“Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixture dementia fuit”
PROLOGUE
The wind howled outside the dilapidated cottage, its mournful wail echoing through the desolate forest. The snow fell in heavy, silent flakes, blanketing the world in a deceptive purity that belied the horror within. The cottage, isolated and forgotten, seemed to be the perfect place for a secret—one so dark it could never see the light of day.
Inside, the room was a macabre scene. The once-pristine black and white tiled floor was now marred with crimson, the blood pooling and spreading like a grotesque pattern across the tiles. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, mingled with the sharp tang of fear and pain.
The man on the floor, his life force ebbing away, had once been handsome. His features, now bruised and battered, hinted at a past where beauty and vitality had flourished. But now, his chest lay open, his heart grotesquely mangled. The brutality of the act was evident in the jagged tear where his heart had been, a savage violation of his very essence.
Above him, the silhouette of a young boy loomed, his form barely visible in the dim light that struggled to enter through the broken window. The boy’s face was obscured by shadows, the darkness shielding his identity, but the plier in his hand was unmistakable. It dripped with blood, the instrument of his sadistic work.
He stood over the body, his gaze fixed on the man as if contemplating his next move. The boy’s posture was eerily calm, as though the violence he had just inflicted was nothing more than a chore. The plier had not only been used to rip apart nails but to dismantle the man’s very humanity, piece by piece.
The room was silent except for the occasional drip of blood, the sound almost lost in the stillness. The world outside, blanketed in snow, was oblivious to the atrocity committed within these walls. The contrast between the serene winter night and the horror inside the cottage was stark—two worlds existing side by side, yet so utterly disconnected.
As the boy stood there, a cold, emotionless figure, the last remnants of life flickered out in the man’s eyes. The boy had taken everything from him—his beauty, his dignity, his life—and left nothing but a broken shell, a testament to the darkness that had consumed him.
The cottage, once a place of warmth and refuge, had become a tomb, a final resting place for the man and the boy’s secrets. Outside, the snow continued to fall, covering the world in a blanket of white, as if trying to erase the memory of the bloodshed, but inside, the darkness remained, seeping into every corner of the room, marking it as a place where innocence had been lost and humanity forsaken.
CHAPTER : 1
“Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixture dementia fuit”
In a city nestled just beyond the bustling streets of London, where time seemed to drift a little slower, there stood the quiet town of Stratford. The houses here were crafted with a timeless elegance, their facades telling tales of generations past. Among them was the home of Benjamin Maurice, a structure as refined as it was beautiful. Inside, beneath the golden glow of morning light, a young man no older than eighteen splashed cool water onto his face. His black curls clung to his skin, damp and unruly, framing a pair of eyes that seemed too old for his age—grey, deep-set, and hauntingly hollow, as if life itself had withdrawn from their depths. And yet, when he smiled, the world around him softened; his smile was the kind that could make hearts falter, with a dimple that creased his left cheek in a way that felt both familiar and fleeting.
That morning, like many others, Benjamin readied himself for the short walk to college, a mere ten minutes from the comfort of his home. As he entered the classroom, a chorus of greetings met him, but his mind was elsewhere. He settled into his usual spot by the window, his thoughts wandering with the falling leaves that danced on the autumn breeze outside.
But then, a voice, pure and sweet as an angel’s song, pierced through the haze of his reverie. He turned, drawn as if by some unseen force, and there she was—a vision of beauty that seemed almost ethereal. She stood beside the homeroom teacher, her chestnut brown hair cascading in loose curls at the ends, and eyes like almonds, kissed by the sun into shades of honey. Her presence was like a breath of fresh air in a room that had suddenly grown too small.
“They say things would have turned out differently if Benjamin Mourice had never laid eyes on her.”
She introduced herself with a voice that was all at once soft and melodic, “Hello! I am Zain Isaac. I hope to spend this year with you and enjoy it.”
Her smile lit up the room, but it was Benjamin who felt its warmth the most. His heart skipped, a quickened pulse he hadn’t known he could feel, and his lips curled into a smile that mirrored hers, as if her joy was contagious. When the teacher directed her to a seat beside Suzy Jason, a pang of something unfamiliar stirred within him—jealousy, perhaps? He didn’t understand why it bothered him that she wasn’t sitting beside him.
Days turned into weeks, and though Benjamin often stole glances in her direction, he remained silent, his feelings a mystery even to himself.
His life had been one of solitude, raised in boarding schools while his parents lived far away in Spain, or so he was told. Now, at eighteen, he lived alone in a house his parents owned, an elegant abode where every detail seemed meticulously crafted. Slim mahogany tiles lined the floor-to-ceiling fireplace in the living room, which opened out onto a garden that felt like a hidden sanctuary. A white, steel staircase spiral upwards to the first floor, where two bedrooms lay. One was Benjamin’s, the other a storeroom—a place that held memories and secrets in equal measure.
In this house, among the beauty and solitude, Benjamin’s thoughts lingered on the girl with the honey eyes. And as the days passed, he wondered what it was about her that had stirred something so deep within him—a feeling that perhaps, he wasn’t as alone as he had always believed.
