JENNIE
The following days passed in stiff, tense stillness. Desperate to put the knife incident behind us, I fell into my role more fervently than ever—the obedient ward under a monster's control. I didn't dare so much as breathe the word "answers" or mention Dmitri.
Yet, with each passing moment, our delicate routine strained at the edges.
For one, Lisa stopped serving me anything requiring silverware, insisting more often than not that I drink my meals. If I asked her why, she evaded giving me a solid answer—and, as if to disguise the concern, she tried distracting me with taunts.
Insults, even.
"If you become any thinner, I won't have anything to hold on to the next time you decide to straddle me while airborne."
But I knew she was worried—and that terrified me more than hallucinating a weapon into a rose. When she looked at me, her expression became hollower than ever. Trying to maintain eye contact was a game of averted, downcast glances. Eventually, she began to resemble a living statue in my presence more than a protector.
Always on guard. Always watching.
Even worse, I could sense what little glimmer of trust we'd built up slip further away. The quest for answers itself had cemented our unnatural union, yet each day without them felt like another unwelcome shove off a cliff toward an unknown drop.
Maybe the delusions were my body's way of trying to warn me?
You aren't ready for this.
You can't handle this.
You shouldn't prolong this.
"…consider your time up," Lisa snarled. She sounded faint, as if her voice were coming from down below. But, bellowed like thunder, each word reached my ears clearly even as I lay in bed, too drained to eavesdrop. "You have an hour to return with whatever 'answers' you have. I won't even waste my breath on a threat. And if I learn that you've somehow harmed her…"
Murder resonated in her tone and some numb piece of my soul stirred in response. Me. She was afraid for me.
Faked of course, the callous voice in my skull taunted. Lies.
"Something is wrong. I talk to her and it's like she doesn't even hear me. I've never seen her like… Do you think I haven't? I've taken the precautions. I've restricted her meals. Any blood I give her has been vetted to Hell and back. But if you are behind this, then know that I won't stop at merely killing you—"
Lies. Lies. Lieslieslieslieslies…
"Jennie. Look at me."
I flinched; she sounded closer now. From the doorway, I realized as I turned toward it. Without an invitation, she entered my room, consuming the small space with her presence.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine," I insisted. "Just tired." To prove as much, I shifted, placing a pillow over my head, my eyes squeezed shut. Nonetheless, I sensed her step closer—remaining far away enough to judge me unmolested should I ache to touch her. Far enough away that she didn't have to touch me. "I'm fine," I repeated hoarsely. "I just need rest."
"You're not sleeping."
I winced at her accusatory tone. Was she angry?
Of course she is.
Alarmed, I lifted the pillow enough to observe her. Stern frown. Blazing eyes. Hell yes, she was angry.
Because she hates you.
"You need to eat."
"Like you care." My words echoed the voice hissing in my head, but I was too tired to ignore them anymore. They were the only truth to be found within these walls lately. The only answers I had to cling to.
Her lies. Lies.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," she stated bluntly.
But that voice overpowered her. She's lying. She's…
"You're lying," I whispered. "Like you really care whether or not I live or die—"
"Oh?" Her expression darkened, her eyes flashing with warning. Any other day, I'd rush to heed it. "You don't want to play this game with me. As you recall, our contract specified honesty. I'm demanding my fair share now. Tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing," I insisted. Because saying it out loud would have been far too insane. Too real. If I had to gauge her reaction in real time… I wasn't sure if I could handle the truth I might find.
Because she hates you.
Hates.
Despises.
Obsesses.
And you know it.
"I'll come back later." Her voice cut through the chaos for a heartbeat's reprieve—but then she turned for the door and the whispering intensified. I barely heard her growl, "You need to get some rest—"
"No, you know what I really need? I need answers!" I sounded so damn tired. So worn. A hundred-year-old woman howling from her deathbed. "I need the truth. And you're hiding it from me, aren't you? You're keeping me here. You're waiting, aren't you? Waiting for me to die—"
"Jennie." Her face was stone, but that of a statue carved in the guise of concern. Eyes too wide, mouth too tense. "Listen to yourself."
"I know why." I wrenched my blankets back and stood, pacing as everything became clear. Her motives. Her true intentions. "You're just waiting for me to die. You want me to. You don't give a damn about me—"
"Jennie…" Confusion crept into those hollow eyes, a more terrifying sight than the visions. "I think you need to lie down—"
"No!" I cringed against the wall as she took a step in my direction. "Stay away from me!"
She doesn't care about you, the voice warned, growing louder. Deafening. She doesn't. It's obvious.
"You don't care! Get out!"
