After My Sister Died, I Went Insane for Revenge

When the police arrived, they were stunned by the carnage.

Blood painted the walls and soaked the floor. In the center of it all, I sat silently in a crimson pool, smiling faintly as I counted the candy wrappers my sister had left for me.

They said I was sick.

They locked me away in a mental hospital.

The windows of my ward were welded shut with iron bars. Cold. Rusted. Permanent.

Every time my sister came to visit, she would press her face to those bars, her smile curving her eyes into crescents.

“Sister,” she’d say, her voice light with joy, “the cherry blossoms by the roadside are all blooming today!”

I never replied. But that never stopped her. She’d chatter on, her words pouring through the steel like sunlight through cracks in a prison wall.

The last time I saw her, she said, beaming, “Sister, I’m getting married.”

“On the wedding day, I’ll have Mom livestream it for you. Just wait—I'm going to look so beautiful in my wedding dress!”

But she never made it to the end of that wedding.

She died before the vows.

That night, I strangled the dean with my own restraint belt until he choked and signed my discharge papers.

Anyone who dares lay a hand on my sister—will pay in blood.

After the funeral, I walked into the house clutching her urn.

Then the front door slammed open.

High heels clacked on the floor.

Jessie sauntered in beside Preston, a sneer stretched across her painted face.

“Well, well... isn’t this our dead Miss Caitlyn?”

Preston’s eyes landed on the urn in my arms. For a split second, his expression shifted. But as soon as he saw my face clearly, that sliver of humanity vanished.

His gaze turned cold.

“Caitlin, how low will you stoop? Faking your death now, just for attention?”

Jessie clung to his arm like a snake with a smile as sweet as poison.

“Preston only asked you to spend a few days meditating at the temple,” she said. “But you hurt the master and came back with an urn to play the victim? Really?”

She reached out suddenly, trying to snatch the urn. “Let me see—where’d you dig this trash up from?”

I stepped aside. She missed and nearly stumbled to the floor.

“Caitlin!” Preston barked. “Still causing trouble? First you fake your death, now you’re attacking Jessie?!”

Clutching her ankle pitifully, Jessie’s eyes shimmered with tears—and malice.

“I know... my sister must still hate me for ruining her wedding. Preston, don’t blame her—it’s all my fault…”

Preston’s face darkened. “Apologize to Jessie!”

I said nothing. My grip on my sister’s urn remained steady, my expression unreadable.

Then my mother stepped forward, standing between us like a fragile shield.

“Get out!” she shouted. “You’re not welcome in this house!”

Preston’s fury boiled over. He grabbed my wrist.

“This is how the Schultz family raises its daughters?” he spat. “No remorse, no shame. Fine. If you won’t repent—then you’ll come with me!”

“Take her!”

I jerked my hand free and looked up, a grim smile forming on my lips.

“Okay.”

He froze.

I turned and gently placed my sister’s urn on the altar, brushing my fingers over her framed photo.

She was smiling—just like she did as a child, the same way she smiled when she slipped her last piece of candy into my mouth.

Sweet. Innocent. Gone.

As I stood, my mother reached out and grabbed my arm.

“Claudia…”

Her voice trembled. Her eyes were filled with something between grief and helplessness.

I patted the back of her hand.

She sighed—a long, broken exhale—and let me go.

“Go.”

I nodded and left with Preston, never once looking back.

In the car, Jessie curled up in the passenger seat. As soon as I closed the door behind me, her voice rang out—delicate, childish.

“Preston… something got into my eye~”

Immediately, he leaned over to her, blowing gently into her lashes. Their noses nearly touched, their breaths mingled like lovers.