"I don't approve of her."

Father should only care about me, his precious daughter. Rather, the image of his daughter. The true soul of Viola perished, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. I, Ellen, stole the body of this healthy thirteen-year-old endowed with a lovely, golden forelock, a pair of large, cute pigtail braids, and lustrous, emerald eyes, and I could act as the Viola he loved well enough. He had no need for the dilly-dally of romance.

However, the muscular man with brown hair, and a white shirt underneath his suspenders, leaned on the wooden kitchen wall as I washed the dishes after dinner. He scratched the thin facial hair on his chin. "I don't understand. Why are you so strongly opposed?"

Perhaps Viola would've tolerated it. I, however, waited centuries for a proper body. Pain and disease wracked my old life as a witch. I had little time to waste with my new life. Unfortunately, my mind blanked for want of a good reason that might appeal to his interests. I pouted as I scrubbed a dish. "Am I not enough?"

"What's gotten into you? Jenna has a kind heart. I thought you two would get along."

I had no doubt that Viola would've been a great match. Because of her empathy, I conned her into a body swap. If Jenna had a kind heart, maybe I could also convince her to throw herself off a cliff. "I like our current way of life."

"It's like your heart has been steadily drifting away from others. What happened?"

"You know what happened." But really, pretending to be some loser you're not all the time is draining.

"That monster in the forest from a few months ago?"

I frowned as I held in my laughter. "Please don't bring it up." The irony from when I watched him shoot his own daughter, stuck in my eyeless body as she crawled like a worm, still brought me amusement.

"Was that monster…the girl you used to meet in the forest? Ellen?"

The plate I wanted to dry slipped from my hands into the sink and would've splashed dishwater on my white apron dress, had I not taken a reflexive step back.

"You don't have to be scared and distrustful of others because of one bad apple."

Enough of that topic. "Don't you love me?" I hugged him.

Father returned the hug. "You know I love you. Nothing will ever replace the child in my heart. But I also want to share my love with the other people who are precious to me."

I forced a smile. The heart had finite room; I could not afford to lose the hard-won space that should be rightfully mine. I would not share it like Viola. "Isn't this the time to focus on the person you already love?"

"I think about you every day since that forest incident. If I lost you, I'd regret my entire life. And if I lost Jenna, I'd never forgive myself."

That stupid woman entranced Father with a curse! She's a pox that festered on his soul. She's an itch he should never scratch, lest it rupture into an open wound. "Why does it have to be her?"

"Viola, you don't need to fret so much. She's not going to replace you."

Delirium was also a symptom of illness.

"I'm worried about you."

"If you were truly worried, you'd forget about Jenna and focus on me."

"I don't understand. Why did your thought process undergo such a radical shift? It's like you became a different person. Maybe I picked the wrong time to bring up Jenna, but at some point, I hope you remember that we don't have to be single-minded in who we love."

"Fine! Seek her out for all I care!" I left the kitchen and slammed the door to a satisfying wham. I uttered a groan. If I enjoyed one good thing from my time as a lonely witch, it's that I never had to worry about losing someone's love.

It dawned on me that people don't change just because someone yelled at them. In fact, I might've spurred him to chase Jenna even harder to spite me. Should I have apologized to Father? Or would my apology have implied permission to let her into his heart?

Instead of an apology, what if I tackled the problem from another angle: Jenna? Even if Father fell head-over-heels for her, I'd have no problem if she felt different. Maybe Father misread her intentions; one-sided attractions happened all the time.

At worst, I could make her take my feelings into consideration.

The next morning, I visited the town's cobblestone market square. A dozen people filled the air with idle chatter or asked the vendors some questions. I loved the scent of the baker's fresh pastries, but I moved it to the back of my mind. Jenna, a young woman with brown hair tied in a bun, prodded a melon with her thumbs. She wore a dirty apron dress with ugly mending, but her face lacked wrinkle or crease. No wonder Father fell for her charms; if I had no past as a witch, I'd have accused her of sorcery. I nudged past a burly, hairy shopper built like Father, but with a raveled corduroy vest.

"Viola," he said. The detective stumbled but saved his basket of apples from spilling. "I know there's some people here, but you used to be more careful."

I flashed a smile. "Sorry, Detective Flint." But I'm really not.

Detective Flint pinched and rubbed his mustache, then shrugged. "Tell your father that I said hello." He tipped his bowler hat and left.

Jenna turned her head. "Is that you, Viola?" We exchanged smiles.

"Good morning, Jenna. You're not doing anything important, so could we have a brief chat? There's something I want to discuss."

She raised an eyebrow as she put down the melon. "I think my shopping is important, but I can spare a few moments."

"I was wondering if you were seeing Father."

"Oh!" Jenna glanced at the melons. "Yes, I am. In fact, I wanted to find a nice present for my next visit. I know he's fond of melons."

So much for one-sided attractions. This conniving thief, she dared to steal Father's affections? Low-lives like her deserved death. "About that. I wondered if you could stop?"

"Huh? Why?"

"I don't think he's that interested in you."

"Really? I find that hard to believe. Just the other day, he offered to fix my fence for free! Actually, we spent some time talking about you."

"He did?"

"I know you've been having a hard time reorienting yourself after the forest incident. It must've shaken you to your core. But I know your father is there for you."

Jenna knew I needed Father but disregarded my happiness to make a move? How shameless!

"And I want to be there for you too. If you ever need my hand for help, you can grab mine."

"If you want to be there for me, why don't you back down?"

"But why?"

"It would be such a hassle with the three of us."

Jenna sighed. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Do you really want to deal with me hating your guts?"

She shook her head, then prodded another melon. "Even if you're against it, I don't want to give up on your father. If I was the old me, I'd have given your words more weight. But I missed out on marrying my first love because I was afraid to break the heart of another lady interested in the same man. I don't want to regret the same mistake."

"You don't care about what others think, do you?"

