didn’t.”

But reassurance felt useless. Empty. Fragile.

The officers re-entered the room a moment later. One of them set a recorder on the table and clicked it on.

“This is a voluntary statement,” he said. “You may stop at any time.”

My mother swallowed hard. “He has nothing to hide.”

But I did. I had everything to hide.

The officer folded his hands. “Let’s start simple. Where were you on the night of the incident?”

My mind raced.
A lie wouldn’t hold.
The whole truth would destroy me.

And somewhere outside the room…
She was waiting.
Listening.
Smiling.

I opened my mouth.

But before I could speak, the fire alarm went off.

A shrill, screaming wail filled the school.

The lights flickered.
The officers stood abruptly.
My mother jumped.

And out in the hallway, drowned in red flashing lights and chaos, I saw her.

She wasn’t panicking.
She wasn’t confused.

She was walking away—calm, steady, with a tiny, satisfied smile.

She had pulled the alarm.

She wasn’t done with me yet. 

Chapter Five — Plot Twist

The hallway exploded into chaos as the fire alarm kept shrieking, the red lights pulsing like a heartbeat out of sync. Students poured out of classrooms, teachers shouted instructions, and the officers’ attention snapped toward the noise.

“Everyone outside—now!” one of them ordered.

My mom grabbed my arm, but the officers held up a hand.

“He needs to stay with us until we confirm it’s a real evacuation.”

The room shook with footsteps and panicked voices outside. Smoke didn’t fill the air, but the alarm was unmistakable. Something had triggered it.

Someone.

Her.

I looked toward the hallway just in time to see her disappear into the crowd—calm, collected, her hair swinging gently with each step. She walked like she wasn’t escaping, but heading somewhere.

The officers turned to each other, debating the next move. My mom argued with them, insisting they stay together. While they were distracted, I edged toward the door, peering down the hall.

And then I saw him.

Not her.

Him.

A tall guy stepped out from around the corner—black T-shirt, gray sweatpants.
Brown hair.
Blue eyes.

My heart stopped.

The exact description the officers gave me.
The exact description of the supposed victim.
The boy whose body I had helped bury.

Except he wasn’t dead.

He was alive.
Very alive.

He stood at the far end of the hallway, watching me through the crowd. His eyes were bright, sharp, too focused to be random.

He lifted a hand slightly—almost like he was greeting me.
Or warning me.

My breath caught. My chest tightened. My brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.

I blinked once.

He was still there.

I blinked again.

He stepped backward into the smoke of the alarm system, swallowed by the shadows.

I stumbled, gripping the door frame

“He’s alive,” I whispered.

My mother looked at me sharply. “What?”

But I couldn’t answer. I stepped into the hallway before the officers could stop me. The noise was too loud, the lights too bright, but everything felt distant, muffled, like I was underwater.

I pushed through the crowd, heart pounding, searching the hall for him.

Nothing.
No sign.
No trace.

He’d vanished.

Just when I thought my mind was breaking, someone grabbed my wrist hard. I spun around—and came face to face with her.

She pulled me into an empty classroom, closing the door behind us. Her grip was shaking, her breathing uneven for the first time since this started.

“You weren’t supposed to see him,” she whispered.

My blood ran cold. “So he’s real? He’s alive?”

Her jaw clenched. She stepped closer, her eyes wide—not with triumph, not with confidence, but something else.

Something like fear.

“You need to forget you saw him,” she said. “If you don’t… everything falls apart.”

“What falls apart?” I backed away. “What is going on? Why did you say he was dead?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her breath trembled.

“He wasn’t supposed to come back,” she whispered. “He wasn’t supposed to show up again.”

“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why did you tell me he was dead?! Why did you make me help you hide a body?”

She looked up slowly.

And then she said something that made the floor tilt beneath me:

“Because the person we buried wasn’t him.”

My heart stopped.

“What?” I whispered.

She stepped even closer, her voice barely audible.

“The night of the accident… the person in the woods… that wasn’t the boy you just saw. It was someone else. Someone who looked like him. Someone who—”

She cut herself off suddenly, her eyes snapping to the window.

