A familiar, smaller figure approached her. Despite the blazing sun casting the child in shadow, Irene instantly recognized her. The child's smile was as radiant as the sun itself. She chuckled softly, watching as the little one tiptoed closer, clutching a makeshift flower crown crafted from wild daisies and clovers. With childlike precision, the girl placed the crown on Irene's head.

"Isn't this beautiful?" the child said proudly.

The warm sunlight soaked into Irene's skin, blending with the tender gesture to create a fleeting sense of serenity. Irene's heart fluttered in response, a sensation so foreign it almost hurt. The weight of her ragged clothes, the dirt smudged on their skin, and the chaos of their messy lives felt inconsequential in that moment. For a brief time, there was nothing but warmth. They lay back on the soft, green grass, the scent of earth and wildflowers filling the air. The child nestled closer, resting her small head against Irene's shoulder. Irene closed her eyes and let herself sink into the peace of the moment.

Irene's eyes snapped open, tears sliding silently down her temples to pool in her ears. Her chest ached, the ghost of her dream lingering in the quiet darkness of her apartment. If there was one thing she hated about sleep, it was how it toyed with her. Dreams like that one felt so vivid, so tangible, yet they were nothing more than cruel reminders of what she had lost—and what she would never have again. Tears continued to trickle down her face as she stared at the ceiling. Happiness. It was a foreign concept to her now, one she could only remember through fleeting dreams that left her hollow. She hated those dreams. They reminded her of what could have been, of a life that might have brought her joy if things had been different.

Irene bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, a sting of pain anchoring her to reality. Maybe hurting herself was a way to pull herself out of the dream's clutches, or perhaps it was her way of punishing herself for daring to long for something she could no longer have. She didn't know. All she knew was the emptiness that followed her waking moments. With a shaky exhale, she sat up and wiped her face.

Later, Irene sat on her worn sofa, flipping absentmindedly through television channels until she froze at the sight of a familiar face. There she was—Kyouka. The green-haired woman stared back at her from the screen as she played the role of the perfect female lead in a primetime drama.

Irene leaned forward, her expression unreadable as she fast-forwarded through the scenes. She skipped every part that didn't involve Kyouka, her finger hovering over the remote with the same intensity as her gaze. When she stopped, the screen showed Kyouka in a heated moment—her character being strangled by her on-screen husband. Irene's lips curled into a bitter smile. She took a sip of her coffee, the dark liquid almost scalding her tongue, but she didn't care. The scene played out before her, but her mind twisted it, reimagining herself in the role of the husband. What if it were my hands around her neck? The thought was sharp, visceral, and satisfying in a way that made her grip on the coffee mug tighten.

"You fucking bitch," Irene muttered under her breath. The bitterness in her heart threatened to spill over. The television flickered on, the episode ending, and she leaned back, letting the silence of the apartment engulf her once again.

"Does God exist, Teacher?"

The question was like a needle piercing the quiet of the classroom. Irene froze mid-sentence, her chalk poised against the board as Seilah's voice echoed in the room. The other students fell silent, their curious eyes shifting between their classmate and their instructress.

Irene swallowed hard, the question pulling her thoughts into darker recesses of her mind. Memories she'd fought to suppress surged forward, unrelenting.

If God existed, then why? Why had He allowed such devastation? Why had He stood idly by as my life was torn apart?

A few years ago

"Did I not tell you not to perfect the fucking exam?!" Kyouka's voice rang out, dripping with rage.

The sting came before Irene could react—a sharp slap across her face that sent her reeling. Her cheek burned, the taste of blood faint on her tongue as her teeth grazed her lip. She stumbled back, her shoulder colliding with the cold cement wall of the corridor. Trapped. Cornered.

Before she could even process what was happening, Kyouka turned to the tall boy standing nearby. He was a shadowy figure of cruelty, his dark eyes alight with sadistic amusement.

"Hold her," Kyouka barked, her tone sharp enough to make Irene flinch.

