Chapter 1

The sky was gray, and the black mountain peaks pierced the horizon.

Norman Martin walked at the foot of the mountain, like an ant.

An indescribable sense of oppression enveloped him.

In his ears, there was nothing but a constant murmur and whispering.

His thin body was particularly frail, far from the robustness of a typical twelve-year-old.

His pale face was filled with fear.

In fact, this scene had appeared in his dreams since he was five years old.

This was the Martin family's curse.

For ordinary family members, it usually started at the age of thirty.

But Norman's onset was earlier, starting at the age of five.

The murmuring in his ears grew louder, and the road had reached its end.

Norman's body began to tremble violently. Even though he knew he couldn't control his body, he still felt an uncontrollable fear of what was about to happen.

Stop, stop, Norman struggled with his body.

He knew clearly what he was about to face.

Even after seven years, Norman still feared what was about to happen.

He missed a step, and his frail body fell into the abyss.

Norman screamed wildly, but no sound came out.

His consciousness returned to clarity, and he could clearly see the pattern of the wallpaper on the ceiling.

But he couldn't move; his soul was still falling.

His body felt like a gradually melting candle.

Norman clearly sensed his body turning into wax, slowly dripping down.

His body continued to melt, and the bed beneath him had turned into an endless abyss.

A pair of huge eyes watched him.

The vitality quietly drained from his body.

"Ah!" Norman finally sat up, breathing heavily, his blue-deer-embroidered pajamas drenched in sweat.

Sweat soaked his entire body, and his soft golden hair stuck to his forehead, making him feel extremely uncomfortable.

"Master, Master." The bedroom door was suddenly pushed open.

The maid Martha rushed in, placed the tray on the bedside table, and hugged Norman with her plump body.

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, it's okay, it's okay!" Martha's voice was gentle, comforting Norman, who looked like a frail child of seven or eight.

As a mother of six children, Martha treated Norman with particular tenderness.

The owner of the Iris Manor had a family curse; no one could live past forty.

This was an open secret in Pebble Town.

Feeling Martha's warmth, Norman slowly recovered from his fear.

Noticing Norman's emotions had stabilized, Martha picked up a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his body.

After a while, Norman changed into new clothes and sat at his dining table.

The small dining table was placed in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.

Through the glass, one could see the garden in full bloom.

Two maids were chatting in the garden, their faces beaming with smiles, like the lush scenery of midsummer.

"Aunt Martha, when will Father be back?" Norman wiped his mouth clean and put down his knife and fork.

Martha cleared the tray, "According to the telegram, if everything goes well, he will arrive tomorrow."

Hearing this, Norman's pale face broke into a smile.

"Master loves you the most and will surely bring many gifts for you," Martha said, feeling happy to see Norman's improved mood.

"I want to paint," Norman controlled his emotions.

"Alright, but Master said it's too cool there, don't stay too long..." Martha began to remind Norman.

The owners of the Martin family had always loved painting.

The painting studio occupied half of the third floor.

Even with the improved floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire studio remained eerie.

Mrs. Martha couldn't help but shiver as she opened the door.

The studio was cleaned every day, but it always had an uncomfortable smell.

She quickly walked a few steps and pulled the curtains of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She opened the windows to let in fresh air.

When she turned around, Norman was already sitting in his chair.

His face no longer showed the initial panic.

Looking at the canvas, he was particularly calm.

Golden sunlight filtered through the glass and fell on Norman's golden hair, highlighting his emerald eyes.

His almost transparent pale skin made him look like a delicate porcelain doll.

Martha would never forget this scene.

The surroundings returned to silence, and Martha, who had many tasks, quietly left.

Time passed silently.

Norman stopped his brush, looking at his painting with no expression.

He got off the stool, moved his easel, and positioned his painting to face a corner of the room.

In that corner, there were several easels, each with a completed painting.

The only common feature of all the paintings was that they were covered with white cloth.

Norman looked at the easels without hesitation and pulled the white cloths off one by one.

Bizarre oil paintings appeared before Norman's eyes.

Large blocks of color intertwined, forming strange scenes.

These paintings were all different.

The common point was that they all made people feel very uncomfortable.

Chaos, disorder, horror, and terror—countless negative emotions emanated from these paintings.

Norman's expression was calm. Compared to his dreams, these paintings were less than one percent as terrifying.

His gaze moved from these paintings to his own.

That painting used only one color.

Black.

But this black had different layers.

The layers of different blacks collided, emitting a more terrifying feeling than these paintings.

A smile appeared on Norman's face, without sadness, fear, or joy.

He knew he was about to die.

His grandfather, his great-grandfather... the owners of these paintings.

All of them ended their lives in various ways, with their faces twisted in fear, shortly after completing these paintings.

"Clatter," the sound of broken porcelain broke the eerie silence of the studio.

A thirteen- or fourteen-year-old maid looked at the studio in terror.

The tray in her hands had fallen, and the cups had shattered, with milk spreading across the floor.

"Lina, clean it up quickly, or your mother will scold you again," Norman covered the paintings with the canvas again.

"Yes, yes, Master," Lina hurriedly picked up the broken cups and rushed to the utility room.

Lina was Martha's daughter and had been taking care of Norman for a long time.

Just now, she saw Master standing among the paintings, as if about to be swallowed by them, which was truly terrifying.

"Are you off tomorrow?" When Lina returned, Norman had already covered all the paintings.

His painting was placed in the same corner, becoming the seventeenth painting.

"Yes, the Krystina Circus is in town today and will perform for three days starting tonight," Lina's attention was immediately diverted.