Outside—even clearer than before—the boy in the black T-shirt was staring straight into the classroom window, his face expressionless.

Watching us.

Watching her.

Watching me.

She grabbed my shoulders, panic finally breaking through her perfect composure.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “You weren’t framed by me.”

My chest tightened. “Then… who framed me?”

Her eyes filled with terror.

“He did.” And at that moment, everything inside me twisted. My life wasn’t just going to change—it was going to be ruined. Destroyed. I should never have picked up my phone that night. Never answered her  

3 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

Chapter Three

She stood in front of the closed door like she owned the room—like she owned me. Her hand rested lightly on the doorknob, her posture relaxed, but her eyes… her eyes told a different story entirely. They were sharp, bright, calculating. Almost excited.

I couldn’t speak at first. My throat felt too tight. My mind scrambled for something—anything—to say, but everything came out tangled and useless.

“What—what are you doing in here?” I finally choked out.

She didn’t move closer. She didn’t have to. Her presence filled the room enough without it.

“I told them I needed to talk to you,” she said softly, her voice sweet in a way that felt poisonous. “They thought I might calm you down.”

Calm me down.
Right.
Like, the person who framed me for murder was the perfect candidate for that job.

I pushed my chair back a little, the legs scraping loudly against the tile. Her eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, amused.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” she murmured. “If you had just said you didn’t see anything, none of this would’ve happened.”

My heart pounded hard enough that I could hear it in my ears. “What are you talking about? I didn’t tell anyone anything.”

She smirked. “You hesitated. That’s enough.”

“You set me up,” I hissed. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

She tilted her head like she was thinking about how to answer—or like she was debating whether to answer at all. Then she walked around the table slowly, her fingers brushing along the edge as she circled me like a predator making sure its prey had nowhere left to run.

“You weren’t supposed to be involved,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to help me. That night you showed up… it ruined everything.”

“Ruined everything?” I blinked in disbelief. “I saved you. You called me begging for help.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “And that’s exactly the problem.”

She stopped right behind my chair. I could feel her breath against the back of my neck. My skin crawled.

“You’re too close to this,” she whispered. “You know too much. You’re the only loose end.”

A chill shot through me. “So you’re framing me because it’s easier than telling the truth?”

“No,” she said with a quiet laugh. “I’m framing you because you’re believable.”

My stomach twisted.

“You’re quiet. Nervous. People already think you’re strange. You don’t have many friends. You disappear after school sometimes. You’re easy to blame. Convincing.” She paused. “Expendable.”

My hands clenched into fists. “I trusted you.”

She leaned down, her lips almost brushing my ear. “That was your first mistake.”

I jerked forward, standing up so fast my chair nearly toppled. She didn’t flinch—she just watched me with that infuriating calm, like she already knew the ending of a story I hadn’t even begun to understand.

“You’re a monster,” I whispered.

She shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not the one who’s going to prison.”

“I’m not going to prison,” I snapped. “I’ll tell them the truth.”

Her smile widened. “What truth? That you helped hide a body? That you were at the scene? That your fingerprints are all over him because you carried him with me?” She paused. “Or will you tell them you panicked and hesitated and lied to officers in a murder investigation?”

My mouth went dry.

“I thought that might worry you,” she said softly. “So I made sure to tell them everything about your ‘anger issues.’ How you got jealous. How you ‘obsess.’ How you followed him around. How you threatened him.”

“I never did any of that!”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but the thing is… they already believe me.”

Something inside me snapped.

I moved toward the door, but she stepped in front of me, blocking it effortlessly—not physically stronger, just more confident, more certain there was no escape.

“You’re not leaving,” she said. “Not until I’m finished.”

I felt my pulse spike. “What do you want from me?”

Her expression, for the first time, shifted into something darker. Something almost sad.

“I want you to take the blame,” she said. “Cleanly. Completely. That’s the only way this works.”

“And if I don’t?”

She leaned back against the door, her arms crossing as if she were settling in comfortably.

“You will,” she said quietly. “Because it’s your only choice left.”

Before I could respond, the doorknob turned from the other side.

She stepped away with perfect timing, sliding back into her innocent schoolgirl act so smoothly it made my head spin. By the time the door opened, she was biting her lip and wiping at her eyes like she had been comforting me.

