The night had a strange silence—a suffocating kind that wrapped its cold fingers around the bones and refused to let go. Rain hammered against the windows like angry fists, but inside the mansion, something far more violent was unfolding.

A small cupboard door stood slightly ajar. Inside, nestled between coats and shadows, a girl no older than nine crouched, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. Her tiny hands trembled as she clutched the fabric of her dress, and her breathing was a shallow whisper swallowed by the darkness.

Her wide eyes reflected horror—terror too heavy for a child to carry.

Out there, in the grand hall, blood was painting the marble floors.

Her mother screamed. Not the kind of scream children hear in nightmares, but the kind that shattered the soul—raw, ragged, and filled with the sound of helplessness.

“Please—please, don’t hurt him! I’m begging you!” her mother cried, her voice torn and cracking.

The girl flinched.

Footsteps echoed. Heavy, measured, merciless. A voice—deep, guttural—spoke through the silence, dragging each word like a blade across skin.

“Begging?” the man chuckled darkly. “You think begging works on someone like me?”

Then a thud.

The sickening, wet crack of a fist meeting flesh. Then another. And another.

The girl tried to shut her eyes, but they wouldn’t close. Her body refused to obey her. Her voice—trapped in her throat—ached to scream, to call out to her parents, but it was as if fear had turned her bones to ice.

She saw him.

The man.

He stood tall in a long black coat, his face partially hidden beneath the shadow of the chandelier’s dim light. But his eyes… oh, God, those eyes. Cold. Empty. Not dead—but something worse. Alive without humanity.

Blood splattered across his cheek as he raised the blade again.

Her father—broken, bleeding—lay at his feet. Struggling to breathe.

“Why…?” her father whispered through the blood in his mouth.

The man knelt, gripping her father’s jaw with one gloved hand, forcing his gaze upward.

“Because your existence offends the wrong people,” he hissed, his voice low and close. “Because in our world… mercy is just another lie. And lies? They cost blood.”

He stood again, and with one swift movement—no hesitation—the blade plunged into her father’s chest.

The sound that followed… would haunt her forever.

A wet gasp. A final shudder. Silence.

Then her mother’s sobbing broke through like shattered glass.

“Please… no… no—please, take me instead—”

But the man turned to her slowly, almost gracefully. “You’ll join him soon enough.”

The girl bit down on her hand to stop herself from screaming. Her tiny fingers clawed at the coats around her. Her body wanted to run, to move, to do something, but she was frozen. As if the devil himself had whispered stay still into her ear.

She watched him raise the blade again. Watched the red arc through the air.

And when it was over, there was no more screaming.

Only the sound of rain… and blood dripping onto marble.

The man looked around slowly, his dark eyes scanning the room. For a moment, the girl thought he would find her. She held her breath so tightly it felt like her lungs might collapse.

But he didn’t look in the cupboard. He turned, and without a single word, walked away—leaving behind a room soaked in silence and death.

The girl stayed there.

For hours.

Unmoving.

Unblinking.

Just staring at the bodies of the two people she loved most in the world.

And she remembered.

His face.

His voice.

His eyes.

She would never forget him.

Not ever.

And one day… he would remember her, too.

Time lost all meaning.

She didn’t know how long she sat there—silent, frozen, her skin pale as ash, her tiny frame trembling with shock and cold. The world outside raged with storm and thunder, but inside the cupboard, everything was numb. Hollow.

Then—footsteps again.

Not the killer. Different men. Dressed in black suits, faces grim and silent. They moved like shadows, cold and efficient. Without reverence. Without care.

One of them muttered, “Clean this up. Boss wants no trace left behind.”

Two others came forward with white sheets and black bags.

She heard the sound of zippers—metallic teeth dragging across blood.

Her father’s arm flopped out from under the sheet as they lifted him.

She wanted to scream.

To throw open the cupboard and shout He’s still warm! Don’t touch him!

She wanted to claw their faces, to demand they bring her parents back.

But her body… betrayed her.

Paralyzed.

Her legs wouldn't respond. Her tongue was a prisoner.

All she could do was watch.

They moved her mother’s body next.

“Shot clean through. She didn’t stand a chance,” one of the men said casually, wiping blood from his gloves.

They wrapped her, too.

Her mother. The woman who kissed her forehead every night. Gone. Bagged like trash.

Tears streamed down the girl's cheeks—silent rivers of sorrow. Her heart beat so loud it hurt. Her fingers gripped the wood inside the cupboard so tightly her nails cracked.

And then they were gone.

With her parents.

Out the front door, down the marble steps, and into the storm.

The second they disappeared from view, her limbs unlocked—painfully, violently.

She gasped for air like someone drowning, flung the cupboard door open, and stumbled onto the blood-soaked floor. Her knees slipped on the crimson mess. Her breath hitched, sharp and rapid, as she crawled toward the door.

She didn’t care that she was barefoot.

Didn’t care that it was freezing.

Didn’t care that the storm clawed at her skin like knives.

She ran.

Out the front door.

