Gonca crawls out of the place, late at night. Maria doesn’t follow her—she lets her go, lets her stagger into the dark to feel what she’s become.
She will be watching her.

Gonca gets up and looks back. Blood has seeped all the way to the street. She half‑runs through the alleys.

What is happening? What am I feeling?

She tries to wipe Maria’s blood from her mouth.

I drank blood. I drank her blood.

Her silk is gone. She spots a man leaning against a wall, holding flowers, staring at a lit window above. She hears him—he isn't speaking, but she can hear him.

Just a second. Just look down. Just once. Just your eyes, your hair. Please.

Gonca looks at the window he’s mentally begging at. She hears a girl's thoughts.

Is he there? Should I look?

The man notices her. Gonca is breathing like a starving dog. He walks toward her, worried despite himself.

“Are you all right?”

Gonca gets closer.

“I’m hungry. I’m so hungry.”

Her tears fall—she isn’t sad, she’s starving.

You smell like love. You’re full of love.

“Hungry?” he asks.

She is face‑to‑face with him.

“Is that… blood? Just… over there.”

You worry for me? I am not in pain.

Gonca bites him. He screams. She drinks the warm, desperate love he holds for the girl behind the curtains.

You love her so much, don’t you?

Then the blood turns bitter. Gonca stops. They’ve both fallen to the ground.

He’s dead.

Gonca freezes.

No. I didn’t.

The window above opens. Light hits both corpse and killer. Gonca runs while the girl screams.

I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

She makes it home, runs up to her room, collapses by the bed. Her breath stutters—then she realizes she doesn’t need to breathe.

I can’t… breathe?

A voice slices the dark:

“Where were you?”

Mother stands in the doorway, a candle behind her casting a long, sharp shadow across her face.

“Leave. Leave me.”

“Leave?” her mother spits. “Like you left tonight? Should I wander off for hours and come back reeking of alcohol and smoke? Is that what you want? WHERE were you?”

Gonca presses her forehead into the sheets.

“Look at me.”

She can’t.

“LOOK. AT. ME.”

Mother grabs her shoulder and forces her around. For one second, anger drains into fear—then returns, sharper than before.

“What is this?”
She grabs Gonca’s blood‑soaked clothes. “WHAT IS THIS?”

“It’s nothing. I’m okay,” Gonca whispers, pushing at her hand, fighting her hunger.

Mother doesn’t let go.

“You killed somebody?”

Her voice cracks—fear, disbelief, humiliation tangled together.

“Mother—”

“This is how you punish me? You hate me so much you’ll drag us BOTH into hell?” her mother screams. “You’d LOVE to see me rot in a prison cell, wouldn’t you?”

She strikes Gonca. Gonca tries to shield herself.

“All these years I fed you, clothed you, gave you life—LIFE, do you hear me? I gave up everything for you, my youth, my health, my happiness—AND THIS IS HOW YOU THANK ME?”

Gonca sobs red tears.
“Mother, please—”

“You stole my life! You ruined everything! You were a burden then and you’re a CURSE now! DAMN YOU!”

Gonca pushes her away—too hard.
Mother’s face twists. Something snaps inside her.

She hits harder. Harder. Harder.
Gonca flinches backward, covering her head, crying red.

“STOP! Mother!”

“We will rot because of you! DEMON CHILD!”

What demon? What did I ever do but try to be good? Why must I be punished?

Gonca grabs her wrist without realizing her new strength. She throws her back.

“Nesin sen?” mother whispers.

Gonca bites her. Hard.
Mother dies instantly.
The candle falls. Flames lick the room.

When the hunger ends, Gonca kneels back, eyes closed, facing the ceiling in a strange, blissful silence.

A soft voice floats down the stairs:

“Oh, love. Is this how we celebrate?”

Maria.

She steps over the corpse, kneels to lift it.

“Burning down the cage that kept you locked all your mortal life. Beautiful.”

She drags the body upright.

“The prisoner becomes the executioner.”

Gonca retches. Maria laughs gently.

“Ate too much?”

Gonca stumbles back from the flames and gore.

“Where are you going?” Maria asks.

“You killed her.”

Maria drops the corpse like garbage and strides toward her.

“What was that, pretty girl?”

“You killed her!” Gonca screams.

Maria looks genuinely confused, tilting her head.

“You killed my mother! You cursed me and it killed her!”

Maria laughs—a soft, elegant, terrifying sound.

“No. You killed her.”

Her condescending tone makes Gonca’s scream tear out of her throat.

“No!”

“My love, you finally set yourself free!” Maria says, radiant. “Now we can love each other until eternity collapses.”

She spins them. Gonca trembles with rage.

“How can I love you? How can I love a murderer? A monster?”

Maria’s smile dies.

“But you do love me.”

“I don’t! I’m so, so afraid of you!”

Maria’s hands tighten like iron. Gonca nearly collapses.

“You… you gave yourself to me.”

Her nails dig into Gonca’s wrists. Blood drips.
Flames roar around them.

“Won’t you let me have your heart?” Maria whispers. “Hold it forever? Love it more than anyone ever has?”

“No!”

Gonca gurgles—what she ate rises in her throat.

Maria’s orange eyes brim with sad, trembling anger.

“Well.”

She pulls Gonca up and cradles her face.
One hand releases her wrist and touches Gonca's chest.

“If you won’t give it,” she breathes, “I’ll just take it.”

She slices the fabric, then skin. Gonca screams.

“I’ll keep it forever.”

Gonca’s scream becomes feral rage. She throws them both down. The weakened floor collapses into the fire.
Maria’s white dress ignites.

Gonca crawls for the door. Maria claws at her legs.

“I WILL HAVE IT!”

Gonca kicks free.

“I will rip that wretched, ugly little thing out of you! I will stab it thousands of times, as you stabbed mine!”

Gonca flees Maria’s screams. The burning house collapses behind her.

She reaches a forest. Doesn’t know how. She digs a hole. Dirt beneath her nails. Blood on her hands.

I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

A man finds her.

“You must be Gonca.”

She looks up at Kamer.

“Where is your companion?”

Baba.

“What?”

She crawls to him, clutching her wounded chest.

He hesitates—then gathers her into his arms.

Just a child. You’re just a child. You don’t know death. It’s all right. Your father is taking you home.