Dinner had arrived earlier than expected today, much to the efforts of Bela, who sought to appease their mother with a prompt meal. The gatherings had always been a ritual in the castle, but today the atmosphere felt strained – at least for the youngest of the trio. Daniela fidgeted in her chair, her crimson hair shifting as she tilted her head, nervously eyeing her sisters through the edges of her hood.

Alcina had briefly stepped away once she overheard the phone ringing from upstairs. It seemed as though Mother Miranda had yet another discussion of the unknown up her sleeve. If there was anything to be taken from that insistent tone, it was that the prophet was to never be ignored.

With the lady of the castle absent for the time being, it was the three sisters left alone by themselves. The maids had been ordered by Alcina to begin cleaning the castle, as she must have expected Miranda to make another surprise appearance.

Cassandra was seated in the middle of the bunch, wholly uninterested in her surroundings. She methodically cut her meat, her amber eyes focused on her plate as if avoiding interaction. Bela, seated to Cassandra's right, sipped her wine slowly, her gaze honed in on her siblings as though she could sense the tension before it erupted.

The recent arguments had steadily been becoming more frequent in number. It was on the blonde's radar to quell then whenever possible, as such conflicts cast a terrible image of the Dimitrescu family. Not just that, but it also made her look bad, as it showed that the eldest had little control of her sisters.

Daniela cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Hey, Cassandra," she began, her tone cautious but tinged with a little bit of hope. Would it work?

Cassandra didn't look up.

"Maybe after dinner," Daniela continued, twirling her fork between her fingers, "we could, you know, hang out? Just us sisters." It was not a unique question at all. The redhead knew that she had asked this of the brunette multiple times, but it was the timing itself that she hoped to get right.

Perhaps if she asked at just the right moment, then maybe the middle child would accept.

Cassandra finally glanced at her. She did not look thrilled at all. "Hang out?"

"Yeah," Daniela said, her voice brightening as if she could will enthusiasm into the conversation, thinking that it could help sway her sister's mood. "Like we used to. We could walk or play around in the upper levels of this castle. It used to be so much fun."

Cassandra's lips twisted into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it. No love. "You mean how much fun you had?"

The light in Daniela's eyes dimmed. She knew she had already failed. "But, Cassandra. I just thought..."

"You thought what?" Cassandra interrupted, setting her fork down with a sharp clink. "That I'd drop everything to indulge your childish games? Grow up, Daniela."

Daniela shrank back slightly, her shoulders hunching. "It's not childish," she said.

"Then stop acting like a child," Cassandra shot back, leaning forward as her eyes narrowed. "Always begging for attention. Just stop asking me. You don't understand anything, do you?"

Bela sighed, placing her wine glass down carefully. "Cassandra," she said firmly, "there's no need for that."

Cassandra turned her glare to Bela. "Oh, don't start. You ignore her just as much as I do. Don't pretend you're some perfect big sister."

"I don't ignore her," Bela replied calmly, though in her heart, she knew that was a blatant lie. "And I don't tear her down, either. But you do."

Daniela looked between them, her expression growing more dire. She hated being the cause of their arguments, but she couldn't stand the way Cassandra dismissed her. As distant as Bela could be, she was never cruel to her. At the heart of it all was the way the brunette took the time to ridicule her for seemingly no reason at all. It felt like that was the stake in her chest. If it could be removed, then maybe there was a chance to salvage this fractured relationship.

Why doesn't she understand how this is making me feel? I'd hate to think that she doesn't care at all. That's not the Cassandra that I grew up with.

"Cassandra," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm your sister."

"You're my sister," Cassandra said coldly, "not my responsibility."

Daniela's chest tightened, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. This hurt more than she thought it would. "Why are you so mean to me?"

"Because you make it so easy," Cassandra replied, leaning back in her chair with a mean grin. This was her way of shutting things down for good. "If you didn't, then I wouldn't be mean. Cause and effect."

"That's enough," Bela interjected, her voice louder now. She stood from her seat. "Cassandra, you're not going to start up again tonight."

Cassandra scoffed, crossing her arms. "And you're not going to lecture me, Bela. You're not the perfect sister."

Bela's jaw tightened, but she didn't take the bait. This was what Cassandra did all the time, and she was good at it. "It's not about being perfect, Cassandra. There is no reason for you to make the effort to degrade her."

