"These secrets and lies, makes me go blind"

After the party, Yoojung retreated to her room, the jubilant clamor of celebration fading into distant echoes. She carried a pile of gifts, her excitement dimmed by the exhaustion of the festivities. The old game was the last present she unwrapped. With a dismissive sigh, she set it aside, her curiosity barely piqued.

"I wonder what's inside," she murmured, peeling away the wrapping paper with a lackluster flick of her wrist. The box, labeled "Survival," was revealed, its faded lettering and grime-covered surface hardly inviting.

"Typical Yoona," she scoffed, rolling her eyes with a mixture of amusement and disdain. "Who even plays these games anymore?" She tossed the box onto her bed, its thud muffled by the pillow. Uninterested, she returned to her nightly routine, blissfully unaware of the sinister turn her evening was about to take.

The house had slipped into a deep, unsettling silence. Yoojung lay on the brink of sleep, her senses lulled by the quiet. Suddenly, an unsettling, rhythmic drumming began to pierce the stillness. At first, she dismissed it as the distant thud of noisy neighbors or the creak of the old house settling. But the drumming grew louder, more insistent, until it resonated with an almost palpable urgency.

Irritated, Yoojung snapped on the bedside lamp, its harsh light cutting through the darkness. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the sound. It was then that she noticed the old game box on her bed. The rhythmic drumming seemed to emanate from it, a peculiar beat that defied logic and explanation.

A shiver ran down her spine as she tentatively approached the box, her curiosity now tainted with apprehension. The drumming continued its relentless cadence, echoing in her mind like a haunting melody.

With a mixture of dread and fascination, she opened the box. Her disbelief was palpable as the game seemed to come alive before her eyes. The pieces, once inert, began to move on their own accord, arranging themselves on the board with an eerie, almost mechanical precision. The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying—an impossibility unfolding in the dim light of her room.

"What the—?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the drumming. A whispering voice seemed to echo in her mind, urging her to roll the dice. The voice was a seductive murmur, a siren's call that tugged insistently at her will.

Compelled by a force beyond her comprehension, Yoojung reached for her game piece and rolled the dice. The moment the dice left her hand, a blinding light erupted from the board, engulfing her in a searing brilliance. The light was so intense it seemed to obliterate reality itself. Her surroundings dissolved into a whirl of dazzling, chaotic light.

"YooNA!" she screamed, her voice echoing with raw desperation, but it was swallowed by the overpowering luminescence. The room around her darkened rapidly, as if the light was being consumed by an encroaching void. Shadows twisted and stretched, forming a chasm that seemed to pull her inexorably toward its depths.

As the darkness closed in, Yoojung was drawn into the game, her form dissolving into the encroaching shadows. The room and its familiar comforts vanished, leaving behind only the cold, dark embrace of the game's unknown realms. Her last scream faded into the abyss as the darkness claimed her, swallowing her whole.

CHAPTER 1 | THE GIFT OF SHADOWS

[Yoona is narrating..]

The sun dipped below the horizon, its dying rays painting the sky in fiery shades of orange and gold. I, Kim Yoona, strolled along the deserted beach, my camera capturing the serene beauty of the ocean under the fading light. Each wave glistened with the last vestiges of daylight, creating a shimmering tapestry of light and shadow. The peaceful solitude of the beach was abruptly shattered when my foot snagged on something buried in the sand.

"Ouch!" I yelped, hopping on one foot and clutching my throbbing ankle. My eyes fell on an old, weathered box half-buried in the sand. The faded label read "Survival?" My initial disappointment was quickly overshadowed by a wave of curiosity. I unearthed it with trembling hands, brushing off the layers of grime that covered its surface. The box, though worn and battered, held an air of mystery that intrigued me.

A sudden thought struck me—Yoojung's birthday was today. An idea, tinged with a touch of mischief, began to form. I quickly brushed off the remaining sand and decided that this old, rusty box would make for an intriguing gift. Little did Yoojung know, it was meant to be a mere diversion—a prelude to something more.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, I hurriedly wrapped the box in colorful paper, my movements quick and almost frantic. The living room buzzed with excitement, a palpable energy that filled the air. The anticipation was almost tangible, a contrast to my own inner turmoil.

