POV (Point of View)

Chapter 115: The Making of a Villain

In every story, there's a villain. And in every villain is a story.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains explicit languages, acts of violence, projection, triangulation, isolation, and other forms of manipulation. A viewer discretion is advised. 

"AHHHHHHHH!! Why do you have to exist?! I was better off alone! I should be an only child! Fuck! I should have just killed you when you were a baby!!"

Even when I was a little boy, I could already remember my mother throwing things around our house out of spite. She would drown herself in strong liquors. She would yell out loud. Out of greed. Out of selfishness. Out of anger...for her little brother. Because unlike Uncle Atlas, she was disregarded. Unnoticed. Unchosen. Living in his shadow and profound excellence. Even if she was the deemed as the eldest of the Schreiber siblings, she was second. Second in everything. Always second.

"Listen to me, Zorn." The little boy with a short black-hair felt his shoulders sting as his own mother held him not as a mother but as...

"You want our family fortunes all to yourself, right? You want the House of Schreiber all to yourself, right? You want Purgatorio, right?" ...a mere tool to get what she thinks is rightfully theirs.

Mother, I was but a 5-year old boy. How do I even know what you are so angry about? But...I don't want to see you looking so sad so...I will do anything you ask me to. 

"Yes, Mother."

"That's my son. That's my beloved son." Finally, she finally smiled. Guineverre Schreiber, that is. She pulled the 5-year-old Zorn Wolfe in her embrace. Not like that of a mother embracing a son. But a puppeteer embracing her puppet.

"Yes... You will inherit everything because you're a boy. You're my boy."

My mother would tell me stories about her dreams of becoming the successor of Grandfather , to inherit our family name, The House of Schreiber, and to become the queen of Purgatorio. She would tell me how she plans to manage everything. And while telling me these stories, she would beam like the moon in the night sky.

Me? My dream is for her to stay like that forever—happy.

But it feels like...she was never meant to be that way. It's all because of Grandfather.

"I'm sorry, Guineverre. I already made my decision. I wrote everything in my will. Your little brother will inherit and lead the corporation and Purgatorio. His children will go after him. You can work with him. I also put in my last will that you will manage the lands that you asked m—"

"No! I don't want that, Father! Why won't you ever listen to me? You already know what I want. How could you deprive me of everything I want?" asked the long-haired lady to her father. They are now in the private study of Giuseppe Schreiber after she asked the news about Atlas, inheriting everything she had ever wanted. She didn't like it. She refused to believe any of it.

"We already talked about this, Guineverre. You cannot inherit Purgatorio. It's dangerous. The people working for us are dangerous. They will devour you and Zorn." The old man says before steering his wheelchair to get close to his eldest. "I already promised your Mom that I will not make you handle anything that concerns Purgatorio."

"Mother is already dead, Father. Why does everything about her always have something to do with me?!" The gray-haired man started to breathe deeply while looking at Guineverre straight in the eyes. As if he is reminding her why her mother died in the first place. And by the expression that she showed, she seemed to have her father's mind.