Recounts of the Anonymity - 3

After the chaotic dinner, where he watched Lady Rose spoon-feed the second prince - he refused to eat, the Anonymity returned to his room. Before the Anonymity was held captive, he was a noble boy. He liked to write, because he was always in the manor. His parents had told him that he was an illegitimate son, so he wasn't allowed outside. The only thing he could do was read and write in the small diary he had.

His room... the Queen's toy's room. There were still things inside, remnants of the past toys. It looked untouched, a small bed in the corner, with a single lamppost on an old wooden table, a red rusty couch in the middle of the room with a tea table in front of it. A dusty bookshelf in another corner.

On the tea table, there were three paintings, in broken, undusted frames. One was of a girl, with bright pink hair that seemed to bounce off her shoulders, smiling and holding a banquet of flowers. The next one was another girl, this time looking more composed and serene, smiling slightly, with smooth blue shoulder length hair, an old dress and a bonnet, and eyes the color of the sky. The last, a boy with yellow eyes like the sun, and deep dark black hair, had an indifferent face, calm and placid, resting his head on a lantern. All of them looked at him, their eyes boring into his brain.

All of them... used to be here. One day, would he just be another one of these paintings?

On the wall opposite to the bed, there were drawings. An stack of ink bottles laid towards the corner of the wall, with parchment paper beside it, filled with scribbles. The wall itself was full of words, almost like little conversations.

"Hey there~ My name is Lily, but the Queen calls me the Flower! How are you guys?"

"Hi Lily. I'm Irene, the Runaway. It's pretty lonely in here, but I like your drawings on the wall."

"Hello, I'm Ren, the Puppet. Ms. Irene was right, it is lonely. It's dark when the lights are out. When will they ever add a window?"

On the side, three drawings of three kids in the paintings, one a faded stick figure of a girl, another an elegant self-portrait, the third a simple painting of a puppet. He touched the dried ink on the wall. There were more. Sections about their favorite food, their experiences. Letters on the walls, more and more... it was overwhelming. In the middle, scratched out in rough letters, the words "I DON'T WANT TO DIE."

The room... it had an ominous feeling. All of this kids... they were dead.

Well, if he were in the room for long enough, he would probably go insane too, talking to the dead people on the wall.

The Anonymity took one of the inkpots that hadn't dried out yet, writing his introduction.

"Hi dead people, I'm Oliver, the Anonymity. The writing on the walls creeps me out, but I guess it makes me feel less lonely. Puppet, you left this room very messy. Please do better."

He pressed down on the period, letting his hand fall. The candle light flickered. He... wanted to leave.

He needed to get out. Get out of this awful place, and quick. He rushed towards the door, trying the handle. It wouldn't open. No. He turned around, but there were no windows, nothing to get him out either. Just the writing on the walls. The paintings of the three children. He gasped, shivering. Banging on the door.

Air. He needed to get outside. The room closed in on him, the candle reaching the end, flickering. On and off. Faces smiled at him. The words. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to die.

Tears started to form in his eyes. "Please," he whispered, knowing nobody could hear him. "Please. Let me out." His voice was shaky. Please. I need to leave.

"I don't want to die."