Yoojung's eyes widened with delight as she spotted the large package, her excitement barely contained. "Wow! What a big box," she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with genuine curiosity.

"Yep, all for you," I replied, trying to hide my own anxiety behind a carefully crafted smile. My heart raced as I watched her eyes flicker between the gift and me, searching for clues.

"Looks like I'm getting something huge—hey! Did you steal this from somewhere?" Yoojung teased, her eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

"Don't worry about it... and for the record, I don't steal anything except hearts," I quipped, my voice steady but my insides churning with unease.

Her next words cut deeper than I anticipated. "Well, maybe you should stick to board games since your boyfriend just dumped you."

The room seemed to close in around me, the festive atmosphere suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Her comment hit me like a cold wave, the sting of her words slicing through the veneer of my composure. I forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The weight of the recent breakup pressed heavily on my shoulders, making it hard to breathe.

"Anyway... enjoy the gift," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper as she eagerly grabbed the box and moved to join the others. The laughter and cheer of the party seemed to fade into the background as I stood there, feeling the full impact of her words.

Retreating to my room, I locked the door behind me with a sense of finality. The sting of her comment echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of her unintended cruelty. The box, initially meant as a playful distraction, now seemed like a hollow gesture in the face of my own unresolved hurt. The contrast between the cheerful facade I presented and the aching reality of my emotions grew starker with each passing moment.

While the party continued downstairs, I was left alone with my thoughts, grappling with the uncomfortable reality of Yoojung's words and the pain they had caused. My plan to tease her with the old game, followed by a better gift, now seemed insignificant. The evening, meant to be filled with light-hearted fun, had turned into a reflection of my own struggles, leaving me alone in the silence of my room, surrounded by the echoes of my own heartache.

"yoona!!!"

My heart hammered in my chest as I heard Yoojung's scream pierce the silence while I was heading back to my room from a late-night snack run. The sound was filled with terror, and it sent a jolt of fear through me. I called out for her, my voice trembling with urgency, but there was no response.

Rushing to her room, I flung open the door, my breath catching in my throat. The room was eerily quiet, the only sound being the soft rustling of the curtains in the breeze. It was empty—Yoojung was nowhere to be found. My eyes quickly fell on the game box lying in the middle of the floor, its faded label now a sinister omen in the dim light.

My pulse quickened as I stepped further inside, my gaze darting around the neatly arranged room. Everything was in its place, except for the box. The realization that Yoojung had vanished hit me like a physical blow. Panic surged as I called her name again, my voice growing increasingly desperate. But there was no reply, only the oppressive silence that seemed to swallow her presence.

I scrambled through the house, shaking my brother awake. Together, we turned the house upside down, searching every nook and cranny. The night dragged on, our exhaustion mounting with each fruitless search. As dawn's first light crept through the windows, we were forced to accept the harsh reality: we had to wait a full 24 hours before reporting her missing.

When the police finally arrived, their investigation was methodical but ultimately inconclusive. They conducted their inquiries with a detached professionalism, but the outcome was grim. Yoojung was missing, and they left without a single clue to her whereabouts.

Returning to her room, I noticed the game box was no longer on the floor. My heart sank. I turned to my brother, asking if he had moved it. His confused shake of the head confirmed my worst fears—he hadn't seen it. The game had vanished, leaving behind an unsettling void.

My suspicion grew as I struggled to make sense of what had happened. Desperate for answers, I turned to the internet, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I searched for any information on the game. Hours passed as I scoured obscure forums and old websites. My search led me to a chilling legend buried deep in the digital ether. It spoke of a cursed game, one that ensnared children and trapped their souls within its dark, twisted realms. The description matched my worst fears, the horror of the legend aligning with the inexplicable events of that night.

The game I had gifted Yoojung as a prank now seemed to be the key to her disappearance. The curse I had once dismissed as mere folklore now felt horrifyingly real. The weight of my actions pressed down on me, and I could barely breathe under the crushing burden of my own culpability. I had unleashed something dark and malevolent, and the consequences were more devastating than I could have ever imagined.

And a crushing wave of guilt washed over me. I whispered to myself, tears streaming down my face. 

"Was it my fault?"