9
616words
Those netizens who had once cyberbullied me also faced their due consequences.
One netizen even organized a large-scale public apology, expressing deep remorse for their uninformed criticism.
As time passed, my reputation was finally restored.
That shocking video of the statue cracking spread widely online. People were in awe of my artistic genius, and even museums expressed interest in restoring my sculpture.
My name was etched into history with bold strokes, remembered as an artist.
I gained many fans who spontaneously held a funeral for me, mourning the passing of an artist.
The day of the funeral finally arrived.
Those who had wronged me now gathered here, their faces etched with regret.
My parents wept silently, past arguments transformed into endless remorse.
Those I had once considered friends hung their heads, trembling.
Amelia came too, dressed in black, holding a bouquet of white daisies.
Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, bandages still visible on her.
Clearly, she was badly injured.
I instinctively reached out to touch her.
But my hand passed right through her.
Amelia, this kind of bone-deep, soul-crushing pain... I've felt it deeper than you ever could.
As she walked out of the funeral home, her phone suddenly buzzed with a notification.
It was a scheduled message from me, for her eyes only.
Just a single image， that sketchbook I never got to give her, filled with all the unspoken emotions between the lines. And one sentence， "I loved you."
Amelia froze on the spot, looking like her soul had been ripped out.
Her spirit shattered completely. She turned and ran back into the funeral home, back to my coffin.
By now, almost everyone had left.
Amelia knelt before my coffin and kowtowed three times, the impacts heavy and loud.
She didn't speak. She didn't cry.
Outside, the wind howled, sounding like broken, intermittent sobs.
And my spirit, hovering high above, smiled with relief.
I don't blame her anymore.
Even though I've left this world, my art and my emotions will live on here eternally.
As my name was gradually cleared, those who fought for my justice began to turn their anger towards Amelia, seeing her as the main catalyst for my tragedy.
Suddenly, the internet was flooded with attacks and vitriol aimed at her. Some even labeled her a "murderer,"
demanding to know why the police hadn't arrested her too.
Amelia, in the end, couldn't bear the internal torment and the immense social pressure.
She chose to end her own life.
I found the suicide note she left behind.
In it, she wrote，
"I'm sorry, I can't go on. I dream of Vincent every day. I live in constant remorse. Let me go to him. Let me tell him I'm sorry, in person."
Reading this letter, complex emotions churned within me.
"Vincent!"
I read the letter, my heart a storm of conflicting feelings.
Across the boundary of life and death, her figure appeared.
Tear stains marked her face.
"I've finally... found you again."
My former obsessions had vanished with the wind, yet I found I couldn't forgive.
Looking at her, my heart felt like it was being sliced apart.
Her eyes pleaded, her voice trembling， "Can you ever forgive me?"
I slowly shook my head, feeling myself gradually dissipate, as if pushed away from this world by an invisible force.
I shook my head, fading away.
"Next life... I'll be okay."
Amelia's soul would be trapped by this deep regret and guilt, forever bound to this world, unable to move on.
But I had broken free from the shackles of the plot, stepping towards a new future.
