Chapter 150

Marla never thought much of music. It wasn't her thing. Not until she saw the ad. It was simple enough—a link to a live-streamed event, a competition. The kind of thing a person who wanted fame would chase after. At first, she just scrolled past, half-interested. But then, there was something in the message that stuck with her, a hint of something sinister.

It read, The Tone Woman awaits. Only those who capture her tune will survive.

A chill passed through her, but she clicked anyway. What else was she going to do? Her life was a dull blur of work and endless hours at the same place, and her voice—well, she had always been told it was "decent," good enough for karaoke nights at the bar.

The stream played on her screen, the host—a thin man with hollow eyes—standing in front of a piano. Behind him, in the dark corners of the room, vague shapes seemed to float, like twisted shadows, drifting in and out of focus.

"This competition is like no other," the man said, smiling too wide. "It's not enough to just sing well. You must capture The Tone. If you fail... she will take your voice, and she will never return it."

The words felt hollow, like they came from somewhere far beyond the screen. Something about the man made her skin crawl, but she wasn't the type to back down. She clicked "join."

The rules were simple. Sing a song. Sing it perfectly. Capture The Tone. If she didn't, it was over.

At first, it was just a curiosity. There were others joining, their faces too eager, too hollow-eyed. They were all chasing something—they could almost taste it, the sensation of having their names spread across the internet, fame within their grasp. But for Marla, it didn't matter. It was just a way to pass the time.

They all waited their turn. The host disappeared, and the screen flickered. For a moment, everything was still, then came a voice—soft, distant, but unmistakable.

"You're next," it whispered, the sound wrapping around her like a rope tightening its grip.

She was being watched. Marla didn't even know who or what she was waiting for, but the voice felt heavy, thick with expectation.

The screen went black.

A small spotlight hit the center of the room, a piano sitting there, its keys white and too bright. But it wasn't the piano that drew her attention. It was the figure standing near it—tall, cloaked in something darker than the shadows themselves. The Tone Woman.

She wore a long dress, the fabric rippling like it was made of midnight itself. Her face, though barely visible under the dark veil, radiated a cold calm, her lips curled into an empty smile. There was no mistaking the power in her presence—this was no ordinary woman.

Marla's heart beat harder, but she forced her feet forward, one step after another, until she reached the piano. The woman's eyes, cold and dead, locked onto her. The voice, a whisper at first, slowly filled the air.

"Sing."

Marla swallowed. Her voice cracked once when she began. The music—a simple melody—came out of her with ease, almost too easy. Her voice flowed, smooth and sure. But then came the shift. Her tone wavered. She felt it, a crack, a break in the smoothness of her song.

The Tone Woman's smile did not falter.

Marla pushed forward, trying to regain what had slipped from her grasp, but it was too late. The woman's gaze grew darker. The shadows around her stretched, twisted, and for a split second, Marla saw the faces—thousands of them, etched in pain, mouths wide, their throats raw as if they'd screamed for a thousand years.

The Tone Woman's voice slid into the air. "Again," she demanded.

Marla shook her head, but the pressure was unbearable. She was already losing herself to something she couldn't control. It wasn't just the music—it was her soul, her very being. She couldn't stop.

Again, she sang. This time, her voice cracked on the high note. A scream built up in her chest, but she fought it down. The shadows around the woman rippled. There was something else there—something that had been hidden, waiting.

"I said again," the woman repeated, her voice a slow drawl, as if she were savoring Marla's suffering.

With every note that fell from her lips, Marla felt something inside her burn away. Something vital. Her throat ached, not from strain but from the emptiness that began to spread inside her chest. The music felt like poison in her veins, making her shake. Her body betrayed her, every muscle tightening.

But she sang. The pain was unbearable, but she sang.

The woman's smile split wider. "Good," she said, her voice as sharp as glass. "Now... your voice."

Marla's heart froze. Something was wrong. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came. The world around her seemed to fall into a sudden silence. Her chest burned, but there was nothing. No sound.

The woman stepped forward, slowly, her black dress swirling behind her like smoke. "It's gone now," she whispered. "Forever."

Marla opened her mouth again, trying to scream, to shout. To beg. But nothing came. Nothing at all. The realization hit her like a crushing weight. She was silent. Her voice was gone, as though it had never existed. The music she had just sung still hung in the air, a ghost of its former self.

Her hands shook, her body felt alien, like a shell abandoned on a shore. She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg for mercy, but there was nothing left to give. The silence filled the room, thick and suffocating.

The woman reached out, her fingers cold and slender, and touched Marla's throat. There was no warmth in her touch, no compassion. Just the absence of sound. The woman's smile did not fade.

"Now, you will never sing again," she said softly.

The room twisted, as though the walls themselves were closing in on Marla. She could feel it—feel her life slipping away, her dreams scattered, devoured by the emptiness that followed the Tone Woman's touch. The music, the fame, the dream of recognition—it had all been taken, destroyed in a single moment.

The woman tilted her head, her voice a soft murmur. "A perfect song. But not perfect enough."

Marla dropped to her knees, her hands clutching at her throat, trying to summon something—anything—to break the silence. But her voice would never return.

It was gone.

The woman took a step back, turning toward the shadows. "Now, we wait for the next."

Marla remained on the floor, her chest tightening with each failed breath. Her body was nothing now. Her life was nothing. The world outside might still be singing, still moving, but she would never be part of it again.

The darkness around her deepened, and Marla finally understood what it meant to be truly silent. To be erased completely. She would never hear her own voice again, never speak, never scream.

And she would never be free.

A scream—her own—echoed in her mind. But in the silence, it was the last sound she would ever make.