"Perhaps, once your heart has healed, we can get along. Your Father believes that the old you, the kind you, sleeps inside your heart, waiting for spring. I can do my best to give you space, but I won't break my relationship with him."

My face burned when other shoppers turn their heads in our direction. A couple of them whispered to each other. Their words must be along the lines of the Viola girl making another ruckus.

Jenna bought the melon. "If you'll please excuse me."

If I'm to have the love and confidence of the townspeople, this meeting couldn't end on such a low note. I grasped and stroked one of my braids. "Hey, Jenna? I'm sorry. You're right. Maybe I just have some maturing to do."

She placed a hand on her chest and sighed, then patted my head. Better yet, the attention of the other shoppers returned to their errands. Maybe they thought the old Viola might've remembered a piece of her old self, or that I saw the light and gave my blessing to her relationship with Father.

Wrong. I would never give a thief my consent to steal what should be rightfully mine. If Jenna and Father refused to break up, I needed to take matters into my own hands before it became too late. When I used to be a witch, I killed and took whatever I wanted with a mere thought. The bodies and souls of those who visited my house fueled my rebirth as a human. Society hated a killer, but who'd put so much value into one itsy-bitsy commoner's life?

I lowered my voice to a whisper. "Jenna? I want to ask a secret favor. Can you join me at the entrance of the forest this afternoon?"

Later that afternoon, I returned home. I grabbed the key from Father's desk, then unlocked the door to a small, wooden shack behind our house. Ugh. I coughed from the must and waved the dust, but found a double-barrel flint rifle on the gun rack. I loaded it with ease and wondered how much time I had. If Father returned before me, and I returned with gun in hand after the announcement of a murder, that…better not happen.

With the gun, I left and passed through the fields. The sun shone on many crops and a smidge of breeze played with the green grass that reached half my height. The cows still stunk, but I long since acclimated. A couple houses in the distance wouldn't notice me with a gun.

I arrived at the forest's thick wall of trees, near the forest's grand entrance trail. As the former witch of this forest, I recalled a part sparse enough to allow brief off-trail travel with minimal hassle. My steps crinkled and crunched the fallen leaves and tiny shrubs. After I took care to tiptoe around some thorny flowers, I hid the gun against a tree near a bend in the trail. All set! With my preparations completed, I returned to the entrance. I sat on a log in the cool shade near the edge of the forest until Jenna arrived. We waved.

"Hi Jenna."

"Good afternoon! It's a pleasant day outside, isn't it?"

"Thank you for accepting my invitation. I hope I didn't impose on your schedule."

"For my future daughter-in-law, nothing is an imposition."

I stood and tilted my head to the forest. "Do you mind taking a walk with me?"

Jenna hesitated.

"Is something wrong?"

She scratched her head and smiled. "You know what they say to the children, right? Don't go deep into the forest."

I grinned. "Are you a child?"

"No, but it rubbed off on me. Especially since the forest incident."

My grin faded. "I really wanted to take a walk."

Jenna gazed at the forest entrance. "Did you want to confront your past?"

Why, thank you for an excuse. I put a finger over my lips. "I didn't want to do it alone, and Father forbade me. Please, Jenna; you're the only one I can count on."

She nodded. "I understand. This will be our little secret."

I held Jenna's hand and guided her into the forest. "Thank you."

"Of course." As we walked together in silence, the density of trees thickened and crowded out the sunlight. We reached that bend in the trail.

"Please wait here."

"Sure."

I turned the bend, then grabbed my gun from the tree. I shivered as the anticipation of violence rushed through me, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Perhaps my first murder outside the witch's house carried a certain specialness. I returned with the gun.

Jenna gripped her stomach. "Viola…?"

"Did you know? This was the gun that Father used to shoot the monster."

"I see…" She glanced behind herself. Did Jenna want to flee? However, she returned her attention to me and took a deep breath. "Viola, could you please lower the gun?"

I frowned.

"I don't mind helping you confront your past, but you're scaring me."

"Do you believe in magic?"

"What do you mean?"

"The monster that Father shot…do you know what it looked like?"

She shook her head.

"The monster was the crawling corpse of a little girl."

Jenna gulped. "That's…"

"Want to hear the best part? Inside that body, the monster imprisoned the real Viola."

Her eyes widened as I raised my weapon and aimed, just like when I played with a gun while it first became popular during my time as a witch.

I pulled the trigger. A loud bang blasted into her chest, and she crashed on the trail. I giggled as elation, warm like the blood from her wound, rose inside me. But it then froze into ice as voices that belonged to two men shouted. What happened? Why were people nearby? The voices shouted for Jenna.

What to do? No way did I have enough time to kill those two, even with this gun. What about escape? I needed to return this gun to Father's shed, but running while encumbered with a gun would've attracted attention, and I'd bet they're faster. I knew a good spot to hide nearby, but I had no idea what they intended, or if they're good at searching.

I sprinted around the bend, and then crawled with the gun underneath a thick, large bush. The cover helped, but I winced as a couple branches scraped my arm and dress.

"Jenna!?"

"Jenna, where are you!?"

"No! Jenna!"

"Some bastard shot her!"

"Who did this to her!?"

"Killer oughtta be nearby. We both have guns, so let's square off with'em."

Their faint footsteps alternated between louder and softer, but they never pinpointed my location. When the footsteps got softener, I wriggled like a worm under the cover; when the footsteps got louder, I stopped. If I failed to escape soon, I'd hate explaining this to Father.

My gun got caught and rustled some young limbs. I froze.

"Who's there!?"

Stop! Their footsteps became louder than before.

"Someone tunneled here."

Oh no!

The other man spoke. "You jumpy?"

"You calling me a coward?"

"This is a forest. And what lives in these parts? Little animals. If someone tunneled here, I'm pretty sure it's something like a fox. Adult ain't fitting through there. If he tried, all this underbrush gonna scrape'em up. If they're a local, they'll be clear as sin."

