I felt myself stirring, my eyes fluttering open, but it was as if I were merely an observer within my own body—disconnected, distanced from the reality surrounding me. Slowly, I eased myself up, a wave of dizziness crashing over me as I took in my surroundings. The iron chains that had once bound me to the wall lay shattered on the floor.

As I scanned the chamber, chaos greeted me. Broken candles lay scattered, their wax pooling on the ground like a remnant of failed hope. My father's desk, split in two, held its contents strewn across the floor. The symbols he had etched in my blood were smeared across the jagged concrete surface of the platform, a testament to the madness that had unfolded.

Then, the sight of blood caught my eye—more than I remembered. It splattered across the walls, dripping from the broken desk, and even splashed onto the ceiling. Looking down, I found my once dirty brown dress soaked with it, the crimson staining my skin like guilt. My heart raced violently in my chest, cold dread washing over me.

What happened?

“Don’t be afraid,” a voice reverberated through my mind—Kako’s voice, attempting to lull me into a false sense of security. “I’ve honored my promise. Bad things happen to bad people, and sometimes, those bad things must be executed by good people.”

The weight of his words slammed into me, igniting a panic I couldn’t shake. I sprang to my feet, blood rushing to my head, threatening to topple me over as I frantically searched the chamber for my father.

I moved to the front of my father’s desk, and that’s when I noticed them—two bloodied legs jutting out from beneath the ruined wood. Trembling, I reached down, my hands shaking as I lifted a large piece of the debris. Beneath it lay the familiar silver hair, now matted and soaked in the red substance. An expression of shock was frozen on my father’s face, a stark contrast to his usual stoic mask.

What have I done?

“What we had to do,” Kako whispered in my ear.

Intense rage and terror surged through me as I realized I had lost control. My body, my actions—they were no longer my own.

“Get out of my head!” I screamed, pounding my fists against my temples, desperate to drive him from my thoughts. “Get out! Get out! GET OUT!”

Kako fell silent, but the weight of what I had done crashed down on me. Yes, I had hated my father. Yes, a part of me yearned for his end—but not like this. Not by my hand.

The King is going to kill me for this.

Panic gripped me as I tried to think of a solution, any solution. Should I hide him? Bury his body somewhere? I wasn’t strong enough for that. Maybe I could stage the scene to look like an accident—to make it seem as if no Mongrel had dared to commit a crime against one of the King’s puppets. No, that was too obvious…

I could burn it all and run.

Yes. That was my only option. I sprang up, rifling through the broken drawers of my father’s desk. My fingers finally found a match, and I swiftly moved to the center of the room, striking it against the concrete platform. The small flame flickered to life immediately, its glow chasing away the shadows. With a moment’s hesitation, I tossed it onto the bloody papers littering the ground near my father’s body.

Nothing happened. The flame extinguished almost as quickly as it flared to life.

Frustration ignited within me, mingling with my panic. With haste, I returned to the desk, searching for something—anything dry— to help start a fire. It wasn’t long before I spotted a piece of parchment used for the ritual, stubbornly remaining intact amidst the chaos. I snatched it up, rolling it tightly before striking another match against the concrete. Careful yet resolute, I approached my father’s lifeless form and ignited the corner of the paper, flames licking eagerly at the dry material.

I held my breath as the fire consumed the paper, the heat guiding its way to the splintered wood of the desk. The flames flickered and danced, revealing the remnants of a life now intertwined with darkness. Once the fire sparked and showed promise, I bolted from the chamber, fear propelling me forward as I dared not look back.

I didn’t think to change out of my blood-soaked, sweat-stained dress before setting the house ablaze—but at that moment, it was too late. As I burst outside, a heavy downpour welcomed me, a deluge that drenched my skin and mingled with the blood still staining my dress. The rain washed over me like a cleansing river, a stark contrast to the chaos I had just unleashed.

The sun dipped low on the horizon, signaling that curfew was approaching, and a sense of urgency burned in my chest. Thunder rumbled overhead as I ran barefoot through the muddy streets, pushing my body to its limits, desperate for escape.

Where do I go from here?

Frustration clawed inside me for my lack of planning. I glanced to my right, spotting a refuge in the thickening shadows of night. Past the row of dilapidated Mongrel houses stood a Weeping Willow tree, its branches cascading like a curtain of green silk. I dashed towards it, the cool rain mingling with the breathless heat of fear that still surged within me.

Climbing up into the tree’s embrace, I nestled myself among the drooping branches, their thick leaves providing solace and concealment. Maybe—just maybe—I could hide here forever, lost to the world but safe from the chaos I had created.

The harmonious sound of the downpour felt like a lullaby against the backdrop of my racing heart. Soon, however, the tranquility shattered with hurried footsteps splashing through puddles below. I curled tighter around a branch, heart pounding as I clutched the rough bark with trembling fingers, and below me was a familiar crown of blonde hair.

He must have seen me running here.

“Noemi?” a voice called out, filled with urgency—Serf Seraphiel. His silhouette emerged from the shadows, eyes scanning the ground as if searching for something lost. When he looked up, I caught the glint of recognition in his gaze.

“My goodness, child, are you alright?” he breathed, concern etching lines on his face as he approached, blonde curls catching raindrops like pearls.