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“Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time.” - Albert Camus
On a morning painted with gentle hues, the sky was a canvas of scattered clouds, and birds flitted about, their morning rituals in full swing. The world moved in a steady rhythm—people going about their lives, each step echoing the pulse of a new day. Benjamin Mourice left for school, his thoughts drifting as he made his way. Upon reaching his classroom, he searched for Zain, only to learn she had taken a leave. The day passed in its usual manner, until he began his walk home.
As he meandered past the old cemetery, a sound caught his attention—a crying voice, laden with sorrow. Despite the bustling world around him, he was drawn to it, his steps guided by an inexplicable force. A weight of guilt, inexplicable and heavy, settled in his chest, though he had no clear reason for it. Bewildered, he tried to shake off the feeling, but as the world around him blurred, a vision overtook him.
He found himself in a dimly lit room, the only light a flickering bulb overhead. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, revealing a man in his fifties, bound to a chair. The man’s amber eyes held a glint of defiance, though his skin was marred by red stains from a head wound, his fingers mutilated, and his body covered in bruises. Despite his suffering, there was a haunting beauty in his youthful face. He wore tattered clothes, and in front of him stood a young boy, pliers in hand, stained with red.
The boy’s voice, cold and detached, spoke with a chilling authority. “I will ask you one last time—tell me where you hid your wife. And believe me, if I find her myself, you know what comes next.”
The man, despite his agony, managed a weary smile, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. His voice, strained and ragged from pain, whispered, “I... I tried to protect...”
Before the sentence could be completed, Benjamin’s eyes flew open. Sweat trickled down his neck, his breath uneven. He shook off the disturbing vision and refocused on the sound that had led him here. His feet, still trembling, carried him past weathered gravestones until he saw her—Zain. Her back was to him, her chestnut hair stirring with the wind. The clouds above had gathered, and as the rain began to fall, her tears mingled with the drops, glistening on her face.
Seeing her so vulnerable, Benjamin’s heart ached. The sight of her, always so composed, now weeping, stirred a deep, profound emotion within him. It was in this moment he realised how deeply he felt for her—a realisation that he would sacrifice his world for her.
He approached her gently, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He whispered her name, “Zain.” Startled, she turned to face him, her eyes meeting his. In the downpour, he appeared as a worried, drenched figure, his eyes filled with concern. She noticed his beautiful, earnest gaze, and as he spoke, “Zain, you’re getting wet in the rain. Let’s find somewhere dry,” she stared at him, puzzled by his familiarity with her name.
The thunderstorm rumbled, and as the storm’s fury intensified, a flicker of recognition crossed her mind—he was the boy she had seen on her first day at school. Slowly, she rose from her spot, and Benjamin, relieved, led the way out of the cemetery.
“My house is nearby,” he offered. “Would you like to come there? The rain might not stop anytime soon.” Zain nodded and followed him. They arrived at his home, an elegant abode that stood serene against the storm. Benjamin unlocked the gate and stepped aside, his smile warm and inviting, welcoming her into the shelter of his world.
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“You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by, but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.” — James M. Barrie
Benjamin had invited Zain to bathe while he prepared coffee for them both. She accepted with a nod, and he guided her to his room, offering her some of his old clothes—an oversized grey hoodie and black pants that seemed to engulf her petite frame. With a soft smile, she entered the bathroom, and he closed the door behind her, retreating to the kitchen.
As he worked, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee began to fill the house. By the time he was ready, Zain had emerged from the bath, her wet hair now cascading in soft waves. She slipped into the clothes he had lent her, which, though a bit baggy, only seemed to enhance her natural grace. She settled onto the sofa next to the large window overlooking the garden, her gaze lost in the rhythmic dance of raindrops trickling down the glass.
Outside, the clouds raced each other across the sky, giving way to the sun’s shy appearance. The light streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on her face and hair, which shimmered like liquid gold. Her eyes, reflecting the honeyed hue of the sun, sparkled with a quiet radiance.
As Benjamin approached with two steaming mugs of coffee, he was momentarily spellbound. It was as if time had momentarily paused, allowing him to savour this fleeting, golden moment. To him, Zain appeared as if she were a creature from another realm—a being of light, a fairy come to life. He moved towards her slowly, the wonder in his heart mirroring the awe in his gaze.
When he handed her the mug, their fingers brushed lightly, and he felt a surge of warmth that contrasted with the chill of the rain outside. The sight of her, so serene and ethereal, was etched into his memory—a moment of beauty that seemed to illuminate the shadowed corners of his world. For Benjamin, this was a memory he would cherish forever, a beacon of light amidst his darkness.