An officer stepped inside. “Everything alright in here?”

She nodded, her voice trembling. “I think he’s just scared.”

The officer glanced at me. “Your mother is on her way. We’ll continue the questioning once she arrives.”

“Thank you,” she whispered to him, stepping out of the room.

But just as she passed me, hidden from the officer’s view, she whispered one last thing under her breath—three soft, chilling words that made the room spin around me:

“Don’t fight me.” 

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

Chapter Two
Principal Mayfield didn’t get to finish his question.
The words barely formed on his lips before one of the officers stepped between us, holding up a hand like he already knew what the answer would be—like they had already decided who I was, what I had done, and how this would end. My mouth went dry. I could feel the weight of their eyes pressing into me, searching for cracks.
“Let’s talk in private,” the officer said, his voice level but firm.
Private.
That word alone made my chest tighten.
They led me into the small conference room beside the office. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing me inside with the truth I wasn’t ready to face. The blinds were half open, letting in a thin strip of daylight that cut across the table like a spotlight. I sat down because my legs were shaking too much to keep standing.
One officer pulled out a chair across from me and sat. The other two remained by the door, blocking it.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asked.
I swallowed hard. “No, sir.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. He slid a photograph across the table. At first, all I saw was the edge of a familiar shoe. My stomach twisted before I even fully turned the picture toward me.
It was him.
The guy.
The one we hid.
Except now he wasn’t half-covered in dirt and leaves. The photograph showed him laid out on a bright blue tarp, his face pale and empty, his body cleaned off enough to study every bruise and wound. The officers watched me closely, waiting for my reaction.
My blood ran cold.
“We found the body last night,” the officer said slowly. “An anonymous tip led us straight to it.”
My breath caught. Anonymous tip.
She did it. She really called them.
The officer leaned forward, lowering his voice. “A witness claims they saw you with the victim the night he disappeared.”
I felt my pulse in my throat. “W-Who said that?”
But I already knew.
I didn’t want to say it.
I didn’t want to let her name sit on my tongue. It felt poisonous now.
He didn’t answer. Instead he tapped the photo with his finger. “You want to tell me how you knew him?”
“I didn’t,” I whispered. “I swear I didn’t even know his name.”
The officer didn’t blink. “Then why does a student here claim that you killed him?”
My whole body froze.
Claim.
Accuse.
Blame.
She had turned her fear into my death sentence.
“I didn’t kill anyone,” I said, my voice cracking. “I didn’t touch him.”
The officer stared at me for a long time—too long—until the silence forced me to look away. Then he said something that made my hands go numb:
“She said you were obsessed with him.”
“What?”
My voice came out too loud, too desperate.
“She said you followed him after school. That you got jealous. That the two of you fought. That you snapped.”
My breath stopped. My mind raced back to her grin in the hallway, that quiet satisfaction in her eyes. Every word she’d ever said to me twisted into something darker.
“She’s lying,” I whispered. “She’s—she’s setting me up.”
The officer didn’t react. “We’ll need you to stay here while we contact your parents. You’re not under arrest, but you are being detained for questioning.”
My vision blurred at the edges. I could barely breathe.
“But I didn’t do anything.”
He stood. “If that’s true, you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Easy for him to say.
He wasn’t the one being framed for murder.
The officers stepped outside to make calls, leaving me alone in the silent room. The walls felt like they were inching closer. My mind replayed every second of that night—her trembling voice, her shaking hands, the weight of the body, the dirt beneath our feet.
And then I saw her again through the small window, standing just far enough away that she looked innocent. Her arms were crossed, her head tilted slightly as she watched me.
When she noticed me staring, she smiled again.
That same grin.
That victorious, cold grin.
In her eyes, I saw something terrifying—not fear, not guilt, not panic.
Relief.
She had gotten away with it.
And she was making sure I took the fall.
My chest tightened with a sudden, horrible realization:
I wasn’t just a witness.
I wasn’t just a helper.
I was her alibi, her shield, her sacrifice.
She needed someone to blame.
She had already chosen me.
And she wasn’t going to stop until the police believed every word.
The doorknob turned again. I tensed, expecting the officers—but it wasn’t them.
It was her.
She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t name.
“You shouldn’t have hesitated,” she whispered.

