All Chapters of Until The Last Day: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Darkness engulfed Camela.She fell quickly, like the ground had vanished entirely. Air rushed past her ears, her dress tangled around her legs. Then—Bang.She landed on something soft, like a bed of moss. But the cold bit into her skin.Groaning, she pushed herself up. Her fingers sank into damp soil, which smelled of rot and something sweet, almost metallic.The darkness was incomplete. A dim green light pulsed from the walls. Or were they trees?She blinked and realized the walls were alive, faces shifting across them, stretching and pulling, whispering words she couldn’t hear.Camela stumbled back.“Where… am I?”Footsteps sounded behind her.Turning sharply, she called out, “Vincent?”He stood just beyond the green light, half-shadow, half-man. His shirt was open, blood splattered across his chest but not his blood.She shivered.“You fell farther than I expected,” he said.“What is this place?” Her voice cracked.He stepped closer. “A place beneath the veil. Where all things hid

The earth groaned. Cracks split the soil as the grave yawned wider. Camela stumbled backward, breath caught in her throat. Her dress snagged on a thorn, tearing at the hem. Vincent didn’t move.Something pale and wet pushed through the dirt. A hand. Thin. Mud-stained. The fingers twitched.Camela whispered, “Is that… is that human?”Vincent’s voice was quiet. Too quiet. “No, Camela. That is the truth.”The hand gripped the edge of the grave, followed by a second hand. Then, slick with soil and something darker, a woman’s head emerged.Camela clutched Vincent’s arm. “Who is she?”Vincent tilted his head like a curious animal. “Don’t you recognize her?”Camela shook her head quickly, her heartbeat pounding against her chest like a fist.The figure clawed her way out, slow and jerky, as if her bones remembered pain.Camela’s breath hitched. “She looks like me.”Vincent smiled without warmth. “She should. She wore your name not long ago.”The woman—no, a girl—lifted her face. Her eyes wer

“…Mama?”The word came out dry and fragile. Camela’s lips barely moved.Her mother. But older, harsher, eyes sharp like broken crystal.“Camela,” the woman whispered. “You’re finally here.”The woman’s veil shimmered like smoke. Her smile was soft—too soft, too familiar. But it wasn’t right, the eyes were too still. They didn’t match the mother she remembered.Camela staggered back, nearly tripping over the altar steps. The chapel’s candlelight flickered wildly, casting long shadows across the cracked floor tiles.“No,” she whispered. “That’s not possible.” “No… you can’t be—”“I’ve always been here. Just beneath the veil,” her mother said, her voice was a twisted echo of the bedtime stories she used to read. “Vincent said you’d come.”Her fingers twitched toward the rosary wrapped tightly around her wrist—red-blood colored beads.Camela’s breath came short. “This isn’t real. You’re dead. You died two years ago.”“You only buried a name,” her mother said softly, rising to her feet. “

Camela froze, her hand still pressed against the cold surface of the mirror where her name—Camela Castellano—had been carved into the glass, alongside dozens of others. The letters seemed to pulse now, as if mocking her.Her hand rested on the edge of the broken mirror, blood from her palm streaking the silver surface like a signature. Her heart slammed against her ribs.“Turn around,” he said softly. Not angry. Not loud. Which made it worse.She turned. Slowly.Vincent stood only a few feet away, dressed in black again, shirt sleeves rolled up, his eyes glittering like broken glass. He appeared like he was both inviting her to a dance and daring her to run.Camela swallowed. “What… What is this place?”Vincent didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to the mirror and placed his palm flat against it, right next to her name.“You found the wall of promises,” he said. “Each name… a debt paid. Some willingly. Some…” He tilted his head, “…less so.”Camela stepped back. “Is my name carved becaus

Camela struggled in the dark passage. The gloved hand covering her mouth was cold and unrelenting. She kicked and fought, but the narrow corridor gave her no room to move.“Stop!” a harsh whisper said. “Do you want him to hear?”She froze.The gloved hand slowly moved away from her mouth, and she sucked in air. “Who are you?” she asked.The shadowed figure squatted in front of her, concealing its face with a mask.“You need to leave. He knows you found the passage.”“Vincent?” she whispered.The figure nodded.“How do you know?”There was a pause. “Because he told me to watch you.”“Follow me,” the watcher instructed, crawling deeper into the narrow hallway.Camela hesitated. “No. I don’t even know who you are.”“You don’t have a choice.”Reluctantly, she followed. The air grew colder. She could sense more spaces beyond the walls—rooms she had never seen.“Where does this lead?” she whispered.“Everywhere,” the figure replied. “This house isn’t what it seems. There are tunnels behind