Bizarre Short Stories & Independence Superpowers Novels

My grandmother only knows how to draw one thing—infants. They're ugly, but people line up to buy the paintings. I watch as she takes those women into unlit rooms. Then, their bloodcurdling screams will ring out. Oddly enough, they always thank my grandmother when they're leaving. One day, I finally find out what exactly my grandmother paints. I discover the truth when I see an infant crawl out of one of the women's bellies—it looks just like the one my grandmother has painted.

In my previous life, I was born at the stroke of a cold, pitch-black midnight on New Year's Day, an omen the old town whispered about. They called me a Deathbringer's child, destined to guide the souls of the stillborn to rest. From the age of six, I carried small coffins alone to the graveyard by the church, burying them in silence. Each time, when I reached into the velvet shroud that wrapped the tiny casket, I would find a golden coin resting inside. My mother sold those coins for money, buying my brother a grand mansion, while leaving me behind in the crumbling family house to keep doing the work. No one expected the world of Haunts to descend. However, those coins turned out to be tokens of command, keys that bound the Haunts of the apocalypse to my will. With them, I became the Empress of the End, feared by all, ruling with every resource at my command.

I set fire to my painting in front of the entire academy. Thunderous applause erupts from the crowd as everyone thinks it's some kind of performance art. Unlike them, Willow Laurent is distraught. She rushes up and grabs my hand, questioning in a shrill voice, "Cassidy Seymour, have you gone mad? This is your only chance to prove yourself!" I shake her hand off me coldly. My only chance? No… What she means is that it's her chance. In my past life, I created this masterpiece with all my heart and soul. But she stole it from me and submitted it as her entry first. Whether it was the composition, the colors, or even my original dot-stippling technique… She replicated every detail flawlessly. Then, she won the National Young Artists Gold Award, signed with a top gallery, and became a rising star. And what about me? I was condemned as a shameless plagiarist. Insults and curses gradually drowned me. "You shouldn't be an artist!" "Plagiarists are scum! They should just die!" Her fans stormed into my studio, smashed my art supplies, and broke my right hand. As I saw no end to the hell that I was living in, I jumped down from the top floor of my studio. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the very day she first accuses me of plagiarism.