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“You can lose your eyes to reality but not to memories”- Stainslaw Jerzy Lec”
As Zain took the mug from his hands, their eyes met, and she noticed that Benjamin was staring at her, almost as if entranced. Feeling a bit self-conscious, she asked, “Is there something on my face?” Her question broke the spell, and Benjamin, suddenly aware of his behaviour, stammered, “Oh no... I-I was just mesmerised by your beauty.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. Zain blushed but decided to stay silent. Realising what he’d just said, Benjamin quickly tried to cover it up, laughing awkwardly. “I think I drank too much last night... the effects are showing now, haha.”
Zain, noticing his discomfort, gave a small smile to ease the tension. She quipped, “You drink?” Benjamin looked at her, a bit taken aback, as if the answer should be obvious. “Y-yes, I do... I mean, am I not supposed to?” Zain quickly clarified, “No, it’s just that I don’t really prefer drinking or any other addictions.” Benjamin looked at her thoughtfully before responding playfully, “Okay, Miss Zain, I won’t touch the love of my life—my dear wine—or my second love, my beer, anymore. Happy now?” Zain, a little taken aback, replied, “Why would I be happy with you leaving the so-called love of your life? But yes, I am happy for a normal human leaving an addiction.” Benjamin burst out laughing at her reply, catching Zain off guard.
Seeing her puzzled and a bit embarrassed, Benjamin managed to compose himself, though a chuckle still lingered. “Sorry, my bad. You’re just so cute, like a cat.” Zain raised an eyebrow, half-amused and half-exasperated. “A cat? Are you serious, Benjamin?” He nodded, still smiling. “Damn serious!” Zain wondered for a moment if she should leave this madman’s house, but the rain outside showed no sign of stopping. Benjamin, sensing her thoughts, felt his heart sink. He couldn’t quite understand why he was so drawn to her—what was it about this girl that made him feel so alive?
Trying to keep her there a bit longer, he asked, “Zain, are you hungry?” His heart silently pleaded for the moment to last a little longer. She nodded, admitting to herself that she was indeed hungry. Benjamin, a decent cook from years of living alone, offered to make dinner, though he quickly noticed that Zain’s cooking skills were close to nonexistent and gently suggested she relax while he took care of the meal.
After a while, Zain peeked into the kitchen, where Benjamin was focused on chopping vegetables. He sensed her presence behind him, a habit he had developed over the years, though he didn’t react outwardly. As she watched him, his messy hair falling over his forehead, his shirt cuffs rolled up, and his intense focus on the task at hand, she couldn’t help but find him attractive. For the first time, her heart skipped a beat. When Benjamin noticed her, he smiled slightly and motioned for her to sit down.
They enjoyed a warm meal together, a comforting contrast to the cold weather outside. When they finished, Zain stood up, ready to head home, even though there was no one waiting for her there anymore. Old habits die hard, she thought. Benjamin, knowing he had to let her go, felt a pang of sadness. Fate was cruel, he mused; they might never meet again like this. But his spirits lifted when she agreed to see him again. He wondered what he had done in his past to deserve this angel’s presence in his life.
He walked her to the nearest bus stop, and as she was boarding, she turned to him with a curious expression. “How did you know where my house was?” Benjamin was taken aback. “What do you mean?” She clarified, “When I was getting wet in the rain, you said your house was near. How did you know mine was far?” Benjamin, caught off guard, stumbled over his words. “I don’t know, just a hunch,” he finally managed. Zain, pressed for time, nodded and took her seat. Benjamin stood there, waving until the bus disappeared from sight.
As he walked back home, he couldn’t shake the thoughts swirling in his mind. Being so close to her had made his heart race like never before. As he entered his house, the lights flickered on, and for the first time, he noticed the peculiar pictures on the wall. They were odd, unsettling, and he wondered when his parents had put them up. The house, which had felt so alive with Zain’s presence just minutes ago, now seemed eerily quiet.
Passing the sofa where she had sat, he felt a strange sense of loss. It was as if a light had left the room, leaving him in darkness once more. Smiling to himself, he moved to the bathroom to wash his face, but as he cupped the water in his hands, his smile vanished. The water was red—blood. He stared in horror, his reflection showing blood smeared across his face. In the mirror, he saw a vision—a younger version of himself, holding a knife, standing over a man he had once known. The man’s face was bloodied, and he was struggling to breathe.
Benjamin’s hand trembled as he saw him plunge the knife into the man’s chest repeatedly. The tiles around them were slick with blood. The man tried to reach out, whispering, “I... still l-love... you, m-my... so—” But the words were cut off as blood poured from his mouth. Even after the man was clearly dead, he didn’t stop. “I told you things wouldn’t be pretty,” he hissed, making one final stab to the heart.
Benjamin punched the mirror, shattering it, and was yanked back to reality. His hand bled from the impact, but he didn’t care. Staggering out of the bathroom, a sharp pain shot through his head, and he heard nothing but a piercing noise in his ears as his senses dulled. Somehow, he made it to his bed and collapsed onto it, shutting out the world.
Memories, he realised, never truly leave you. They haunt you, chase you, and sometimes, they consume you whole.
.Nullum magnum ingenium sine mixture dementia fuit
.”there has been no great wisdom without an element of madness” (translation of the latin phrase)
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