The boy obeyed without hesitation. He grabbed a fistful of Irene's hair, yanking her head up and forcing her to face Kyouka. Irene yelped, the pain searing across her scalp as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Because of you, my mother's going to be furious with me!" Kyouka's voice was shrill with fury. "You useless fucking bitch!" she spat, her hand gripping the crumpled answer sheet.

Kyouka raised the paper and struck Irene across the face with it, the thin edges cutting into her skin like tiny blades. The humiliation stung far more than the physical pain. Irene clenched her fists at her sides, fighting the urge to cry, but her body betrayed her—tears slipped silently down her cheeks.

"Teach her a lesson," Kyouka ordered coldly, her lips curling into a cruel smirk.

The boy didn't need further encouragement. He released her hair only to shove her roughly to the ground. Irene hit the floor hard, her knees scraping against the rough surface. Before she could get up, the boy's foot connected with her ribs, the force of the blow stealing the breath from her lungs.

Irene gasped, curling in on herself as another kick landed against her back. Pain radiated through her body, sharp and relentless. She tried to shield herself with her arms, but it was futile.

Laughter echoed around her, cold and mocking. Kyouka's voice cut through the haze of pain. "That's enough for now," she said, her tone dripping with mockery. "She needs to learn her place."

The boy stepped back, leaving Irene crumpled on the ground. Her body ached, her breaths shallow and ragged as she fought to hold back sobs. Kyouka crouched down, her shadow falling over Irene like a predator looming over its prey.

"Remember this, Irene," Kyouka said, her voice low and venomous. "You don't get to win. You'll always be beneath me."

Present

Her voice came out flat, devoid of emotion. "They say there is."

Her vague response prompted another child to raise their hand. "So, do we really need to be good people to go to heaven?" the child asked.

Irene's lips twitched, her brows furrowing for a fraction of a second before a dry chuckle escaped her. Heaven. The word lingered in her mind, taunting her. What a foolish notion. It was no different from the bread-and-lottery question—a wager on something uncertain, a hope built on nothing but whispers and stories.

She let out another small laugh, startling the students into silence. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly, masking her thoughts with a composed smile. "Of course, you need to be good people. Isn't that one of our rules here?"

The children nodded, accepting her answer, but Irene's mind churned with unspoken truths. Being good doesn't matter when the end is certain. If hell is where I'm destined to go, then what's the point of pretending otherwise?

Irene's thoughts spiraled further. The beauty of not believing in gods is freedom—the ability to dictate what's right and wrong on my own terms. The world had robbed her of everything, but her autonomy was hers alone. She would hold onto it, no matter the cost. Her eyes scanned the classroom, lingering on Seilah for a moment longer than necessary. She resumed her lesson, her facade firmly in place.

Later that afternoon

"Regarding the new instructress, I want her out. Fire her," Kyouka demanded sharply, her voice clipped and cold as she slipped into her sleek black car. The driver shut the door behind her, and she leaned back against the leather seat, her fingers drumming impatiently on her phone. There was a brief pause on the line before the voice responded.

"But we can't fire her. She was directly endorsed by the president."

Kyouka's eyes widened, her grip on the phone tightening. "What? How?" she snapped, her voice rising with disbelief. Her breath hitched as she tried to process the information.

"Yes, the school's records confirmed it," the voice on the other end continued evenly.

Kyouka's nostrils flared, her jaw clenching as frustration bubbled within her. "Then find something. Anything. Dig into her past, Mard Geer. I don't care how long it takes or what you have to do—just find something illegal about her!"

"Kyouka, that could be—"

"I don't want her near my daughter for fuck's sake, Mard Geer!" she cut him off, practically hissing into the phone before abruptly ending the call. She tossed the device onto the seat beside her and exhaled sharply, her fingers digging into her thighs as she tried to calm her racing thoughts.

"How dare you," she muttered under her breath, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. "How dare you suddenly pop up out of nowhere, Irene Belserion."

You should have stayed buried, Scarlet. Kyouka thought.