The woman only grinned more. It was a devious mask that she wore. "Shall I degrade you, instead?"

Bela's teeth clenched. "Watch your mouth, Cassandra…"

"You're both missing the point!" Daniela shouted, rising from her chair so suddenly it scraped against the floor. "We're supposed to care about each other, not... not this!" She gestured wildly between them, her hands trembling.

Neither sister responded immediately, shocked to see the way she was taking it. The redhead was drawing closer toward a mental episode. "This isn't what sisters do," she said, her voice breaking. "This isn't how we're supposed to be."

She would have stood there for longer if it wasn't for Cassandra's immediate giggling. That was when Daniela grimaced at her, right before her body dispersed into a horde of flies. "We're dying." She said not another word before she flew out of the room, leaving her two sisters alone.

As Cassandra slumped back into her seat, she contemplated why she had reacted that way. It was not intentional at all, only reactive. Unbeknownst to Bela and Daniela, it was her only way to deal with the truth. She knew what she was doing, and deep down, a part of herself hated it.

But the anger that resided in her chest pushed it out of her lungs and past her throat. The root of it was her perception of how inadequate she was compared to them. She tried to get her point across, but only in the worst way.

Fire did not extinguish fire – it only burned everything to ashes.

Once that fire was gone, there would be nothing left.

The Library

The sound of the door creaking open took Kyia's attention away from the unending dusting that had she had been tasked to work on. She turned to see Delia entering, balancing an assortment of wine bottles in the basket that she held as she entered. Daniela's earlier request had sent Delia away, and Kyia could tell by the slight furrow in her brow that the trip had not gone smoothly.

"Delia," Kyia said as she set the duster aside. "You're back. Everything all right?"

Delia placed the basket on a nearby table, letting out a quiet sigh as she shrugged her shoulders. "Not exactly," she admitted, rubbing her temples. The young girl had never appeared so annoyed before. Even the fawn she had been partnered with was surprised to see such a look of dismay.

Kyia tilted her head, feigning concern. "What happened?"

Delia hesitated for a moment, then pointed toward the doorway that she had entered from. "I ran into Luana and Sorina in the kitchen. We... had a disagreement."

Kyia's heart skipped with excitement, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. This was the exact kind of discord she had been hoping to sow. "Oh no," she said, stepping closer, trying to play the part of the comforting friend. "About what?"

Delia glanced at Kyia. "You."

Kyia blinked, her brow furrowing as well. She placed her hand softly against her chest, her thin cheeks rounding as the corner of her mouth lifted to match her eyebrow. "Me? Why?"

"I wanted to get to the bottom of what happened," Delia admitted. "I thought... I thought maybe if I talked to them, I could understand why. But maybe I didn't go about it the right way. I don't know."

Kyia pressed a hand to her chest again, her lips trembling just slightly as she played up her shock. "You did that for me?"

Delia nodded. "Of course. You're my friend, Kyia. I just wanted to find out for myself why you three had an argument that sent you here."

The words sent a flicker of unease through the woman's head. "What did they say?"

"They accused you of holding a knife to Luana's throat, just like I expected. They said you were untrustworthy. That would get me killed." She shook her head with frustration. "I tried to tell them that you're not like that, but they wouldn't listen."

Kyia lowered her gaze, letting out a sigh. "I see."

Delia stepped closer, her hand reaching out as if to comfort her. "I don't believe them, Kyia. I know you're not like that. I could understand people arguing, but the way Luana made it sound just came off as so unrealistic to me. We've only ever spoken in passing and she seemed nice, but during the conversation, the way she and Sorina went about it… I don't know at all. It just gave me the impression that they were in their own, little space, I guess. I didn't even feel like I belonged there, either."

"Thank you, Delia," Kyia said, her mind already weaving the next thread of her story. "I wish I knew why they hated me so much. I've only ever tried to do my job, to fit in. It was rough at first and still rough after that, but I always had the feeling that they didn't like me from the start."

Delia frowned. "They said you were selfish, but that's not true. You've been nothing but kind to me."

Kyia placed a hand on Delia's arm. "And you have been the same to me and I cannot thank you enough for that."