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

Chapter one 
“Would you still love me if I didn’t kill him?”
Those were the first words she said to me after the accident—no greeting, no warning, just that single, sharp question slicing through the air like a knife.
I had barely sat down in class when she leaned over my desk, her voice low enough that only I could hear. I froze. I couldn’t even pretend to take notes. All I could do was stare at her, watching every little move she made. Her fingers drummed lightly on her notebook. Her eyes didn’t blink enough. Her smile was too soft, too controlled.
A part of me kept whispering that I might be next.
But then another part of me—the stupid, loyal, terrified part—argued back that she wouldn’t. We’d known each other for four years. If she’d wanted to hurt me, she’d had hundreds of chances. After school, during late-night calls, in the empty hallways when we were supposed to be doing homework but ended up sneaking around instead. She’d had time. And she never did.
So why was I still scared of her?
Maybe because fear doesn’t always listen to logic. Maybe because someone who has killed once is capable of killing again. And maybe because, deep down, I knew the truth: I wasn’t just a witness. I was part of it.
She killed someone—yes—but I was the one who helped her hide the body.
I still remember her voice from that night, shaking, frantic, but still somehow demanding:
“You’re coming. I need you. I can’t do this alone.”
And I went. I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask questions. She could barely carry him; her arms trembled under his weight, and her breath was ragged. I told myself I was helping her because she was my friend, because she needed me. But the whole time, there was this heavy, choking guilt sitting on my chest. It hasn’t left since.
In class, Mr. J was calling my name, trying to get me to stand. I didn’t hear him at first. I was still staring at her, at the way she kept twisting her pencil between her fingers. Then his voice cut through my fog.
“Office needs to see you.”
My stomach dropped so hard I thought I might pass out. She looked up at me, her eyes wide but unreadable, like she knew a secret I didn’t. Then she whispered so quietly I almost thought I imagined it:
“Did they find the body? They can’t have. We hid it really well.”
Her words followed me out of the room, echoing louder with each step I took down the hallway. My hands were sweating, my heartbeat too loud in my ears. The school office door felt heavier than usual when I pushed it open.
Three police officers were waiting for me.
Not teachers.
Not counselors.
Police.
My throat tightened. They must have found the body. That couldn’t be possible—we hid it deep, covered every sign, planned every step like we were in some kind of twisted movie. For days I convinced myself no one would find it. No one could.
But I was wrong.
They found him.
And worse—she told them I killed him.
I saw her in the hallway through the little office window, standing far back, pretending she wasn’t watching. But she was. And when our eyes met, she smiled.
Not a friendly smile. Not a nervous smile.
It was a grin—slow, satisfied, like someone savoring a victory they knew nobody could take from them.
She had turned me in.
She really had.
call. Never helped her hide the body.
One of the officers stepped closer. He had a notebook in his hand and this practiced expression that tried to look calm but felt like judgment.
“Have you seen a male,” he said, “wearing a black T-shirt, gray sweatpants, about five-nine, blue eyes, brown hair?”
My voice cracked. “No, officer. I… I didn’t.”
He watched me too closely, like he could see the truth leaking out of my skin.
“Are you sure you didn’t see this individual?” he asked again, slower this time.
I hesitated. Just a second. A tiny, stupid second.
“Umm… I… I didn’t see him. I swear.”
I felt the instant regret. I never should have hesitated. His eyes narrowed, and he exchanged a glance with the other officers. They looked at the principal—Principal Mayfield—who had been silent this whole time, arms folded, face stern.
Then Principal Mayfield stepped forward and asked, in a voice that made every hair on my arms stand up:
“Do you know what happened to—”

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 4

sunsets and sunrises

@Bellsedits-s4i
Go follow here she is the best ❤️
Keep the good work up and thank you so much !!!
Pls help her grow her channel she has so much potential!

1 month ago (edited) | [YT] | 0

sunsets and sunrises

Thank you guys so much for 2k. It's only been a year

1 month ago | [YT] | 0