"I don't know…"

"Listen, there's tons of underbrush there. I don't wanna waste time on some goose chase. If we up and sorted through this, that noise'll give the killer the cover he needs to escape."

"That makes sense…but if I hear anything, I'm taking a look."

I sighed as their footsteps faded for a couple steps.

"I wonder who killed her. Ideas?"

"Heck if I know."

"That Viola kid, maybe? She's been strange lately. Heard she had a spat at the market this morning with Jenna. Maybe that underbrush was her."

I scrunched my eyes shut and curled myself.

The other man chuckled. "You really are nuts. That's grasping."

"Anyone can pull a trigger."

"But not everyone practiced their aim. To my knowledge, this'll be the first time that girl ever fired a gun. Without any marksmanship, Viola needs to shoot point-blank. And Jenna? As if she'd stand still while Viola toted a gun. That's why he's gotta be a man. Jenna's a looker; she probably jilted another man's heart, so he squashed hers. I know Flint liked her."

Their footsteps faded, but I remained curled. I feared the slightest noise would invite the men to return. In all my centuries of life, I never waited for time to crawl. At some point, the slight dimming of the sun nudged my thoughts into leaving this spot. Without the men nearby, I had a little more liberty to make noise. I gripped my gun. However, a couple thoughts occurred to me.

What if I left the gun in the forest? Even if those men returned to investigate, I could just hide the gun somewhere else; I knew the forest better than anyone else and all the good spots for concealment. Did I have a good chance to explain the lack of a gun to Father if he checked his shed? I debated the high-risk, high-reward alternative. I'd have no chance if someone caught me while I walked home with a gun, or if Father already waited for my return. If I returned with my gun without being caught, I'd be able to escape suspicion. However, I lost time when I waited for the men to leave.

But maybe Father wouldn't even need to think about the gun, and I'd have a later opportunity for retrieval. I relocated my gun, then left the forest. On the way home, I checked over my shoulders for potential witnesses and crouched through the tall grass.

I encountered nobody else and regretted leaving the gun, but then I stepped into the kitchen. Father stood with his arms folded and a grim expression on his face. A fishing rod rested against the wall.

"You're late," he said. "Where were you?"

"I was running an errand."

"Like what?"

I said nothing.

"Viola, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing." I mirrored his expression and folded my arms. "What's with your face? You look like something bad happened."

"Did you hear the news?"

"No, what?"

"Someone shot Jenna."

Of course. Wait, the news should've generated surprise! I widened my eyes and hoped he missed the delayed reaction. "Is she okay?"

Father shook his head. "The tailor told a couple of her neighbors to tell Jenna that her dress was ready to be picked up. Apparently, her neighbors knew Jenna had plans to take a walk near the forest, so the men decided to tell her if they met up while hunting. Instead, they found Jenna dead."

"Did they catch the killer or figure out who he was?"

Another headshake.

I sighed, but Father glanced over my dress that the forest scraped and stained. My face burned.

"You didn't answer my earlier question. Exactly what errand did you do?"

"Why do you care?"

"Please don't talk back to me like that. If the killer is still loose, there's going to be an investigation. Detective Flint will want to ask questions, especially from us, since we're closely connected to Jenna."

"Even if I hate her guts, I didn't kill her!"

"I know. That's why I keep asking you about your errand; that's your alibi. So, if you went shopping, you can put Detective Flint's mind at ease when the vendor says you were buying something when the murder occurred. What errand did you run?"

Ten seconds passed, but I stayed quiet. I needed ideas and time. "What's your alibi?"

Father pressed one hand against his head and the other against his hip. "I…don't have one; I went out fishing alone. I didn't want to be disturbed while I thought about how to help you and Jenna get along. Yours?"

I hesitated.

"You're not helping my imagination. What happened to your clothes?"

"I…fell in the fields with the tall grass."

"What?"

"I was looking for something. A ring. For a friend."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, who asked and when?"

"I can't remember."

"Viola…"

My voice rose as I threw up my hands. "Look, my friend asked years ago! The thought crossed my mind and I wondered if maybe I'd get lucky! Why do you have to be so picky with me? What about you? You're in the same boat as me without an alibi."

"I'm just…we need a break. Let me put away my fishing rod."

"Wait!" No way could I let him return the fishing rod into the shed with no gun! If I struggled to create a lame alibi for my whereabouts, how would I explain the missing gun? "Let me put it away for you."

"Thank you, but I just need a few minutes by myself."

If I pressured him in the current atmosphere, Father might snap and return the fishing pole by himself to spite me. Worse, I'd have to start the gun discussion underneath a cloud of hostility. If I had no chance to avoid the inevitable, I at least wanted us on better terms. "Actually, do you mind if I join you?"

"Why?"

"It's been a rough day for both of us. We can return the fishing poles silently; I just want to be near you right now."

His smile lit my soul. Yes! This love rightfully belonged to neither the real Viola nor Jenna, but to me. I also smiled, then we walked to the shed. However, a dreadful thought occurred to me: no more intimate moments once we entered. I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed mine. I wished this moment lasted forever.

He released my hand and retrieved the key from his pocket. My heart screamed as the lock clicked. How many seconds did I have? Less than ten? The door creaked. I hoped that maybe Father would've lost himself in thought and missed the gun.

However, Father stopped and blinked at the empty gun rack.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"The gun is missing."

"What?" I stared at the empty gun rack. "Did you go hunting?"

"I don't need a gun to go fishing."

"You didn't move it?"

Father opened the drawer for the bullets. "Somebody was in here." He glanced at me.

"What are you looking at me for? I didn't even have a reason to be in the shed today. The last person in here was you."

He gulped. "You don't think that our gun was the murder weapon, do you?"

"No way. But even if it was, we didn't murder her." I liked that thought. If I kept his suspicion off me and did nothing to antagonize him, perhaps his emotions wouldn't flare.