A lump formed in my throat, making it impossible to speak. My body trembled from the adrenaline coursing through me, and I struggled to find the words. “I… I…”

He could see the blood staining my skin, the rain washing it away only to reveal more beneath. The weight of guilt settled heavily over me, pressing down like the branches above.

“Come down,” Serf commanded gently, looking around him to ensure no one else was nearby.

“I won’t go back!” I shouted, defiance surging as I imagined being dragged back to my father and the horror I had left behind.

He raised his hands in a calming gesture. “Hush, dear! You don’t have to go back yet. Just trust me.” He spoke softly, face serious but kind. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Please, come down.”

Reluctantly, I peeled myself off the branch, legs shaking as I climbed cautiously down to the ground. When my feet hit the sodden earth, I turned to face Serf Seraphiel. His eyes grew wide with concern, taking in my disheveled state. Without hesitation, he shed his long black coat and draped it over my shoulders, the warmth wrapping around me like a protective barrier.

“Let’s hurry back,” he urged, his voice steady amidst the chaos cascading around us.

“No… Please don’t make me go back there,” I murmured, fear creeping back into my heart as dark memories threatened to swallow me whole.

“Fire!” came a voice shrill with panic, cracking through the night’s veil. “Someone help!”

I quickly made eye contact with Serf Seraphiel, my wide eyes filled with fear. His gaze reflected confusion, and the guilt was written all over my face.

“Noemi, what happened?” he asked gently, concern etched into his features.

“Serf Seraphiel, I have to hide! I started that fire—I had to! Please…” I sputtered, urgency spilling from my lips.

Mongrels began to emerge from their homes, drawn by the plumes of black smoke rising ominously in the direction of my father’s house. Fortunately, it wasn’t close enough to threaten the other homes, but panic was already rippling through the streets as people rushed to extinguish the flames.

Serf quickly regained his composure, nodding sharply. “Explain it to me later.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and lifted the collar of his coat over my head, shielding me as best as he could. “Let’s hurry.”

We walked purposefully towards the place I once held dear—the house that cradled some of my happiest memories but was now tainted with the weight of my reality. As we rushed inside, I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in so long.

“Dad?” Cyrus called out, his familiar figure rounding the corner. His brows furrowed as he took in my disheveled appearance. “What’s going on? What’s all the noise outside?”

“Get her a bath and some clean clothes immediately,” Serf ordered, gesturing for Cyrus to go. “Hurry, son!”

Cyrus nodded and dashed off to fill the tub. My body trembled, the adrenaline still coursing through me as Serf Seraphiel led me to the dining table. He gently pulled out a chair, and I sank into it, feeling the weight of my exhaustion.

“Tell me everything you can,” he stated, his tone unwavering.

“I—I think I killed my father…” I whispered, realization dawning heavy in my chest. Tears flooded my eyes, spilling over as the truth hit me like a tidal wave. “He was trying to perform witchcraft on me—I don’t know what happened, and then... then I woke up, and he was just dead.”

Serf Seraphiel’s expression shifted, his features hardening as he held up his palm to stop my torrent of words. He needed a moment to process the severity of what I had said. Soon, Cyrus rushed back into the room, holding a small handful of clothes and a clean rag.

“I did what you said, Dad. Here are her clothes—I’m not sure if they’ll fit, but I went through the box of Mom’s old clothes and—” He faltered, suddenly noticing my appearance. His eyes locked onto mine for a moment. “What’s up with your eye, Nemmi?”

Confusion washed over me.

What is he talking about? Me, crying? Is that really what he’s worried about right now?

“Cyrus,” Serf said calmly, urgency creeping into his voice. “Let her wash the blood off first and change. We can get the full story later.” He stood up, walking to the door. “Noemi, wash up quickly. When you’re done, leave the clothes in the tub. I’ll take care of them after I help with the fire.”

“Fire?” Cyrus exclaimed, shock etching deep lines on his face.

Ignoring him, I stood, preparing to take off the coat that had been a small comfort until now. The moment I pulled the heavy material off my shoulders to hand it back to Cy’s father, I noticed both Serf Serahpiel and Cyrus had locked their gazes on my arms.

When I held out the coat, I understood why. My wounds and bruises were glaringly visible in the dim light.

Serf Seraphiel gripped the fabric, and a profound sadness settled into his eyes. “Cyrus,” he called to his son, turning toward the door. “After she’s cleaned up, heal her wounds.” He glanced back at him, his voice firm. “Discreetly.”

Cyrus’s expression shifted to one of understanding, nodding resolutely. “I promise I’ll be discreet.”

After bathing and dressing, I placed the bloodied outfit inside the tub. I hadn’t realized the extent of my injuries until I scrubbed my skin, the sting of my cuts forcing me to wince. Each bruise was just as painful, a persistent reminder of what had transpired. Some of them were fresh, others in various stages of the healing process.

When I finished cleaning up, I stepped in front of the timeworn mirror in the bathroom to comb my hair.

That’s when I noticed it—Cyrus's question about my eye. My left eye, above my angelic mark, still retained its normal silver hue... but the silver in my right eye had transformed into a bright, blood-red color.