David_Claret

Three fathers. One deal: a child for a sou

Davina is cursed. Twenty-ish years old, living on borrowed time. Her days slip away in quiet terror—dreams of death that come true, a boy who watches too closely, twins who smile like liars. She doesn't know she's doomed. Not yet.

She writes. She lies. She bleeds onto pages no one will read until after she's gone.

She sees blood. She doesn't scream. She moves through the world like a ghost still wearing skin.

When she breaks, it's silent.
When she dies, her real story begins.

Found beside her cold body: a diary.
Inside it—secrets of a girl haunted by powers she never asked for—powers that kill.

She loved. She feared. She obeyed.
But deep down, something darker inside her was always waiting to rise.

This isn’t a story of survival.
It’s a requiem for the damned.
It’s the truth, bleeding through sorrow, bound by blood.

She left behind more than a story.
A curse.
A memory.
A question that demands an answer:

Who dies next?

Unholy Ties: Cursed To Serve

Ugh… I don't even wanna talk about this one.

But whatever. You're here. I'm here. We're doing this.

Sweet 16. That's what they called it. Like it was cute or whatever.

Let me ask you something. If someone dies at your party, do you still get to make a wish when you blow out the candles?

I didn't even like cake. I liked the attention. The power. The fact that people finally gave a shit.

I mean… yeah, I was famous. You would be too, if someone died and everyone thought you did it but then boom—you walk free.

Ex-convict with a baby face. Who wouldn't wanna invite that girl to their table?

So, yeah. I leaned into it. I planned the biggest party my school had ever seen. Maybe I was trying to prove I was untouchable.

And that's when everything started coming for me.

—And now here I am, confined to this bed, still craving the spotlight even when the lights are out—

Hello, Chicos y Chicas. Yeah, I know—I'm treating this like a blog. But hey, bedridden doesn't mean the ability to have fun is, too.

I'm pretty sure I'd be a hell of an influencer, don't y'all think so?

Okay, cut the shit. School life got instantly better. But damn, I had to sacrifice a lot for that fame. I literally obliterated my morals.

No popular high-schooler is morally upright—let's face it. I was no different, and neither are the shitty high-schoolers of today. Ugh.

I was raised—or at least raised myself—to believe true sex needs some connection or whatever. But think about it: real sex is rarely as fun as what you see on "The Hub." It's just missionary, doggie, maybe a splash of oral—nothing like the athleticism and wild variety that grace those screens on **** sites.

"Brought myself up" is the right phrase, because being a teenager is arguably the hardest stage—for kids and parents alike. So please, parents, stop complaining about how hard it is.

'Cause what we need—what I needed—was simple: love, support, attention. Lots of you are like, "But they give it." No. That's not it. Not even close.

You should walk your way up to that stage where I can come home and tell you about my troubles, my worries—just spill how my day actually went, you know?

So yeah, we're complicated—especially us girls—but big whoop. You all went through the same crap. It might be harder now with technology and all, but honestly, the old-school method works like a charm. I wish my mom had thought of this. But hey, when you're Christian, you believe everything happens for a reason. If she'd done it, I wouldn't be here, stuck narrating my life from a bed. I'd have already told her everything, and she'd have whisked me away from this country I'm… currently stuck in.

Okay, enough! I'm starting to sound like a therapist for parents—and I always get carried away. So… um… back to the point. I'm dialing it down, okay? Good.

Sweet sixteen… sweet little sixteen. Right. My birthday was a week away, and I was—no joke—both terrified and excited. I was "terricited."

I didn't have time for a montage. Fast forward to today: shopping—lots and lots of shopping—while invitation cards flew out. I basically invited the whole bloody school. Because, you know, the Queen was throwing a coronation, so yeah—peasants and nobles alike were welcome.

Sweet Sixteen