Trigger Warnings:

- verbal abuse

- physical abuse

- sexual abuse

- rape

I wake up with an intense neck cramp and sore arms.

Sleeping on cold floors with restraints and open hair is not exactly luxurious.

A guard passes my breakfast - rather, a caricature of a breakfast - through the food slot into my cell.

Stale bread, watery soup, pecan shortbread biscuit, with plastic cutlery served on a tray.

Pecans!

Right. I did not tell Madam Ahearn my loathing for tree nuts in my desserts. But I have to be nourished for tonight. Stifling my revulsion, I swallow the biscuit in large bites. Suddenly, I start to choke. There is some metal in the biscuit. I cough it into palms. A lock pick. Madam Ahearn must have snuck into the biscuit. Quickly, I finish the caricature meal and hide the pick beneath my tongue. As I wait for the guards to take me to the interrogation room again, I let my thoughts wander. Tokyo is eight hours ahead of London. By now, Hanada-sama must have noticed that I'm missing. Shouto-kun must be concerned, too. I'll have to come up with a convincing excuse.

After what seems like hours, during which I take another nap, I am summoned to the interrogation room. But Madam Ahearn tells the others that she needs to have a private talk with me in her office. A reminder of last night's scolding, she says. We enter, and once she shuts the door, she turns on me. "So, how are we going to get you out of here? And why is your hair black instead of white?"

"Can I have breakfast first?" I ask. "A proper breakfast?"

She beckons to a tray on the coffee table between the couches. It's a decadent breakfast. Freshly cooked omelette with steam still rising; golden brown toast; a container of cut apples and grapes; a bowl of yogurt; steel utensils. My mouth salivates. Like a marionette, I reach for the fork and butter knife. But Madam Ahearn grasps my hands before they can cut the omelette. "There is a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste inside the bathroom. I have also put a towel and a bar of soap. Wash yourself first, then eat. I promise you the food will remain warm." A bath! I comply enthusiastically. It's a small, but cozy bathroom. There is a shower instead of a bathtub, who am I to complain? I don't know how long I spend inside, but when I come out, Madam Ahearn says that I spent forty-five minutes in there. "You're like my eldest daughter. She takes forever to get ready in the bathroom."

I simply grin and feast on the scrumptious meal.

"What kind of tea do you prefer?" Madam Ahearn lifts a box with an assortment of tea bags. I do not like tea bag tea; I prefer it brewed in the pot, but again, who am I to complain?

"Darjeeling tea. With a dash of milk and a dollop of honey," I respond after a large swallow.

"Exquisite choice," she compliments. "What kind of biscuits do you like?"

Now I can complain. "Nut-free."

She understands immediately, and chides again. "Just like my youngest daughter. A picky eater."

We eat in mutual silence. Having been in her private office for a visible amount of time, I wonder what her colleagues must be thinking, but I don't voice the thought. It is once we finish that we come to the main topic of discussion: my escape.

Stretching leisurely on the couch, I speak, "There will be an envoy to transport me to a much tighter facility. But before that, I assume there will be a grand meeting between everyone on the task force. A congratulation for all their time and effort, etcetera, etcetera. That is when I will strike. There is a particular quirk I have absorbed that allows me to release sleep-inducing pheromones into the air. Whoever so much as breathes will instantly succumb into a deep slumber. The only way to then wake them up is for the effect to pass - which takes many hours - or a series of hard slaps to the face. While they are asleep, I can induce them to dream. I will warp their memories of last night to seem dreamlike, so that they believe that the arrest and interrogation was just a product of their imagination. Thanks to the lock pick you snuck into that nasty biscuit, I can unlock the quirk restraints and get to work. Just keep a gas mask nearby, otherwise this escape will become unnecessarily complicated."

"And within the hours that my colleagues are unconscious, we have to destroy all recordings of last night's interrogation and your presence, grab your belongings, leave the facility, go to my home to change your getup, prepare for your confrontation with my ex, and torture said ex to reveal the truth."

"Yes."

"Piece of cake. Precisely how long will they be unconscious? Also, when they wake up, they will ask questions. What excuse should we give them?"

"For your second question, carbon monoxide outbreak. As for your first, six hours minimum. Twelve hours if I simultaneously use an amplification quirk to strengthen the pheromones."

"Then use it. We need all the insurance we can get."

Around early afternoon, the congratulation ceremony commences.

All employees involved in the case congregate in the designated large hall, including the ones who arrested me last night.