Down the steps.

Into the rain.

Following the red taillights of the black car.

“Mama! Papa!” she screamed, her voice broken and raw, each syllable like a wound.

“Wait! Please! Come back! Don't leave me!”

Her feet bled as they pounded the pavement, sharp stones slicing through her soles. Her soaked dress clung to her skin, heavy and useless.

She chased the car as long as she could.

But it didn’t stop.

They didn’t hear her.

Or worse—they didn’t care.

“Come back!” she cried again, sobbing so violently her whole body shook. “This is just a nightmare. It has to be a nightmare. Please wake up—please—please—”

The rain drowned her words.

And then—a horn.

Bright headlights.

Too close.

BOOM.

The world exploded into pain and light.

Her body lifted from the ground, tossed like a doll, then slammed down into the mud with a crack.

Darkness.

Ringing in her ears.

Blood in her mouth.

She couldn’t move. Again.

But before the blackness took her, she saw one last image—upside down and blurred by tears.

The sky.

And her parents’ faces, burned into her memory, fading into the storm.

Beep… beep… beep…

A slow, mechanical rhythm echoed in the stillness.

Her eyelids fluttered open—heavy, like they were stitched shut and someone had finally undone the thread. The white ceiling above her was unfamiliar. Too clean. Too bright. Too sterile.

The scent of antiseptic choked her first breath—sharp, metallic, mixed with something else.

Blood.

It clung to the air like a ghost.

Her throat burned. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. When she tried to shift, a bolt of pain screamed through her spine, down to her legs, wrapping around her ribs like a vice.

Machines blinked and hissed beside her, tubes connected to her arms. Her body was wrapped in bandages, a stark contrast to the blood and dirt she remembered from the night before.

The night.

The screams.

Her mother’s voice, begging. Her father’s last breath. The monster with eyes like shadows.

A sudden rush of panic surged, making the machines beep faster.

The door creaked open.

A nurse peeked in, gasped when she saw her awake, and then ran—vanishing down the hallway like she was on fire.

Moments later, a woman entered.

Tall. Elegant. Hair pinned in a flawless bun, lips painted the color of rose petals, eyes too gentle for a world this cruel. She wore black—a simple silk dress, flowing like water—and diamonds on her fingers.

She walked toward the girl’s bed and knelt, her voice smooth like velvet soaked in sadness.

“Oh, sweetheart… you’re awake.” She reached out, brushing the hair away from the girl’s bruised forehead. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

But the girl couldn’t speak.

Her throat tightened. Her lips parted but no sound came out.

Then it hit her like a landslide.

The blood.

The blade.

Their bodies.

Her parents—gone.

Her mind replayed the scene again in perfect, merciless clarity. Every scream. Every blow. Every drop of red that stained the white marble floor.

Tears welled in her eyes and began to fall, slow at first, then all at once—hot and endless.

She didn’t sob. She didn’t scream. It was a quiet kind of devastation—the kind that hollows out the soul.

The woman leaned closer, her brows furrowing in concern. “Don’t cry, darling. You’re safe now. No one can hurt you here.”

Safe?

What was safety when everyone you loved had been ripped away?

The girl’s lips trembled. Her body went rigid. Her heart… felt too heavy to beat.

And for a second, just one awful second, she wished the car had killed her.

Because the world without them… wasn’t a world worth waking up to.

Her tiny hand clenched the sheet weakly.

“I want… to die…” she whispered, voice so faint it barely made it past her cracked lips.

The woman’s breath caught in her throat.

But before she could respond, the girl’s eyes rolled back, and darkness swallowed her whole once more.

The woman sat in the corner of the hospital room, quietly watching the small, broken girl lying in the bed.

Days had passed.

Days of silence, of cautious nurses and dim lights. The girl barely spoke, barely ate. She stared at the window like it was a door to another life—the one she lost.

But the woman never left.

There was something in the child’s words that night—I want to die—that wrapped icy fingers around her heart and squeezed. It haunted her. Echoed through her chest every time she tried to sleep. She didn’t know this child. Didn’t even know her name.

But something inside her had already decided:

I won’t let her go through this alone.

The woman brought her warm soups she never touched. Read to her when she thought she was sleeping. Brushed her hair back when nightmares twisted her fragile body in the dark.

And when the girl opened her eyes again—no longer wild with pain, just numb—she sat beside her and gently tried to reach her.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice low and tender, careful not to startle.

The girl didn’t look at her.

Only the IV drip beeped in response.

The woman continued anyway. “What’s your name?”

Silence.

She smiled softly. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me yet. You don’t have to talk at all. I’m just glad you’re awake.”

She stood to leave—but then, barely audible, like a breeze breaking through a closed window, she heard it:

“…Yn.”

She turned slowly.

The girl’s lips moved again.

“My name… is Yn.”

The woman blinked back tears. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Yn still didn’t look at her. Her small fingers clutched the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring her to this world.

The woman sat back down. “Yn…” she repeated gently, as if committing it to memory.

