The air at home had turned suffocating.
My parents stopped forcing me or scolding me, but their eyes betrayed too many emotions. Guilt and fear intertwined with helpless confusion.
Luna Roscente trembled like a frightened rabbit, either locking herself in her room or clinging to Liam Anderson's shadow. Her tearful eyes always managed to display just the right amount of fragility.
Liam, caught in the middle, grew more tense by the day. His expression darkened steadily.
Yet, I remained unexpectedly calm.
No more outbursts. I simply ate on schedule, slept quietly, and occasionally flipped through a book—like a proper young lady from an elite family.
This eerie tranquility only heightened everyone's unease.
They were all waiting for the ticking time bomb inside me to explode again.
Late at night, a nightmare jolted me awake.
I was back in that village, standing beside the ancient well.
The bottomless pit held the hen I had strangled, floating on the water's surface. Its clouded eyes stared relentlessly at me.
The water suddenly churned. Countless icy hands reached up, dragging me toward the abyss.
"Don't touch me..."
I thrashed in my sleep, drenched in cold sweat.
"So cold..."
The door creaked open softly.
My mother stood in the doorway.
Perhaps she had heard my whimpers while getting up.
She paused by my bed, watching silently as I writhed in torment.
Moonlight seeped through the curtains, illuminating the tear tracks on her face.
In that moment, I wasn't the little demon who had slaughtered livestock, burned pigsties, or poisoned an entire village.
Just a wounded girl trembling in the dark.
Her heart ached violently.
She reached out to touch my forehead but hesitated mid-air.
Afraid to wake me—or worse, the unfamiliar "monster" lurking inside.
She stood there until dawn.
By sunrise, my breathing had finally steadied.
When I woke, a glass of warm milk and my childhood doll sat on the nightstand.
I knew she had been here.
This silent peace offering made me sick.
Five years of torment couldn't be erased with a glass of milk.
I carried the milk to the bathroom and poured it down the drain without hesitation.
Then I picked up the doll.
With a small fruit knife, I began slicing it apart—piece by piece.