Delia ran a hand through her hair as she tried to mentally sort out this mess. "This just makes me feel terrible. I hate arguing with people. I'm never like this, but when I spoke to them, all I could think about was you crying and it made me so mad."

Kyia sighed once more, leaning against one of the shelves. "I don't blame them, you know," she said. "It's hard here. Everyone's trying to survive. Sometimes that means finding someone else to blame when things go wrong."

Delia looked at her with a somber glare. "That doesn't make it right."

"No," Kyia agreed, her eyes downcast. "But it's the way things are."

The two fell silent for a moment. This was going just the way it had been planned.

Delia finally broke the silence, her voice quiet. "I wish things were different."

Kyia nodded, her mind racing. She needed to keep Delia on her side, to deepen the bond between them. Her greatest tool needed to be sharpened, if she was going to use it. "Maybe we can make it different."

Without warning, the library doors slammed open, the sound of the intense force reverberating through the room. Both Delia and Kyia froze, their heads snapping toward the entrance. Daniela stormed in, her amber eyes blazing with fury.

"You!" Daniela's voice was sharp, aimed at the two maids, ready to slice them to pieces. She pointed a finger at Delia. "I sent you for wine and now you're just standing there? Why aren't you working?"

Delia stammered, stepping back instinctively as her fears of what would happen grew. "N-no, Miss Daniela! I just got back!"

Daniela didn't wait for an explanation. She crossed the room in a flash, blitzing through in a supernatural fashion before she grabbed Delia by the arm and shook her. "You think you're going to talk back to me? Who do you think you are?"

Kyia's heart raced as she watched the scene unfold. She wanted to intervene but knew any sudden move could redirect Daniela's wrath toward her. It would just be easier to allow Delia to be the sacrificial lamb for this one. Getting herself hurt was not worth the cost.

"And you," Daniela snarled, turning her attention to Kyia. The decision was now out of the fawn's hands.

She shoved Delia away, sending her stumbling into the nearest table. "You think you're not at fault? Say something, Kyia!"

Kyia stood her ground, her hands cupped at her chest. "Miss Daniela, I am sorry!"

Daniela advanced on Kyia without another word, her face inches away. "I'll make you sorry, don't you worry!"

Before Kyia could respond, Daniela's hand lashed out, striking her across the face. The force of the blow made Kyia stumble, but she caught herself, her head bowed. Her cheek burned, but she refused to let the pain show. It would only fuel the redhead's anger some more.

Delia, still clutching her arm where Daniela had grabbed her, stepped forward hesitantly. She wanted Kyia to be safe, but the noblewoman was on the path of violence. It made no sense as to why she had entered the room in such a fury. "Please, Miss Daniela, we only wish to serve you."

Daniela spun around and centered her wild glare on Delia. "You call this service? I've killed better maids for lesser infractions, so why should I not cut your throat right now?"

She only let out a giggle afterward, as if a thought had just crossed her mind. "Hmm… Maybe Kyia can suffer in your place instead." Daniela immediately rotated her body and grabbed the brunette by the hair, knocking her down onto her knees. She tilted Kyia's head up toward the ceiling – right as her sickle glinted in the light.

She had no control. None at all. She was ready to end the maid's life right now.

In desperation, Kyia's hand reached up and grabbed Daniela's knuckles, clutching onto the glove she wore as she prepared to beg for mercy. Those emerald eyes were wide with fear. It couldn't end like this. Not when there was still an opportunity to escape. "Please, Miss Daniela!"

The redhead jerked Kyia's head backward as she prepared herself to swing the blade at her jugulars – which caused Kyia's hand to slip down onto Daniela's exposed wrist.

The effect was immediate.

Daniela froze, her entire body going rigid. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she seemed lost, her fury evaporating like mist in the sun. Kyia felt a warmth that she had no control over take hold underneath her palm. It was faint, but nonetheless present.

However, it was not just the noblewoman who had been affected by the fawn's touch. Kyia's mind had suddenly played host to a vast array of visions – mostly moments of carnage and murder that the redhead had participated in over the decades. While the onslaught of violence was enough to shock the brunette, it was the tail end of the visions that struck her mind so greatly.