Father gripped the drawer handle. "We're related to Jenna, neither of us have an alibi, and the gun is missing. Detective Flint won't look favorably upon this coincidence."

"Maybe you just moved it somewhere and forgot." If I later retrieved the gun, maybe I'd have a chance to find a spot in the shed, plant the gun there, and claim he must've bumped it off the shelf.

"This is a gun we're talking about; I wouldn't just leave it lying around." He glanced at me again, but with wider eyes.

Anything but that! I balled my hands over my chest. "It must've been stolen! It had to be! If you kept it on the gun rack and didn't move it, and I never touched it, then someone else must've stolen it!"

"This shed is windowless." His hand trembled as he inspected the doorknob. "I don't see any sign of forced entry, but the door was locked."

"The thief found the key!"

"The key was hidden in a location known only to us. Even if the thief was so narrowminded that they ignored everything else of value just to steal our gun, our home should've been turned upside-down in their search."

"If you want to reject the thief theory, then it's just you misplacing the gun."

"No." He took a deep breath. "I think you're lying, from gun to clothes."

"What!?"

He leaned against the wall with an unfocused gaze. "I don't want to believe it, but my fears keep telling me that you killed Jenna."

I shook my arms. "No, no, NO! You're wrong! You're just jumping to conclusions without evidence!"

"You unlocked the shed, loaded the gun, hid in the forest, and ambushed Jenna."

"How can you think such cruel thoughts about your daughter!?"

"I don't want to think about it! I don't! But you haven't given me a way to think otherwise!"

I recalled the earlier conversation when one of the men said I never handled a gun. "You act like I'm a professional assassin. But I never even used a gun in my entire life. Even if it's just pulling the trigger, I still need to aim. Even if I wanted to, it's impossible for me to have killed Jenna."

"You say that, but you already crossed into the realm of impossibility."

"How?"

"You used to be kind and considerate of others. I wanted to believe that the trauma from the forest incident didn't permanently scar your mind, so I swallowed my irritation and told myself that you were trying to readjust to life. But you kept acting so strangely."

I clenched my fists. What was I supposed to do? It's not my fault that the original Violet had such a naïve personality. Those with such a kindness defect found their ends in agony. Father should've been glad for the change in personality! The love he showed me, was it a lie?

"Maybe you wanted to practice in secret because you were still scared and wanted to defend yourself in the future."

I feared that more argument would worsen the situation. Even so, if his paranoia continued unchecked, then even if this nightmare somehow resolved itself, Father might never show me any love again. "Let's just calm down and have dinner first."

"I'm not hungry."

"We should eat. Together."

"I'm sorry, but this time, I definitely need a moment to myself."

If Detective Flint questioned Father in this state, I stood no chance. No way could I have waited for Father's emotions to cool; time would only let the truth unravel itself to indict me as the culprit. I required his cooperation to leave Detective Flint with a positive impression.

What if I confessed to Father alone? I needed to avoid the death penalty. What if I made use of the parent's instinct to protect their young? Even if I never enjoyed his love again, I had to prioritize my survival.

"Get out," said Father.

"Huh?"

"I need to lock this shed." We stepped outside into the cool sunset air. He locked the door with deliberate concentration. A cold shiver crept across the back of my neck. Why did the lock's small click sound so loud? "And I'm keeping the key with me."

As if I needed more confirmation that he didn't trust me. Nothing of value remained in the shed; I wished he skipped the remark.

"Good night."

"Wait."

"Now what?"

One last time, I thought of possible alternatives but still found none. I took a deep breath. "I killed Jenna."

He stopped. "Huh?"

"I shot her in the forest with your gun." I gestured to my scrapes and stains. The truth supposedly relieved liars of their burdens, but the question of how to handle Father preoccupied my mind. "However, I had to hide myself."

If I hadn't focused on Father's reaction, I would've missed the slight moment when he shook his head. "Y-You're kidding."

"No, you solved it perfectly."

He took a couple steps forward, as if he encountered the forest monster. "Even though I said it…I…I still wanted to live in a world where it wasn't reality." He mouthed, "why?"

"She needed to die. If you started to love her, you'd never pay attention to me."

"Did the forest incident make you forget how affection works? That was never the case!"

I shouted, "I'm still your daughter!"

"Viola would never…"

"I know I used to be kind, but the forest incident taught me that I have to put myself first. I spent many days being kind to that Ellen monster because it was so lonely and pitiful. How did it repay me? By almost ripping me to shreds!" And for good measure: "You're the one who shot it. Self-defense is justified, right? I'm defending my right to your love!"

He closed his eyes and turned his head. "Even if we put aside such weird logic, that didn't mean you had to kill Jenna!"

"What else was I supposed to do? Lose you too? You're the most precious person in my life."

Father ran a hand through his hair. "It's not too late. If you turn yourself in, maybe you can avoid the worst. You're a child, and if you explain what happened, the sentence might not be as severe."

Did I have a defective Father? "Not severe? Is that a joke? I'll probably spend half my life imprisoned. What kind of parent lets their child suffer?" Call it "house arrest" or "shut-in" back when I was a witch, I spent many centuries confined. The longer a person lived, the faster that time passed. Imprisonment would've passed in the blink of an eye, but these were supposed to be my golden years. I earned the right to be loved by others, not lose it because that useless woman tried to steal Father's love.

"I'd be lying if I denied my anger. But I'm saying you should turn yourself in precisely because I love you. It'll give you some time to reflect, and once you leave prison, even if it's decades later, you'll have a second chance at life."

How could my decision to reach for his protective instinct have backfired!? "I don't deserve to be imprisoned!"

"Most people don't even get a second chance after they killed someone!"

Ugh! If I did nothing, my own Father planned to turn me in himself. Maybe I could spin the story into some sort of burglary gone wrong. But would Detective Flint have bought my turn of events? I needed to make Father see reason. Above all, I desired his assistance for the coverup. "Why imprison me? Must I really spend time in prison to reflect on what happened and change myself? Your anger is punishment enough."