I take this opportunity and begin picking at the keyholes of my restraints. Ah. Freedom, I think to myself as I twist and rotate my joints. I turn myself completely invisible and slip through the cell bars. Reading the placards, I trace the path to the large hall. According to our plan, Madam Ahearn has tampered with the building heating systems to release carbon monoxide. Around the middle of her speech, I have to release the drowsiness pheromones. Then we will retrieve my things from the storage center and delete evidence of my being here from the technical center.

The speech has just started when I arrive. I stand in a corner of the hall, where I can see the face of everyone attending. After three minutes, like a serpent, I slither through and tug Madam's sleeve discreetly. That is her signal to wear the gas mask quickly. A hazy pink gas emits from the pores of my body just as Madam Ahearn fixes the mask to her face. One by one, each person slumps and dozes peacefully. I project my astral self into their dreams, altering details, blurring faces, and adding nonsensical elements like werewolves doing the tango and vampires playing cricket.

"Phase One accomplished," I comment.

"Onto Phase Two," she returns.

I drop the invisible disguise and head for the storage center. She goes in the other direction to the technical center. All my items are in a large bin, the roses in another. I missed you, my precious cane! Out of caution, I activate an electricity quirk and sense for any trackers or other minute devices implanted. None. After I finish dressing, I wait in Madam Ahearn's private office. Some half an hour later, she returns, sweat beading on her forehead. "That felt like a time-bomb. Anyway, onto Phase Three." Then she seems to properly notice me. "You were napping? Now, of all times?"

"It was taking you time, and my joints were flaring. Thought I might as well take advantage of the opportunity."

"Like my middle daughter. She can sleep anywhere and anytime. Let's go."

There is a concealed tile panel in the bathroom, which when pressed opens a hidden door inside the shower wall. She ushers me through before following herself. I hear the door shut as I traverse a dimly lit tunnel. Finally, another door appears before me. Opening it, we enter into an abandoned shop. "Just outside is our escape car," Madam Ahearn says. "Hide in the trunk."

I have no clue where we are going. I don't even bother to ask because with every turn and speed bump on the road, I feel the contents inside my stomach trying to climb up my esophagus. I am too busy stifling the feeling of carsickness and vomit urges. When the car finally stops and the trunk opens, I stumble out and unleash the rainbow waterfall behind some hedges. There goes my scrumptious breakfast, I cry internally.

Madam Ahearn tosses me a water bottle, which I gratefully take. Once I've collected myself do I noticed my surroundings. A standard English home between many condominiums. "Welcome to Cheshire County," she smiles fondly at the home. Her home.

We enter. It has a very cozy atmosphere. Baby blue paint covers the kitchen walls; sage and floral wallpaper in the living room; marzipan in the drawing room. An earthy scent permeates the air. And that is just the ground floor. Upstairs are four rooms. I assume one is hers, once shared with her ex-husband, and the other three are for her daughters. She beckons me inside her eldest daughter's bedroom. Shades of light pink are the aesthetic of this room, with plenty of makeup equipment and brand clothes. Madam scours her daughter's dresser for clothes for me to change into. "You and Calliope are around the same age, so her clothes might fit you." She passes me some undergarments, sweatpants, and a sleeveless shirt.

They fit well enough, but I wrap my arms around my body. "Could I wear something full-sleeve instead, Madam?" I ask. Her eyes examine my scars. She wants to ask questions, but does not know how. Silently, she passes me a sweater. We go to her bedroom next, where she tells me that it is safer for me here. Do not pull the curtains open, do not leave the room, bathroom and entertainment are within.

"I'll bring some snacks," she says at last. "We'll eat here and plan for the next part of the deal."

I sit on the large bed and let my thoughts wander. So, I have become a fugitive. And the people in charge of capturing me do not know it. Shigaraki and Kurogiri must be anxious. Good thinking on my part to never keep the burner phone they gave me on my persona. It is in the same interdimensional vault like my diary. I summon it and for a moment, my thumb hovers over the dial button. Ultimately, I decide against. I will call them once this matter is sorted out.

Madam Ahearn returns with more Darjeeling tea and biscuits. Chocolate, nut-free biscuits. She catches me trying and failing to braid my hair. "Let me," she commands. Her nimble fingers promptly part my hair into three sections and crosses them accordingly. "You can make the most intricate of buns, but cannot do something as simple as a braid."

"I was afraid that a braid would turn into a rope around my neck." She lets go once she finishes, but she wants to say more. I sip the tea and take a bite out of a biscuit. "I know you are curious. Rightfully so. Please, go ahead and ask."