She saw glimpses of Cassandra and Daniela schuffling inside this very library. The pages of a torn book – the same one that she so deeply cherished – littered the floor. The look of despair on Daniela's face said it all, but the way Cassandra suddenly beat her down was undeniable. There was hatred in that woman's heart, ready to drown her sister in a tidal wave of contempt.

As soon as the visions sped up after, Kyia then witnessed the deaths of the Dimitrescu daughters through various fashions: Ethan Winters gunning them down without hesitation. Mother Miranda herself storming the castle and laying waste to its very foundation.

Mother Miranda, Kyia thought? The prophet of this village?

The visions culminated in a display of the feathered blonde holding the Dagger of Death's Flowers – plunging it straight into Cassandra's chest. Kyia lost her balance and fell to the ground the second she saw it.

Delia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she watched. "Kyia... are you alright?"

"I… I am," Kyia murmured, quickly getting back onto her feet and stepping back cautiously. Her green eyes were set on Daniela, awaiting her next move.

But Daniela stood motionless, her gaze unfocused as if she were seeing something far away. Slowly, she brought a hand to her head, her fingers brushing against her temple. She shook her head slightly, her expression shifting from confusion to something softer.

When she finally looked at them again, her eyes were no longer wild but dazed. She blinked as if she had just awoken from a long slumber.

"Delia, Kyia… what is with you two?" Daniela asked with a soft hum to follow.

Delia exchanged a glance with Kyia, who remained silent. The maid could not make sense of this at all.

Daniela's gaze fell on the wine bottle sitting on the table. She stepped forward, picking it up with a smile. She turned to Delia, her lips curling as her happiness took hold. "You did well. It's just what I needed."

Delia nodded, her voice trembling as she forced a smile of her own. "Thank you, Miss Daniela."

Daniela seemed to study her for a moment, then turned away, her focus shifting to the wineglass. She poured herself a drink and took a sip, closing her eyes as if savoring the taste. She looked like she couldn't care less about their presence at all.

Kyia and Delia stood frozen as they watched Daniela. While her vicious tirade had weathered down, the two ladies were still reeling for the aftermath of it. It was too hard to tell if she would revert back to her feral nature or not, but the sudden shift in demeanor was questionable – at least for Delia.

Daniela finally looked at them again, shaking her head without a second thought. "You're both dismissed. I have no need of you right now. Go find something else to clean."

"Yes, Miss Daniela," Kyia and Delia said in unison, bowing their heads. They backed toward the door and exited it immediately.

As soon as they were out of the library, Delia turned to Kyia, her voice whispering. "What just happened in there? She normally never changes just like that."

"I don't know," Kyia cut her off, her tone sharper than she intended. She softened her voice, adding, "I really don't." But deep inside, she knew the truth. Surges had a habit of being able to discern one's emotions with a single touch. Seeing visions was an entirely different set of skills. Such qualities were only reserved for the most powerful ones to reap in such expanded detail.

It would have been no question back in Locwitary, but here? This world, where she lacked her abilities? No, Kyia thought. There was no question at all. Her flames and powers to move and pull things apart may have been absent, but her core energy was not dispelled. There was a flame inside her and it was manifesting slowly into an inferno. The more time she spent in this world, the more it grew.

She needed to find that dagger, but if she could hold out for long enough, the journey to uncovering it might be easier than she thought.

However, as she walked down that hallway in silence, her mind could not stop thinking about the visions of the deaths of the Dimitrescu family. Ethan never killed any of them – he had said so himself. The castle was intact. Mother Miranda had certainly not rampaged through here either. Cassandra was very much alive and well, unfortunately.

The fawn thought long and hard about this as she went along, but her confusion laid in the fact that fawn visions were never false. They were always based on reality.

Reality – or realities?

The flicker theory. It had to be real.

Kyia gulped as soon as she crossed into the Main Hall, her eyes set on the fireplace. She remembered Narratha's odd words the moment the redhead laid eyes on Alcina.

"I killed you."

Had she?

If those visions were anything to go off of, then what fates lay in store for the Dimitrescu family? What could Kyia do to expediate those fates? Cassandra and Daniela must have fought at some point in one timeline.

Kyia could not harm them herself. Not in this state.