"What are you saying? If someone committed a crime, justice must be served."

"Do you really think Jenna was the type who wanted me to spend my life in a cold and lonely prison cell? I know she cared about you, and even if I didn't like her, I know she cared about me. And that means I should remain free."

"You want me to ignore your confession and cover up your crime!?"

"Isn't that the meaning of love?"

"What you need is tough love."

"I know you want me to grow up to become the best person I can be. I know Jenna wanted me to grow up to become the best person I can be. That's impossible if I become known as a murderer and you as the person who raised me."

He opened his mouth but sighed, shook his head, and put his hands on his hips.

I bowed my head. "I'm sorry. Your heart must be aching." But not as much as mine.

Father stared at the grass. "I just don't know."

Not my preferred answer, but confusion trumped anger. I tried a smile. "I'm going to prepare dinner." If I gave him time to think, perhaps Father would take my side.

I jumped as faint knocks from the front of the house caught our attention. We glanced at each other, then walked around to the front of the house.

"Travis, Viola," said Detective Flint. "Good evening."

""Good evening,"" we said.

"I'm sorry to bother you two so late, but I'm sure the news spread."

Father nodded. "We were just talking about it."

Detective Flint put his hat over his chest for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

"I hate to be a boor, but I think you can guess why I'm here. As the detective, it's my duty to seek justice for Jenna and bring closure for our community. If you don't mind, I want to schedule a time to ask some questions about Jenna since you two were known to be closely related. Right now, I just want some preliminary information to guide my investigation. None of this is to sling accusations against you or your daughter."

"We have time right now."

Father, no! At least give ourselves the time to get our stories straight! I wanted to raise an objection and take the offer to schedule later, but would that have cast a negative shadow over me?

"Much appreciated," said Detective Flint. We took a seat inside at the kitchen table. "Then, I'd like to start by asking you two to recall anything unusual about the circumstances that surrounded Jenna's death."

I shook my head, glanced at Father, and clutched part of my apron dress. My body locked rigid, and we never made eye contact.

"Nothing," said Father. "Nothing unusual. It was just a regular day like any other."

I allowed myself a subtle smile as my body relaxed.

"I see. How familiar were you two with Jenna's daily routines?"

"Not intimately," said Father. "Are you wondering if I knew her plans to go into the forest? We weren't married, so it's not like I instantly knew her schedule, but she never mentioned any plans to visit the forest, and she didn't regularly visit out that way."

I nodded. "I bumped into her at the market this morning. We, uh, had a tense exchange, so we weren't exactly looking to meet."

"Yes, I do recall seeing you two having a heated discussion. Could you please elaborate on the details of that conversation?"

"Our personalities just sort of clash."

"Well, yes. What caused the flare-up?"

Speak the truth of that conversation? Wouldn't the topic just serve the whydunit?

Detective Flint tilted his head.

I needed to invent a reason, fast! "It was a minor thing, looking back on it. We were arguing about what kind of pastry that Father might like. At least I managed to apologize."

"One less regret." Detective Flint turned his attention to Father. "You surely know, if you heard the news, that Jenna died from a shooting."

Father managed a slight nod.

"And you're a hunter. I'm not, of course, accusing either of you of murder. Several families around these parts own a gun, and as I recall, they'll be similar since they're coming from the same manufacturer. Since I'm here, I'd like to see yours for a moment to familiarize myself."

Of all things, why did Detective Flint have to see the gun!? Father and I exchanged glances. My coverup for the gun failed before, but I had nobody to back me up. This time, I had an ally.

"The thing is," I said. "We currently don't have the gun."

"What? Why?"

"It's not there anymore. We think it was stolen from our shed." I nodded at my unverifiable story, then turned to Father. "Right?"

He hesitated, then nodded to Detective Flint.

Detective Flint propped his elbow on the table, put his head on his palm, and tapped the table. "Stolen. Did somebody break inside?"

I shook my head. "Unfortunately, we forgot to lock the shed before we went fishing."

"I'm surprised neither of you mentioned this sooner."

Father buried his head into his hands. "I'm sorry. A lot was on my mind."

"I understand," he said. "It must be rough to come back from fishing to learn that your gun was stolen and that Jenna was murdered. When did you two go out fishing?"

I looked to Father.

"Early afternoon," he said. "We didn't return home until recently."

"Did you both come home together?"

"Yes."

"How did you two find out that Jenna died?"

Ah! I had no idea who told Father, but my alibi couldn't afford for Detective Flint to ask them whether they talked to Father and I. My turn to speak. "Actually, I left just a few minutes earlier and went straight home. Father explained how he bumped into a friend, then later told me."

"Hmm…Travis, about how long after she left did you leave?"

"I'm…honestly not sure. When you're fishing, deep in thought, you lose track of time. But I thought it was a few minutes."

Detective Flint tapped the table again, then turned to me. "Did you happen to check the shed when you returned?"

"No. I went to sleep." Detective Flint, leave! "I don't know when he returned."

The detective looked over my dress. "Looking a bit green and scraped to have been fishing."

"I fell; I was really tired. I think I still am, to be honest."

"Very well. Since it's getting late, why don't we end it here?" After we confirmed his recap of our meeting, Father and I shook hands with Detective Flint. "This was a productive meeting, and I thank you for your time. Could you both drop by my office tomorrow afternoon? I might have some follow-up questions after I gather more information."

"Certainly," said Father.

"And again, I'm sorry for the loss." Before Detective Flint left, he stopped. "Rest assured, I will definitely find her murderer."

I sighed once he departed, but Father slumped in his chair with a gaunt face.

"This is hard," he said.

"You did a good job. Thank you." I boiled some water as I prepared dinner.