"You gave a summary of your past on that paper. I burned it after you were taken to your cell, just so you are reassured. I should not bother, but my maternal instincts cannot help but care. Probably because you remind me of daughters so much. Why?"

There are so many unsaid questions in that one-word question. Why did my life turn out like this? Why was my luck so terrible? Why did I become what I am? But some things, once spoken, were given a life of their own. That is what I am about to do. My real parents died when I was born. That night was a lunar eclipse. At the orphanage I was raised in, most of the matrons were kind. But one called me a cursed child. She said that I was granted life at the cost of two. Then my arthritis developed and she scorned me more. I think she was right. My adoption was a curse, my abuse was a curse, my trauma, my murderess identity … they are all curses. Some of them brought on by fate, others by my own doing."

"Tonight is also a blood moon. Blood moons represent self-exploration, destruction, and regeneration. Particularly of the darker aspects of a person."

I smile sadly. "In Japan, a lunar eclipse is an omen of misfortune. So, I am dark and unfortunate. What a lovely amalgamation."

Madam Ahearn returns that melancholic smile. "So am I." She knows what it is like to be hurt. She knows what it is like to be deprived of happiness. She knows what it is like to feel so, so alone. However, she is about to get her happiness back. Her loneliness will fade. "From one woman to another, I understand your torment. No matter how intelligent or how capable a woman is, the people closest to her can irreparably shatter her confidence. Even when she recovers, she can never fully trust herself or anyone else again. We forget our dreams, but our nightmares linger with us evermore.

"Before my divorce, I was afraid. My ex-husband was a heavy drinker and smoker. Some financial constraints, a battle for property with his relatives, and a souring relationship with his boss made him moody and easily irritable. It started out small at first. A complaint, a frown, a sneer. Then it got worse. Insults, warnings, and threats. That was when he started to stay out entire nights, breaking every vow of fidelity. When I confronted him about his behavior, he projected his problems on me. On my daughters. Every night, my last thoughts were prayers. Prayers that tomorrow he would return to his former self. To the man I loved. One day, I lost the strength to hope. He threatened that he would tie my girls and ravish them. The scary part was that he did try. I did my best to save my girls. We barely escaped with stab wounds. We inflicted some on him, too, and he manipulated that to disgrace me.

"After the divorce, I was severely depressed. I fought and fought to get my daughters back. Every night, my last thoughts were still prayers. But prayers that my daughters were alive and safe. Deep down, I knew that only half of my prayers were granted. From watching them from a distance and the words of my friends and family, they lost their vibrant joy. Their teachers notified the principal that they were sullen and startled easy. They saw bruises across their faces, necks, arms, and legs. Bruises that my girls attempted to hide with concealer.

"You are right, Selene. I want my daughters back. I want the three lights of my life back. To think that the man whose shoulders they sat on, the man who played 'Tea Party' and 'Hair Stylist' with them, the man who kissed them every night while tucking them into bed would one day traumatize them like this wounded this mother's heart." She weeps in her hands.

This is the first time she has called me by my name. My own eyes start to fill. "And now you have met me. A girl from far away who has lived the same life as your daughters."

"Tell me something, Selene. Because of your rapes, did you ever become pregnant?"

I think about that question. "Perhaps. I had my first period when I was thirteen. I was raped frequently, so it is likely I did conceive. But rape was not the only part of my abuse. There were beatings and whippings. So under those conditions, even if I were pregnant, a miscarriage would have followed."

Madam Ahearn sobs. "I'm sorry. That was cruel of me to ask. It is just that I meet my daughters in secret whenever I have the opportunity. My Calliope … she is four months pregnant. She does not want this baby, but she has to hide her baby bump from him because he threatened that if any of my girls conceived, he would forcefully make them have a hysterectomy."

I listen, stunned. Tears drip steadily, but my thoughts storm like a tempest. Not even Hanada-sama has threatened me with that. It is a woman's right to decide whether she wants a baby, but to steal the choice from her like this … to render her completely infertile against her will … not even demons would do such a thing. "May I kill your ex-husband?" I ask, my cold tone complimenting my icy fury.

"As much as I would love to see him dead, no. Perhaps it is because of the vestiges of love I had for him. Perhaps it is just my humanity. Just give me daughters back. I don't even care about my job now. I want my family back."

"Then can I make your ex-husband beg for his life?"

Madam Ahearn giggles, "Sure. That compromise will suffice."

"In that case, once nightfall arrives, we shall spill some blood."

Citations:

"Some things, once spoken, were given a life of their own." - From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

"We forget our dreams, but our nightmares linger with us evermore." - The Beautiful by Renée Ahdieh