Ashes of Regret: Three Days Too Late
4.8k Views · Ongoing · Fuzzy Melissa
When the fourth victim from the Chicago arsonist landed on my brother's autopsy slab, I watched from above, a ghost trapped in the room.
As the city's star medical examiner, he recited his findings with detached precision. "Female, twenties. Evidence of controlled, prolonged burning prior to death." He had no idea he was cataloging my murder.
Three days earlier, in that same warehouse, I'd begged into my phone. His fiancée, Harper, held it for me, her smile a blend of sugar and venom. "Call him again, Ivy. Maybe he'll answer for his poor little sister this time?"
A click. Then, his voice.
"Julian, please—"
"Not now, Ivy. I'm choosing our wedding rings."
The dial tone pierced the air. Harper struck the match.
Now, in the morgue's fluorescent glare, I see the blood drain from his face. The report trembles in his hand. Every measurement, every scar—they all whisper my name.
Oh, Julian. With every incision, you were reading my last words.
The killer is right beside you, already in her white dress.
As the city's star medical examiner, he recited his findings with detached precision. "Female, twenties. Evidence of controlled, prolonged burning prior to death." He had no idea he was cataloging my murder.
Three days earlier, in that same warehouse, I'd begged into my phone. His fiancée, Harper, held it for me, her smile a blend of sugar and venom. "Call him again, Ivy. Maybe he'll answer for his poor little sister this time?"
A click. Then, his voice.
"Julian, please—"
"Not now, Ivy. I'm choosing our wedding rings."
The dial tone pierced the air. Harper struck the match.
Now, in the morgue's fluorescent glare, I see the blood drain from his face. The report trembles in his hand. Every measurement, every scar—they all whisper my name.
Oh, Julian. With every incision, you were reading my last words.
The killer is right beside you, already in her white dress.















