"I can't keep doing this. Lying to Detective Flint, covering up a murder…"

"But you love me. I'm sure you'll find the strength."

Father shook his head. "And now, we have to deal with more questions."

"Jenna would be proud of you."

"I'm turning in early."

"You should at least eat. We need to stay relaxed, and it's hard to remain calm on an empty stomach." I took care to peel the potatoes as tension unsteadied my hands.

"No, you go ahead and cook for yourself. Good night." He staggered out and hung his head. The slow creak of the door dissipated as I continued to make dinner.

Would he turn on me? I told myself that Father protected me from Detective Flint. Father made himself into an accessory for the murder I committed. He had no choice if he wanted to remain a free man. Or what, did he want to live in a lonely future without someone to love?

The pan hissed at me as the steam rose and carried the spiteful smell of burnt potatoes. Father and I had no obligation to provide any answers to the detective's questions. The wrong words threatened to sink us. Given the flow of our recent conversation with the detective, perhaps Father and I stood at the top of Detective Flint's list of suspects. But unlike me, Father struggled with blurry morality. With the weight of guilt on his mind and his erratic behavior just now, the combination might cook him into something ruined.

I did not live centuries to lose my hard work. The sooner I defeated Detective Flint's questions, the less pressure on Father and the brighter my future.

The next afternoon, Father and I visited Detective Flint's office near the town's outskirts. Father managed to eat a small lunch of boiled potatoes and carrots; his face regained some firmness. As we approached the one-story brick building, I grabbed Father's hand.

However, he made no effort to hold mine. We waited inside a small lobby with nothing but a few simple chairs along the wall.

Detective Flint appeared with heavy eyes. "Good afternoon. If it's okay, I want to question you both individually."

Individually? I gripped the edge of the armrests.

"Viola first, if it's okay."

I glanced at Father, but he had locked his hands together and stared at the floor. No shoulder pat, no words of encouragement. "Alright," I said.

He walked me to a little conference room with a wooden table and four chairs. Detective Flint took a seat next to me. "How's your father feeling?"

"Father managed to eat a little. He took the morning off to rest."

"Sounds like it was rough on him. How about you?"

"I let the chores dull my mind. You look like you could also use some rest."

"We all need a break when life knocks us off our feet, but I can't stop. Perhaps closure on this nightmare will help us return to a sense of normalcy. That's why I want to hear more details about what you two were doing yesterday; we might find an overlooked clue that will help us bring justice for Jenna and peace of mind for our community. Would you mind summarizing your activities yesterday?"

I explained how I met Jenna at the market and argued about pastries.

"From what I saw, you two had a heated conversation. I happened to ask the melon vendor this morning if he overheard any of it. The impression he had was that you wanted Jenna to break off with Travis."

My throat tightened. "That's…well, of course. Our personalities don't mix, and I'd rather not deal with her. Pretty much anything would've lit a firestorm between us. But, I mean, I still apologized. I wouldn't kill someone just for liking Father."

"Naturally. Did Jenna talk about any plans to visit the forest?"

"No."

"After the market, what did you do?"

I talked about household chores until Father returned later that afternoon and invited me to go fishing.

"At some point, you walked home, right? Why?"

"I was tired."

"You did say that. What sort of path did you take on your way home?"

"The main road." Otherwise, I might've had some questions about an unusual route.

"Did anything happen? Did you meet anyone?"

"I tripped and fell into some grass and branches, but I don't recall seeing anyone."

"The main road, but you didn't see anyone?"

"That can happen, right? We're not a big town."

"I'm not doubting your account; I just wanted a better understanding of the approximate time you left. If you met anyone, I'd have a clearer idea of where you were around the time of the murder."

A cynical detective might've found my emotional motive to kill and lack of alibi disturbing. I noticed myself hunched, so I straightened my posture.

"Did Travis tell you if he would return straight home?"

"He didn't say anything until he returned home with the bad news."

"Alright. I think I have a better understanding of your activities on the day of your murder, so let's switch topics. If you don't mind, I want to ask some questions about the forest incident involving you and Travis."

I froze. "Why?"

Detective Flint shrugged. "Well, Jenna's murder also happened in the forest. There might be something about the forest that had a connection."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I understand. I thought some bandits might've hidden themselves in the forest."

My eyes lit. Bandits! Possibilities jumbled through my mind. Too bad Father experienced the truth and evidence firsthand. Part of my mind filled with regret; had I not confessed, maybe I could've kept the relationship intact. At least I had a chance to salvage the situation.

"That's all I need from you for now. I'm going to take a short break, then I'll call for Travis."

I nodded and left. I even skipped across the hallway as the new opportunity lifted my feet. However, Father remained seated in the lobby with a grim expression.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I can't keep this up anymore."

My gut dropped. I sat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "What do you mean? You kept it up just fine yesterday."

"I can't sleep, I struggled to eat, I don't want to live like this. He'll find the truth."

I shook my head. "He's a long way from the truth. Part of him is thinking bandits, so he'll still want to investigate the forest. You never told anyone about the forest incident in detail, right? If we hurry, maybe we can set something up, like fake signs that people have been living there."

"No."

I resisted the urge to kick a chair leg. "You just need to hang on a bit longer. It's not much to ask."

He responded with silence.

"Don't you love me?"

"I do love you. That's why I plan to confess that you killed her. The truth will set us free."

"The truth will get me hanged!"

The door that led to the questioning room opened. "I'm back," said Detective Flint.

I backed against the wall as Father stood. Father, please!

"Detective Flint, I have a confession to make."

"Yes?"

No!

"My daughter killed Jenna. I won't ask her to go unpunished, but she's still a child; please have mercy."

The detective looked at me with wide eyes. "Viola, did you kill Jenna?"

I stood and shook my head with every force of rejection. "I never killed her! I don't know what's going through Father's head; he's always been stressed like this since yesterday. Can't eat, can't sleep…the despair must've gotten to him!"