But if she could get them to harm each other…

The Village

Narratha felt Marco's small arms tighten around her waist as she exhaled, her hands instinctively resting on his back as he buried his face into her side. The boy was couldn't have been happier to receive that gift from her, but for the redhead, his reaction was an unexpected gift of its own.

It had been so many years since she last brought such a genuine smile to a child's face. It made her feel like the big sister that she never got to be. The mother that she was fated to never become. All of that potential had either been missed or abandoned in the pursuit of justice.

Justice that only perverted itself when the fiery will of revenge poisoned her.

Narratha had placed so much thought in destruction over the last decade. She knew that the consumption of fawn blood would rattle her mind, infecting it with heightened emotions beyond her control. Part of her was okay with that side effect. She needed to keep the hatred inside her alive and well throughout the years if she was to pursue her goals and see them to completion.

As much as the poils hurt her, she did not want there to be any sliver of forgiveness to be felt. After she killed Milo, it seemed as though her quest had finally come full circle, but it could not. Narratha had to keep drinking the crimson. She needed to fan the flames that she wished to expel. More poils had to die. More fawns needed to be shown the truth – her truth, at least.

If she were to give up, then history would only repeat itself. But what future was there for such a wrathful woman? If a child's gratitude could affect her so greatly, was she truly the person that she made herself into? Did she secretly yearn to just have what she had lost in the first place?

The tears that had betrayed her moments ago threatened to return. She fought to hold them back, but as she pulled away slightly to look at Marco, one slid down her cheek. There was no hiding it. The truth was out.

Marco tilted his head, his eyes wide with concern. "Why are you crying, Narratha?"

Caught off guard by the question, she quickly brushed the tear away with the back of her hand. "It's nothing, Marco," she replied softly. Another tear slipped out despite her efforts, glistening in the dim light that shone through the grey clouds above.

Marco's brow furrowed, his small hands still clutching at her gown. He looked so worried. "But you're crying. Did I do something wrong?"

Narratha's breath caught. The boy's unease only deepened her guilt. With her face still at eye level, the fawn rested her hands on his small shoulders. "No, you did nothing wrong," she said firmly, pushing the troubles out of her throat. "You're a good boy, Marco. It's… it's me."

Marco tilted his head, confusion rifle within his expression. "What do you mean?"

Narratha hesitated, but she did not wait for long. It was okay to be open with him, she thought. "I just... I wouldn't be a good mother. That's all."

Marco frowned, his lips pressing together as he thought about her words. "Why not?"

The simplicity of his question struck Narratha like a heavy blow. Why not, indeed. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the forest met the village. It reminded her of the ones back in her home world. She could not even begin to count the amount of people that she had slaughtered within them.

Those people she had killed were the children of others. There was no doubt that she had ruined so many lives. After all that, how could she deserve a happy one for herself?

"Because I am not a good person. I have done some very terrible things and it is best that no child is raised by me."

"What kind of things?" He asked. She sighed and shut her eyes.

"Bad things," Narratha said, pressing her lips. "Worse than you know. You have a mother. You do not need me."

Marco was silent for a moment, his small fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. Something was on his mind. Finally, he spoke. "My mom left."

Narratha's head snapped back to him. "She left?"

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground. "Two years ago. She just... disappeared. My dad says she ran away from this village and went off into the woods. She's a strong mom, but I don't think she is strong enough against the beastmen." His voice cracked, and he looked up at her, his eyes filled with a sadness that seemed far too heavy for someone his age. He had been through more than he should have. "Do you think she'll ever come back?"

Narratha's chest tightened. She knew that if the boy's mother had indeed entered that forest, she was as good as dead. "I hope so, Marco," she admitted honestly. "I lost my mother when I was young. Me and… my sister… we both did." She bowed her head, suppressing the next tear that sought to present itself as she thought about her sister. "It took me a long time to come to terms that I would never see her again. But I didn't give up. Sometimes, I think she still speaks to me, even though I am not the daughter she wished I was. Keep your ears open, dear child, and yours may speak to you as well."

If her mother could speak to her again, Narratha was certain that she would be asked why she murdered her own sister. It tore her heart to pieces to think that Nackia would still have found a way to forgive her if she could.

Marco nodded again, his gaze still downcast. He sniffled as his hands cupped together; his thumbs swaying back and forth. He appeared to be so nervous, as if he was dwelling on the next thing that he was about to say. The juggling of an admission that he felt bound to not utter, but one that his heart so desperately wanted to free itself of.