But she didn't look smug, like a villain called out in her vicious grand plan. She looked at me like I'd grown three heads. Like I was the monster.
"Get out!"
"Jennie—"
"Get out!" I lunged for my bed, grabbed a pillow, and threw it at her.
When she easily sidestepped it, I snatched the vase on my bedside nightstand instead. It smashed against her chest, the broken pieces speckling the floor, as sharp as knives. But she remained, so I hurtled a picture frame at her next. A lamp.
Each weapon betrayed a shifting intention—less to repel her and increasingly to hurt.
"Get the hell away from me!"
When I aimed for the doorway again, another pillow in hand, she was already gone. I swayed, my weapon slipping from my fingers. Maybe she'd never been there at all? Maybe…she was already away from the manor, leaving me again.
Abandoning me again.
She didn't give a damn about me. All she wanted was…
No. I tugged at my hair, desperate to clear my thoughts. My memories portrayed someone far different than what the voices painted. Someone who'd held me at my darkest moment. Who'd claimed to crave me. Protect me.
Voice breaking, I called out for her. "Lisa? Lisa!"
No response. My room remained empty—or was it?
No. Something was at the foot of my bed. Moving.
"L-Lisa?"
She didn't come, and the noise strengthened, intensifying. Soft. Sweet.
I crept along my bed frame, drawn forward as if hypnotized. When I finally spotted the creature lying on the floor…
Shock brought me to my knees. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even scream.
It was a baby. Someone had left her there naked, her tiny limbs perfectly formed—and an emotion unlike anything I'd ever felt drowned me.
She wasn't a grotesque monster. No abomination.
She was beautiful.
Lively. Alive.
And as I gaped, her hands grasped at the air for me, her impish grin infectious. But the longer I stared, the more demanding her cries became. Insistent.
She needed me. I needed to hold her.
Cautiously, I drew closer, bringing a trembling hand against her tiny head and the cap of golden curls that shielded it. The strands felt like silk, a hue I'd only seen one other person possess. But her eyes… They were a blazing, burning green.
Like mine.
"Shhhh…" I tried to slip my hand beneath her tiny body. To hold her. To soothe her. Everything would be all right. She was safe. No one would ever hurt her. No one.
But my fingers disobeyed and encircled her throat instead.
"No!" One by one, they clenched no matter how hard I tried to stop. "No! No!"
Tighter I clenched, until her beautiful babble ceased mid-song. That delicate face turned blue, those tiny limbs frantically flailing.
"No!" I tried to pull away, clawing at my frozen wrist, but it wouldn't budge. I tugged harder, scraping with my nails. "No! No! Stop!"
My grip wouldn't loosen, and her tiny body grew limper by the second. Lifeless. With every heartbeat, the color faded from her rosy cheeks.
And I'd lose her forever.
"No! No! No!" I scanned my room, desperate for help. But salvation appeared like magic in my hand—a jagged piece of broken glass, honed like a knife.
And there was no time to hesitate. I slashed, unconcerned as the sharpened edge bit into my wrist. Deep. Deeper. Blood spilled, splattering the floor, but I didn't matter. Only she did. I needed to save her.
But even the violence didn't loosen my grip. The next cut went so deep that the blade scraped bone—but not deep enough. So I slashed again. Again. Still, my fingers wouldn't loosen.
And she wasn't moving anymore. She wasn't moving…
"No!" I wailed, trying harder. Cutting deeper, slicing into any part of my arm I could reach. "No! No—"
"Jennie!"
A cruel hand stole my weapon, struggling to contain my flailing, kicking limbs.
Teeth bared, I fought like hell, but I was no match. "Let me go! Let go! I can't leave her!"
But when I looked down, she had vanished.
And in her wake: red, red, red. The floor became a sea of it, frothing beneath my feet.
Endless amounts of blood.
"No! I didn't mean to." I choked out the confession, my heart breaking as much as my voice was. "I did it. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to hurt her. I couldn't save her—"
"What's wrong with her? Jennie! Jennie, look at me!"
I barely recognized the sound of Lisa's voice—ragged, distorted by a horror I couldn't begin to fathom—but I couldn't see her face. Though her words lashed at my eardrums, I barely heard her. Just darkness and noise. That goddamn noise.
You're pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.
Desperate, I tried to claw at my ears, but with my body restrained, I could only scream, "Stop! Make it stop, please!" I didn't know who I was pleading with. Lisa? God? Anyone? "I can't take it. Make it stop. Make it stop! Make it stop—"
"Dmitri!"
"I have it. Shhh, my dear," another voice crooned sweetly into my ear. "A little pinch… There. This will take the pain away, I promise."
I was only vaguely aware of a burning sting along my arm.
And then…peace.