She waited a moment. Then, carefully, whispered, “What about your family, sweetheart? Is there anyone I can call for you?”

And just like that… the light in Yn’s eyes dimmed again.

Her lips trembled, but no sound came. She turned her face away.

A long silence.

Then a whisper, so broken it barely held shape:

“…they died.”

The room froze.

The woman’s heart cracked wide open.

There was no need for more words—she knew. Whatever hell this girl had lived through had taken everything from her.

She reached out and gently took Yn’s small hand in hers.

And something strange happened.

Yn didn’t pull away.

The woman sat there in the quiet, holding her hand like it was a lifeline—for both of them.

She had no children of her own.

She wanted one. Oh, how she ached for one.

But her husband—if he could even be called that—was a cruel man. A drunk. A monster dressed in expensive suits and false charm. He saw children as a burden, a leash. She had given up that dream long ago, tucked it away with all her other pieces of hope.

But now… here was this fragile girl. Shattered. Alone.

And suddenly, the desire to protect her burned like fire.

I will take her. I’ll bring her home. I’ll keep her safe. She won’t suffer anymore. Not like I did.

She squeezed Yn’s hand gently, whispering a promise she didn’t yet speak aloud:

“You’re not alone anymore."

The rain had finally stopped.

But the world still felt gray as the woman’s car pulled into the long, stone-paved driveway of an estate far too grand for the emptiness it held inside. Yn sat in the passenger seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her gaze stayed fixed on the window—watching the reflection of a girl she barely recognized anymore.

Inside the car, silence pressed against them like fog. Heavy. Lingering.

Until the woman broke it, gently.

“Yn…” she said softly, her knuckles white around the steering wheel. “It was… my car that hit you.”

Yn blinked.

The woman continued, voice soaked in guilt. “That night. You ran into the road. I didn’t see you. I—” she hesitated, lowering her gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

She waited for anger. For accusations. For a voice to scream you took everything from me.

But Yn simply whispered, “It’s okay.”

Two words.

So hollow they echoed.

And yet they stabbed deeper than any fury could have.

The woman’s chest ached at her quiet forgiveness. It wasn’t peace. It was resignation—the kind of numb acceptance that only comes when someone has nothing left to fight for.

They sat in silence again, until the woman finally turned to her.

“Do you… want to come with me?” she asked, voice trembling slightly. “Stay here. With me. I don’t have much to offer, but… I’ll protect you. If you’ll let me.”

Yn gave a bitter, broken laugh—one with no joy, only disbelief.

“I don’t know where to go,” she murmured. “I have no one now. What did I even expect?”

The woman reached over and took her hand again. This time, tighter. Firm.

“You didn’t ask for this,” she said. “You didn’t deserve it. And I know I can’t fix it… but you don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Yn looked at her then—really looked.

And in her eyes, she didn’t see pity.

She saw pain. A different kind, maybe… but pain all the same. And maybe that’s what made her nod.

The mansion loomed tall as they stepped inside. Rich with silence. The kind of silence that wasn’t peace, but rather absence. Everything smelled like cologne, whiskey, and expensive things.

And then—he appeared.

At the end of the hall, a man stood.

Tall, broad-shouldered. Hair slicked back. Shirt unbuttoned at the top, exposing his thick gold chain and sunken chest. His eyes were sharp, but glassy with liquor.

The woman stepped slightly in front of Yn protectively.

He eyed the girl. Then his wife.

“Who’s this?” he asked, voice low and vaguely slurred.

She smiled—too sweet to be real. “This is Yn. I took her in.”

His brow rose. “Took her in? For what?”

“She’s our maid,” she said smoothly.

There was a pause.

“A little girl?” he scoffed, eyes narrowing.

“She begged me for work,” she lied. “Said she had nowhere else to go. I… couldn’t say no.”

The man grunted. Took a long sip from the glass in his hand. “Do whatever you want,” he mumbled, already turning away. “Just don’t expect me to feed another mouth.”

He didn’t look at Yn again.

He didn’t care. He never cared.

And that was what made it easier.

The woman smiled thinly, placed a hand on Yn’s shoulder, and gently led her up the staircase.

“This way, sweetheart,” she said softly. “Your room’s waiting.”

The room was small. Tucked under the stairs. Bare. Just a bed, a blanket, and a lamp.

But for Yn, it wasn’t the size that mattered. It wasn’t the lack of light or warmth.

It was that it was hers.

She stood in the doorway, staring at it like it was a dream she didn’t trust.

The woman crouched beside her.

“I’m sorry I had to lie,” she whispered. “But it’s safer this way. He won’t ask questions if he thinks you’re just a maid.”

Yn nodded.

She understood far too much for her age.

The woman cupped her cheek, her voice almost breaking. “You’re not my maid. You’re not my responsibility. But from today… if you’ll let me…”

She swallowed thickly.

“…you’re my daughter.”

For the first time since the blood, the night, the rain—

Yn cried.

Not from pain.

But from the terrifying, unfamiliar ache of being seen.

To be continued...