"My dad drinks a lot. He says it's my fault that she left. He tells me that he never wanted a kid."

It was a knife to Narratha's heart. Her suspicions, which she had tried to push aside, resurfaced. She studied him closely, her sharp eyes catching something she hadn't noticed before—a faint bruise peeking out from under the sleeve of his coat.

Without thinking, Narratha reached out and gently took his wrist, lifting the sleeve just enough to reveal the discolored mark. Marco flinched slightly but didn't pull away. He wanted someone to finally see it.

"What happened here?" she asked, her voice low and careful, though an edge of anger crept in. His explanation would only be a formality. She already knew the answer.

Marco hesitated, his small body tensing. "It's nothing. I just—"

"Marco," Narratha interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind, letting him know that there was nothing to hide. She softened her grip, her fingers brushing lightly over the bruise as she tried to sense his emotions. She focused, willing her powers to awaken, to show her the truth behind his pain. But nothing came. The connection was silent, leaving her more frustrated than ever.

"I... I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Marco said suddenly, his voice breaking into a whimper. He pulled his arm back, cradling it against his chest. "I try to be good, but he always gets mad at me."

Narratha felt her breath catch in her lungs. Her hand clenched into a fist at her side after she withdrew it from him, and for a moment, she wished she could summon her powers to make things right. But what would that accomplish? Violence had only ever left her empty. Hurting Marco's father would not take away the boy's past. He would still be left with those memories that made him so uncertain of the adults around him. His fear and insecurities could not be washed away simply because someone's life ended.

Had she only told herself that years ago…

"You're not doing anything wrong," she said with conviction. "Do you hear me, Marco? None of this is your fault. Parents are supposed to protect their children. They do not ever hurt them."

He looked up at her, his eyes shimmering with tears. "Then why does my dad not love me?"

Narratha exhaled slowly, forcing herself to stay composed. She wanted to scream. Maybe cry a few more tears of her own. She understood what it was like to strike a child. The redhead could easily account the abuse that she subjected Leta to when that little girl was a prisoner of hers. She felt like such a hypocrite.

Harm a kid in one world, coddle one in another. It made her sick.

"A child should not ask for their parent's love," she said. "It is the parent who must earn it."

Marco sniffled, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "But I deserve this. I'm not doing something right."

She clutched his shoulders with both her hands, pulling his face up close towards hers as she stared him down. Narratha did not even blink once. "Stop! You do not! Do not tell yourself that this is what your life has to be like."

He cried a little more as his head fell into her arms. She hugged him, bringing his tiny frame against her torso, her bushy locks of red hair shielding him from the cold, bitter wind. "I'm so sorry, Narratha. I'll stop making you upset."

She picked her head up, pressing her chin against the crook of his neck. She let her next tear fall. What kind of world could be so cruel that it would drive a child to accept responsibility for their own torment? Narratha's eyes surveyed the valley around them in the brief second that they were open. And in that second, she thought to herself that it was not this world nor this village – but Marco's home.

His home was his world.

"Marco…" Narratha grimaced as she graced the back of his head with her palm in a motherly fashion. "I'm here. It's okay."

He whimpered again, his fingers pulling against the edges of her dress. She knew he felt safe right now. That was why she then held him tighter.

For a moment, they stayed like that, but then the peace of the moment was shattered by the gruff, slurred sound of an angry voice cutting through the cold evening air. Narratha knew the sound of a drunkard when she heard one.

"Marco! What are you doing? Get away from that outsider!"

Narratha's body tensed instantly, her eyes snapping toward the source of the voice. A man stumbled toward them, his gait unsteady, his face flushed with anger. His clothes, a brown suit, were disheveled, and the bottle clutched loosely in his hand made his intoxication unmistakable.

It was his father.

Marco recoiled, cowering against Narratha's side as the man approached. The boy's wide, frightened eyes darted up to hers, silently pleading for protection. Narratha stood slowly, positioning herself between Marco and the advancing figure.

"You!" He growled, pointing a trembling finger at Narratha. "Stay away from my son!"

