Dance of the Cursed

The screams and cries for help had long since faded, and replaced by an unsettling quietude that seemed to hang in the air like a challenge.

The town streets, once bustling with life in the day, were now desolate. The trees whispered on brittle branches, the wind hummed faintly through empty alleyways, and every shuttered window stared like a blind eye.

Amidst this eerie silence, a single destination drew the eye. The Victorian house, once admired for its stately grace, was now a beacon for the gathered crowd. Carved stone and polished wood, walls the warm shade of aged mahogany, a slate roof that had once glittered in moonlight-now all swallowed by fire.

The glass shattered, spilling out onto the ground, with embers and sparks flying everywhere. Windows, that once looked cheerful, stared hollow and jagged like teeth, while heat radiated from the inferno, bathing the street in a golden glow that illuminated the faces of the townsfolk.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, eyes filled with relief and satisfaction as they fixed on the fire.

Then came a scream.

A body engulfed in flames appeared at the top floor window. Everyone knew who he was.

"Please! Help me!" He yelled over and over again.

But no one moved. They watched as the burning man stumbled and fell. His body crashed to the ground outside the house, withering in pain as he lay there. He reached out a burning hand, pleading for help, but the people just stood frozen in place. No one stepped up to help him, no one spoke a word. And after a few seconds, his charred body was motionless on the ground.

"This is wrong." Helen whispered to herself.

The young girl looked at the man further away from her. A muscular figure with a stern face, staring intently at the fire. He had been Mr.Robert's best friend. The plump woman in blue next to him, Madam Rosella, the sweet and kind hearted teacher who helped everyone in need, looked at the body on the ground with teary eyes and happiness. The shop owners who were always reliable, the pretty librarian who loved children, the neighbors who were so welcoming, and the rest of the generous townsfolk-all stood by, watching the fire burn down the house and the family within.

Helen never thought things would escalate to this extent. Her fingers curled around something hidden in the pocket of her violet dress, pressing it into her palm like a secret she wasn't sure she wanted to hold. Whatever it was, it didn't feel right.

But then... could killing devils really be wrong?

Her mother's hand rested lightly on her dark hair. "Watch closely, Helen. Don't look away." The girl's gaze shifted to her mother, who stood beside her, transfixed by the scene as her wide brown eyes seemed to mirror the flames.

Helen followed her eyes and looked back at the grand house, watching, as the last of it collapsed inward, the frame now nothing more than a glowing skeleton.

No matter the cause, tonight, they were all murderers.