The Book of Sin

Prologue Here’s a rhetorical question: have you ever been hated by the very people who should love you? Well, I have. You can call me Raven—Raven Frost. I lived with my mother and stepfather. My father died along with my younger sister, and my mother blamed me. It was a stormy night when they went to pick me up from after-school dance practice but never made it. I was the spitting image of my father except for my brown almost black hair i got from my mother. We suffer from a rare genetic flaw that gives our eyes and hair a silvery-white color. I only got the eyes. My sister resembled my mother. It’s said that long ago, we earned the surname Frost because of our unique features. Now that you’re caught up a little on the family tree, I’ll begin my story. It was the 1st of April, a beautiful spring night. The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the night sky. I sat by the pond, where blossomed leaves floated on the water. It was quiet, with only the occasional chirp of a cricket. A warm spring breeze brushed my face, and the scent of flowers hovered in the air. After ensuring my mother and stepfather were asleep, I made my way inside the house. I tried to avoid them as much as possible. On a night as beautiful as this, I decided to leave my windows open. After brushing my teeth and dressing in a thin silk nightgown, I went to bed. But this beautiful night soon turned into a horror scene. Still in bed, I felt cold hands grabbing me by the mouth and waist. I was too shocked to make a sound. “Listen here, little lady. I won’t harm you if you stay silent and do as I say,” he whispered. I nodded, signaling my understanding. “Where’s Ronald?” he demanded. With a shaky hand, I pointed to the door. He grabbed my arm, pressing a cold object against my neck—it must have been a knife. “Okay, little lady, here’s how this is going to go. You’re going to show me where Ronald is, and you won’t make a sound. Otherwise, Ronald won’t be the only one dying tonight.” I walked down the stairs as cold sweat dripped from my forehead. Entering my parents’ bedroom, I was told to stand against the wall and not move or make a sound. It was clear he didn’t want me to alert anyone by screaming. The first bullet went straight into Ronald’s arm, and tears began to fall down my face. The man kept asking Ronald where his money was, but Ronald just kept saying he needed more time. My mother sat there begging for her life. That’s when the stranger had enough and shot Ronald right between the eyes. I let out a scream before I could stop myself. My mother became aware of my presence in the room and yelled at me to run. Those were her last words before he shot her as well. Blood oozed out of them, and I made a run for it—but I didn’t get far. My body slammed into the wall. I whimpered in pain as he held me firmly in a chokehold position. “Now, little lady, I asked you two things: not to make a sound and not to move. I would’ve spared you, but you defied my orders, leaving me no choice.” More tears rolled down my face as I pleaded, my voice barely above a whisper. As the oxygen to my brain grew scarce, I decided that if I was going to die, I might as well go down fighting. I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. The sudden pain made him let go, and I made a run for it again. But he soon recovered, and he looked furious. His fist collided hard against my face, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth. Before I could recover from the blow, he kicked me hard, sending me flying. The impact against the wall came with a sickening crack, and pain shot through my side. I couldn’t get up; it was hard to breathe. The man stalked me like prey before dragging me by my hair. I cried out loudly from the pain. He picked me up and threw me onto the bed. Wheezing and taking shallow breaths, I felt all my energy leave my body. He grabbed the knife and cut my dress and panties, leaving me bare to his eyes. All I could do was beg and cry. He removed his belt and unzipped his pants. Before he could force himself on me, a figure kicked him away from me. I felt hands touching each side of my face. He was asking or telling me something, but I couldn’t hear him. His hazel eyes showed deep concern, but before I could say anything, I passed out. Soon after, the police and ambulance arrived. They took me to the nearest hospital, where a full-body checkup was done. Officer Dunson, who was assigned to my case, told me the man was arrested. I asked her about the man who saved me, but she told me no one else was on the scene—just me and the man unconscious on the floor. She then asked me a few more questions, and I answered them as clearly as possible. Later that night, I stood in the shower and scrubbed myself until my skin was red. I didn’t even realize it until my skin started to sting. My mind was filled with thoughts. The doctor said it was my imagination protecting me in the moment of shock—that I was the one who kicked the man back, causing him to hit his head and lose consciousness. The neighbors called the cops when they heard the gunshots. I was kept in the hospital for a week and underwent a psych evaluation before being released. I moved in with my grandma temporarily until the funeral, will, and inheritance were sorted out. I also put the house on the market—I couldn’t bear going back there. Once everything was settled, I planned to move to a cabin my father had left for me. It was nestled deep in the forest, surrounded by just a few other cabins. A fresh start awaited me far away from all this pain. My grandma dropped me off at the airport, and I took a flight to Ly Merion. The cabin was located about a two-hour drive outside the city, near a small town named Cresthill, hidden deep in the forest. The movers had already transported my boxes about a week ago. This cabin was meant to be a place where my sister Lily and I would celebrate turning twenty-one, but fate had other plans. As I walked around the property, my eyes landed on an old, rundown beetle covered by a weathered sleeve. Curious, I removed the cover and opened the car door, greeted by layers of dust. I put the keys into the ignition, praying it might still start after all these years—though the odds weren’t in my favor. After several attempts, the engine roared to life, and I let out a relieved sigh. Returning inside, I began unpacking. Grandma had thoughtfully prepared a dish of lasagna for me, so I was set for dinner. Tomorrow, however, I’d need to buy groceries. I’d noticed a minimart at the edge of town within walking distance. For now, I focused on unpacking: clothes, daily essentials, a few household items, and my bedding. Exhausted, I took a quick shower, dried my hair, slipped into a T-shirt and long pants, brushed my teeth, and collapsed into bed. The next morning, eager to stock up, I dressed and headed to the minimart as early as possible. The path there was tranquil and soothing. As I entered, the bell chimed. I selected vegetables and a few cuts of meat. Suddenly, a man behind me spoke, and I froze. Though a month had passed since the incident, the trauma still clung to me, leaving me shaken and on edge. Gathering courage, I turned around—he just wanted to pass by. I quickly moved aside, murmuring an apology. My heart raced as I walked to the cashier to pay. She greeted me warmly, smiled as she rang up my items, and wished me a good day, adding a heartfelt “Welcome to the town.” Her kindness brought a fleeting moment of comfort. Walking briskly back home, I placed the groceries on the counter. My eyes caught sight of picture frames holding faces of my lost family. Overwhelmed by grief, I broke down in tears and called my grandma, feeling lonelier than ever before.