"Then why does he think you killed her?"

"I never liked Jenna, that much was true. I got into arguments with her, but I would never resort to murder!"

Father folded his arms. "Viola, you confessed to me. You're doing the same thing now that you did yesterday: denying everything until I forced the truth with evidence."

"Evidence?" asked Detective Flint.

"Viola was running errands while I went fishing alone. When I came back, I found the shed unlocked with the gun missing and no sign of forced entry. She lacked an alibi. Her clothes were stained green and scratched, as if she snuck around the forest. And she returned late."

My head burned. "That's not true."

Detective Flint pinched the bridge of his nose. "But why all the lies?"

"Because I love my daughter. I don't want to lose her like I did Jenna. But running from justice isn't in our best interests."

The detective sighed. "I understand. This must be hard on you. If you're making an accusation, and Viola won't admit to it, I'll investigate her movements yesterday. And…I know you love your daughter, but if the court concludes Viola murdered Jenna without any confession, then even if she's a child, the punishment is still death. You'll be charged as an accessory for your earlier lying, but the penalty won't be as severe."

Father bowed his head. "I understand."

"I don't," I said. "It's not me!"

"As the detective, you must explain to me what, exactly, was wrong with your father's testimony. I even have evidence that your gun was missing, and that your clothes had a brush with vegetation."

"Viola, please…"

Perhaps the moisture on my hands could've left handprints on the wall. How was I supposed to fight the truth? The evidence supported it. I lacked an ally to save me. Has Jenna stolen Father's heart even after death? If I hanged, would Father shed fake tears? If I confessed and went to prison, would he bother to visit me? Humans lied and betrayed all the time; I came into possession of this body the same way.

Aha!

The truth that I was a lying, traitorous witch never stopped me from seizing control of Viola's body. Lies and betrayals helped me carve my future. Besides, Father had cast the first stone.

I took a step forward. "Actually, I do have a confession of my own to make." I had no need for someone who stabbed me in the back instead of offering me his unconditional love.

"What is it?" asked Detective Flint.

"Father killed Jenna."

The mouths of both men dropped.

"I'm sorry, Father."

"What's going on?" asked Detective Flint.

"Viola, what's gotten into you? I don't understand."

I pointed at Father. "That's what I should be asking you! How could you betray me!?"

"I never betrayed you! Viola, you know I'm only doing this because I love you!"

"You're only doing this to save yourself!"

Detective Flint waved. "Hey. I have a lot of questions."

I nodded. "I'm sure you do." We followed him to the interview room and took seats.

"First off," he asked. "Viola, why wait until now?"

"I love Father and I hate Jenna; that's why I was willing to go along with the coverup."

"Coverup?"

"You're lying," said Father. He gripped the suspender strap over his heart. "I never asked you to cover anything. Detective, everything Viola is about to say must be a lie."

Detective Flint put forth a stopping hand. "But we might as well listen. Viola, could you please summarize your version of what actually happened?"

"After running my errands, I came home before noon and went to sleep. Father later woke me up, and I realized he had a gun on him. He asked me to hide it after explaining that he shot and killed Jenna in the forest. I went there to confirm her death for myself and to hide the gun at a secret spot; that's why my clothes were scratched and stained. I then returned home, just in time for you to show up."

"I see." Detective Flint tapped a pencil and turned to Father. "And what about you?"

"I had gone to provide some building repairs for the Smiths. During that time, I assumed Viola was running errands. When I returned home, I decided to go fishing. After a few hours of that, I decided to go home. On the way, I bumped into Mr. Baker, who explained that Jenna died. In a daze, I came home to find Viola still gone. Eventually, she did return, and after I questioned her disappearance, Viola eventually confessed to the murder. She asked me to assist in the coverup before you arrived."

"If those are your statements, one of must be lying."

Father and I nodded. One of us had to take the fall, so it might as well be him.

"Viola, please describe your father's mental state when he returned home."

"Distraught. Couldn't even eat dinner."

"Did he explain why he killed Jenna?"

"Father discovered that she had an affair."

Father slammed the table. "Jenna did nothing of the sort!"

Detective Flint patted the air. "Did he name the other party in the affair?"

"No. I'm surprised that I haven't heard of someone else's death after this tragedy."

"And you happened to come across Jenna's body while trying to hide the gun?"

"I did, unfortunately."

"Thank you. To sum up your account, Travis returned home in a daze that afternoon and asked you to hide evidence, which you did because you wanted to protect him. Did I summarize correctly?"

"Yes."

"Great. Travis, I'd like to ask a few questions about your version. You did some building repairs for the Smiths?"

"Yes. They wanted an extra pair of hands."

"According to them, they suggested that you should go fishing after you finished to relax your mind. Why did you appear to be distraught?"

"My daughter and I had a fight two days ago over Jenna. I wanted to think of a way to help them get along. If only it could've turned out as a happy ending."

"When you returned home after your building repairs, Viola wasn't there sleeping?"

"Correct. I assumed she was still busy running an errand, so I grabbed my fishing pole from the shed and went fishing."

"The gun was still in your shed?"

"Yes."

"And after fishing, you bumped into Mr. Baker. I remember him saying he felt guilty about being the bearer of bad news, seeing you at peace. Did he mention anything about Viola?"

"No, just that the Smiths asked him to inform me of Jenna's passing, and they thought I might've been fishing at the lake."

"To restate your account, you had a normal routine until you encountered Mr. Baker on your way home. After learning about Jenna's death, you returned home in a shocked emotional state, and Viola showed up a bit later. Upon questioning, she confessed to the murder and asked you to work a coverup. Did I summarize that correctly?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." Detective Flint tapped his pencil on the table again at a slower pace. "With your testimonies, I have taken a step towards the truth and determined the culprit."

"Father, right?"

"No, it's you."

Father looked at the wall.

I swallowed. "Me?"

The detective nodded. "Care to confess?"

