"Wow…" he muttered beneath his breath, his gaze moving from face to figure, shape to presence. "Are they... all from this village?"
Her silence was her answer. She didn't nod. Didn't blink. She simply endured.
The petals started to fall—not from trees moved by wind, but from a stillness thick with tension. Pale lavender blossoms drifted around them like a soft funeral rain. The road curved toward a towering black wooden door, silent and featureless. No handle. No inscription. Just an ominous slab of wood—watching.
He furrowed his brow. "How does one open... something like that?"
Before she could answer, a voice broke the world in half.
"What are you doing here?"
It wasn't just sound. It was rusted sound—drenched in old alcohol and seared meat, seasoned with decay. It rolled from the shadows beneath the towering door, slinking from the mouth of a crooked hut.
The man who emerged reeked of vinegar and vengeance. His frame was thick, bloated by years of drink, yet dangerous.
The kind of man who had once known power... and now fed on its corpse.
She froze.
He stepped forward. The sun touched his face. And that's when she saw it—the ghost beneath the flesh.
Her uncle.
Eva tried to back away, breath caught in a silent scream—but her heel landed on his toes. He winced.
Still, he didn't move.
Instead, his hand reached for her waist, steadying her like a gentleman anchoring a crumbling star. A gesture that said: You will not fall. Not while I am here.
He leaned close. "Why are you afraid of him?"
She couldn't speak.
Tears flooded her eyes. Not from pain—from memory.
The voice.
The smell.
The way the man's body staggered like a monster in a child's nightmare.
It all rose again. The helplessness. The silence. The shame.
Her legs screamed to run.
But his grip held her like a tether to this world. He wasn't just her master. He was her shield.
The uncle stepped closer, voice rising like bile in the throat. "Weren't you the one who was banished?"
He spit—literally—onto the dirt, the glob landing with a cruel slap.
"Your presence alone is a curse. Who in their right mind would take in this filthy girl? I pity the fool who does."
The insult sliced through her, each syllable like glass under the skin. Tears flowed. Heavy. Free. Her silence screamed the loudest.
Then, like a serpent ready to strike again, the man turned toward him.
"And who the hell are you?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The uncle struck.
A punch—quick, seasoned, aimed with the venom of someone who'd knocked out teeth before.
But it never landed.
It was caught mid-air, as if by time itself.
His fingers curled around the man's fist—tight, casual, lethal.
The wind shifted. The earth paused. Even the air held its breath.
He saw it.
His face drained of all color, as if death had touched him first. His lips parted but made no sound—only a breathless wheeze, too shallow to fill his lungs. His eyes froze, locked on the figure ahead, wide and unblinking. A horror too old to name surged to the surface.
He took a step back—just one—but it was enough. His legs collapsed beneath him. He hit the ground hard, arms splayed, mouth agape in silent panic. He didn't try to rise. He trembled where he lay, like something inside him had shattered completely. A body still breathing, but a mind frayed and gone.
"Please…" he whispered. "Please… no…"
The words were limp, begging without form. His hands lifted—not to fight, but to ward off a ghost. They hovered in the air, fingers twitching in surrender, as though trying to stop a shadow from falling across his skin.
There was no pride left in him. No fury. Just a man unraveling in real time.
Eva tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face—then, recognition.
Ah. Of course.
He had once stood tall over her, sneering as he dragged her innocence into silence, convinced that no one would ever believe a girl too young to even understand what was being taken from her. He had used her, erased her, rewritten the story in his favor. She remembered his breath, the weight of him, the lies. His mockery had stained her bones.
But now… now he was nothing more than a heap on the floor, trembling before her like a cornered rat.
A smile crept onto her face. Not out of joy—something darker. Something earned.
He whimpered and crawled backward, scraping his palms against the wooden floor. One hand slapped against a nearby doorframe, and the hinges groaned as it swung open. The sound wasn't loud—but something inside the walls responded. A high-pitched whine echoed out, metallic and tense, like a string being drawn back too far.
It sent a shiver through the house. Even the plaster seemed to twitch.
Through the open doorway, daylight spilled in—too bright, too perfect. Children ran across a lush green field beyond the house, their laughter jarring against the ugliness unfolding within. A dog barked, tail wagging in the distance. Flower beds stood arranged with agonizing care, like a paradise that refused to admit a crime had ever taken place inside.
Eva stepped across the threshold. Her boss followed, silent as ever. But just three steps in, something shifted in the air.
She froze.
Her breath caught mid-inhale, a wave of cold rolling across her skin. Her eyes locked onto a corner of the house—the same corner where it had happened. The peeling paint. The cracked tiles. Time hadn't touched it.
Neither had she.
The smell came first. Then the memory. And then the ache.
Her knees threatened to fold. Her chest locked tight. The scream buried inside her reached the back of her throat but refused to rise.
He saw her falter. His hand brushed hers—a gentle, grounding touch. His gaze tracked hers to the corner of the wall. And he understood. Not the memory, not the pain itself, but the shift in her breathing, the silent quake running through her.
Then he noticed it: something dragging across the floor.
At first, it looked like fabric—maybe an old sheet, maybe a robe. Dirty, tattered, smeared with something that resembled dried saliva or something far worse. It moved slowly, lazily, like it was being pulled by something they couldn't see.
It slid past the base of a pillar—an ugly, splintered thing carved out of raw wood. Its surface was jagged and worn, covered in etchings. Symbols. Names. Scars. A timeline carved in agony.
From where he stood, the markings were impossible to read.
But Eva saw everything.
Her smile vanished.
Her face didn't contort or collapse—but it changed. Her eyes didn't cry, but they trembled with something too ancient for tears. She stood completely still, clutching the small wrapped box in her hand as if it were the last piece of her she still owned.
He leaned in.
"Don't worry," he whispered. "Let's give them the gift… and then we leave. I can tell. Breathing here hurts."
She nodded—barely. Her grip tightened. Her chest rose once, twice. Her heart, though fragile, began to beat again.
But the room was changing.