The Secrets We Keep

Episode 6: Vengeance

I felt myself stirring, my eyes fluttering open, but it was as if I were merely an observer within my own body—disconnected, distanced from the reality surrounding me. Slowly, I eased myself up, a wave of dizziness crashing over me as I took in my surroundings. The iron chains that had once bound me to the wall lay shattered on the floor.

As I scanned the chamber, chaos greeted me. Broken candles lay scattered, their wax pooling on the ground like a remnant of failed hope. My father's desk, split in two, held its contents strewn across the floor. The symbols he had etched in my blood were smeared across the jagged concrete surface of the platform, a testament to the madness that had unfolded.

Then, the sight of blood caught my eye—more than I remembered. It splattered across the walls, dripping from the broken desk, and even splashed onto the ceiling. Looking down, I found my once dirty brown dress soaked with it, the crimson staining my skin like guilt. My heart raced violently in my chest, cold dread washing over me.

What happened?

"Don't be afraid," a voice reverberated through my mind—Kako's voice, attempting to lull me into a false sense of security. "I've honored my promise. Bad things happen to bad people, and sometimes, those bad things must be executed by good people."

The weight of his words slammed into me, igniting a panic I couldn't shake. I sprang to my feet, blood rushing to my head, threatening to topple me over as I frantically searched the chamber for my father.

I moved to the front of my father's desk, and that's when I noticed them—two bloodied legs jutting out from beneath the ruined wood. Trembling, I reached down, my hands shaking as I lifted a large piece of the debris. Beneath it lay the familiar silver hair, now matted and soaked in the red substance. An expression of shock was frozen on my father's face, a stark contrast to his usual stoic mask.

What have I done?

"What we had to do," Kako whispered in my ear.

Intense rage and terror surged through me as I realized I had lost control. My body, my actions—they were no longer my own.

"Get out of my head!" I screamed, pounding my fists against my temples, desperate to drive him from my thoughts. "Get out! Get out! GET OUT!"

Kako fell silent, but the weight of what I had done crashed down on me. Yes, I had hated my father. Yes, a part of me yearned for his end—but not like this. Not by my hand.

The King is going to kill me for this.

Panic gripped me as I tried to think of a solution, any solution. Should I hide him? Bury his body somewhere? I wasn't strong enough for that. Maybe I could stage the scene to look like an accident—to make it seem as if no Mongrel had dared to commit a crime against one of the King's puppets. No, that was too obvious...

I could burn it all and run.

Yes. That was my only option. I sprang up, rifling through the broken drawers of my father's desk. My fingers finally found a match, and I swiftly moved to the center of the room, striking it against the concrete platform. The small flame flickered to life immediately, its glow chasing away the shadows. With a moment's hesitation, I tossed it onto the bloody papers littering the ground near my father's body.

Nothing happened. The flame extinguished almost as quickly as it flared to life.

Frustration ignited within me, mingling with my panic. With haste, I returned to the desk, searching for something—anything dry— to help start a fire. It wasn't long before I spotted a piece of parchment used for the ritual, stubbornly remaining intact amidst the chaos. I snatched it up, rolling it tightly before striking another match against the concrete. Careful yet resolute, I approached my father's lifeless form and ignited the corner of the paper, flames licking eagerly at the dry material.