"You made a mistake! It's not me!"

"His story has more support from the facts. I already interviewed the people Travis mentioned to get an idea of his location during yesterday's events. In particular, he learned of the incident from Mr. Baker on the way home from fishing; Mr. Baker thought Travis was in a normal mood until he learned about Jenna's death. The facts also cast your testimony in a strange light."

"What's so problematic with my testimony?"

"According to your timeline, Travis returned home while in a daze to task you with hiding the evidence. For your version to make sense, he had to convincingly fix his mood and visit the lake to pretend he went fishing the whole time."

"He needed to fake an alibi!"

"By pretending to go fishing alone? That's not conducive to making an alibi. If Travis was that calculating, he'd have a different gun prepared to replace the discarded murder weapon and evade the gun drama."

"Well…but…he's lying!"

"There's a possibility that your version is the truth. This case can go to trial if you so desire to wager your life and prove your point. But in the end, the world will decide which narrative should prevail, and I doubt it'll be yours."

"I don't even know how to handle a gun!"

"That's just your claim."

I paled. Who would've believed the girl with an axe to grind?

"At any rate, I'm arresting you both for being an accessory, and murder. Whichever story is true, you're both guilty for one of the crimes. Both of you, follow me."

Detective Flint guided us to another hall with a row of small, barred cells of concrete. Each cell contained a toilet, sink, a tiny window, and the faint smell of old iron. White paint peeled off walls. The "bed" resembled a tablecloth tucked into a low, thin table. If I rated the witch's house as a five-star prison, this place earned less than one.

The bars rattled as Detective Flint opened them. Father and I both entered separate cells. The bars rattled again on their way shut. "Welcome to your temporary quarters. I'll be back shortly. Viola, in particular, I suggest you use the time to reflect on your best interest. To think a kind-hearted girl could do this…what a shame."

If I survived the murder accusation and went down for being an accessory, the best-case scenario remained prison. At least that confinement had an end. I'd still have a second chance to build a better life. If I survived. Big if.

What was the best way to increase my chance of survival in this predicament? Detective Flint had a point; I had the weaker narrative, and Father had the truth on his side. Short of a confession, I'd hang. Did I have a shot to elicit Father's false confession? Better odds than a trial.

"Father? Are you there?"

Silence.

"I…haven't been much of a good daughter, have I?"

Silence.

"Now that I'm here and have some time to think, this ordeal must've been difficult for you. The two people you loved couldn't get along, then one kills the other. I even asked you to help with the coverup. It must've felt like you had to deny that Jenna ever existed in your heart. I even tried to sacrifice you."

More silence.

"I want to become a better person. I've been so self-absorbed that I never gave it much thought."

"Is this a ploy?"

"Huh?"

"If I know the current you, you're buttering me. Tell me if I predicted the next part of this 'conversation' right: you won't have another chance upon being found guilty of murder. Because I love you, I should confess on your behalf."

Each second burned my soul as I thought of a response to his attack. "That's…certainly. I know you're still angry about Jenna. And maybe my personality lately has been less than pleasant. But don't you think I can still grow?"

"If you don't want to hang, confess."

Thank goodness for the concrete wall that blocked Father's view of my irritation. "I know you want justice for Jenna and for my kind personality to return. But a rose needs full sunlight to thrive. If I confess, I'll be locked up for a long time. I'll wither."

Neither of us said anything more for a while. I wondered if my words had the right impact.

All alone, abandoned to a prison cell and an uncertain future. A sad cloud settled over my mind. Could someone make it leave? "I love you." I had no idea why I expected him to reply in kind.

"I wish I felt the same about you."

My insides clenched. I winced as tears formed, and I covered my mouth to force down my wail. How could he say that to his own daughter!? Okay, so maybe I stole his daughter's identity, but still!

I thought about the original Viola, trapped in my old, decayed body as she crawled to Father and I in the forest. If she still had eyes, how much despair would her eyes have reflected as she begged him to save her? Instead, Father shot Viola. What I felt now, did Viola feel then? She had nothing to keep her alive. I only kept myself alive because of the promise that I'd have someone who loved me. I wiped my tears. What was I supposed to say? I had nothing left for me; did it matter at this point whether or not the court found me guilty?

It did matter; Viola had no future in a crippled body. I still had time, a whole healthy human's lifetime, to establish myself as someone lovable. My voice came out hoarse. "I know. I'm sorry."

He said nothing.

I focused on my voice. "But come what may, I'll definitely recover the kindness from my heart. I won't give up on it. And no matter how you feel right now, even if it's despair, I know you haven't surrendered your faith in me." Good tone, I could do this.

Father sighed, and the bars rattled from his room for a moment. "Are you the real Viola?"

My skin jumped. "Huh?"

"I wonder if someone else took over you since the forest incident. The old you and current you are different as day and night. Perhaps, if monsters really existed, what's stopping one from taking my daughter?"

"No matter what life throws at us, I'm still your Viola." Wait, this void in his heart! I took a deep breath. "I don't want you to lose me; I'll confess."

"Until this moment, I wasn't sure. But now that I've heard your words, I'm certain; I glimpsed a spark of the old you and your kind heart that sought to make things right. If you still have that light…I can take your place without regret. I'll confess."

Yes! Yes! Yes! I grinned, pumped my fist, and stuck out my tongue. "Father, I don't know what to say…"

"Promise me that you won't lose sight of yourself ever again."

"I promise!"

Father later confessed to my version of Jenna's death. I acted my part and pleaded for leniency on Father's behalf. Naturally, Detective Flint argued to the court that Father only confessed this lie to protect me. However, the power of a confession swept the detective's protests aside. In the end, I received a decade of prison for my role in the coverup, but with part of it likely to be suspended. Alas, despite the confession, the court elected to have Father hanged.

Oh well. A brief prison sentence meant little to my sense of time.

The chance to rebuild a new life awaited me.