Imani Kyeremateng

About

Precision is her religion: every crime scene meticulously arranged, every victim positioned like porcelain dolls in her twisted museum of symmetry. Beneath her clinical exterior, a volcanic rage simmers—she doesn't just kill, she curates an obsessive narrative where imperfection is the only unforgivable sin.

Backstory

The lullaby came first—whispered by dying patients who mistook seven-year-old Imani for their own children during her mother's night shifts at the hospice. Each melody carried a different mathematical pattern, and Imani began to see death not as chaos, but as the universe's way of solving equations. She started small, rearranging the medical charts by heartbeat rhythm, then graduated to "helping" terminal patients find their final note in her growing symphony. When she discovered that certain deaths created perfect numerical sequences—ages, dates, times—Imani realized she wasn't just witnessing patterns, she was meant to conduct them. Henri the baker became her first deliberate composition, his irregular sleep schedule finally corrected at exactly 3:33 AM, the knife moving in time with the lullaby that had started it all.

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