From a nearby house, a woman clad in a black gown suddenly emerged. She must have overheard the exchange and felt the need to intervene. Her bun of dark hair swayed behind her back as she moved closer toward him. "Anton!"

"Go away, Luiza!" Marco's father stumbled, nearly losing his grip on the bottle. He caught the glass before his own feet.

But Luiza persisted. "You're scaring your child, Anton. Go home."

Anton barked out a harsh laugh, his breath reeking of alcohol as he stepped closer. "Scaring him? You think I care? He's my boy. I'll deal with him however I damn well please. Go back inside your fucking house!"

"Enough with this!" Luiza tried to reach for his bottle, but he slapped her across the face without any consideration. It was natural for him. The woman yelped in pain before she paced back, leaning against the edge of the short fence. Flakes of snow collected upon her shoulders as she stood there, still recovering from the blow.

Marco whimpered, clutching at Narratha's coat. The child could not bear to see his father's path of rage target someone else. He was tempted to just go with him, so that he could bear the punishment to come and save the others the agony.

Narratha glanced down at him, her expression softening briefly as she shifted her eyes at Luiza, furrowing her brow. "Marco, get behind me," she said firmly. The boy hesitated, but the urgency in her voice spurred him to obey.

Anton sneered, swaying slightly. "Don't you tell my boy what to do. You don't belong here, outsider."

Narratha's anger flared, but she kept her tone steady. "You're not a parent."

Anton's sneer twisted into a snarl, and he took another unsteady step forward. "You don't know a damn thing about me or my boy! Now get out of my way!"

She raised her voice. "What kind of parent hates their own kid?!"

"Fuck off!"

Before Narratha could respond, Anton lunged forward, grabbing Marco by the arm and yanking him roughly away from her. The boy cried in pain, stumbling as his father dragged him through the snow. The lad began to kick and thrash, his small voice rising in desperation. "Let me go! Please, Dad, stop!"

The boy's resistance only seemed to enrage Anton further. He cursed under his breath and struck Marco across the face, sending him sprawling into the snow. Anton spared no time before he stood over the boy, kicking him relentlessly. The entire village could hear the pained shouts of Marco as the tip of his father's boot collided with his side.

No one stepped in to intervene. They were all too afraid.

In a flash, Narratha recalled the final image that she witnessed of her friend, Balia, being dragged away to be raped by one of the murderous poils. The helplessness in that little girl's voice. The way she screamed. The pure horror in her eyes when she realized that she could not be saved.

The spark of a decade of fury and murder.

Something in Narratha snapped.

In a single, swift motion, she grabbed Anton by the collar and hurled him backward. Anton landed hard in the snow, his bottle shattering beside him. He never saw her coming.

"Stay away from him!" Narratha screamed in a blazing tone.

Anton scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with anger and humiliation. He may have been drunk, but he was still quick. "You stupid bitch!" He spat at her as soon as his words ended. A second after, he charged at the freckled fawn.

The two clashed at that very instant.

Anton swung a punch that landed squarely on Narratha's cheek, the impact sending a jolt of pain through her skull. Her rage must have blinded her as well, as a slow blow like that should have been easy to avoid. But she didn't falter. Fueled by a burning hatred for those who harmed the ones she cared about, she retaliated, headbutting the man and sending his skull backward.

Onlookers gathered as the redhead spun the man around, her hands gripped tightly against the collar of his now-torn dress-shirt. Narratha did not skip out on the opportunity to land a punch of her own directly into the center of his gut. There was so much alcohol in his stomach that some expelled the instant she compacted it. Anton's incoming vomit caused the fawn to let go, but she was not done,

She tackled him to the ground, straddling him, and pushing his head deeper into the snow. "I am not a scared child!" Narratha struck him in the face as she pinned him down. "But I will make you afraid!" She punched him again, causing blood to eject from his nostrils and mix with the puke that coated his lips.

There was nothing that he could do to fend her off. She was too strong. Narratha continued to beat him some more, speaking in between every hit.

"You will never hurt him again!" Slam. "You're weak!" Slam. "Worthless bastard!" Slam.

"Stop it! Please, Narratha, stop!" Marco's voice broke through the haze, his small hands clutching at her coat.

But Narratha couldn't hear him. Her world had narrowed to the man beneath her, to the rage that consumed her. She was highly aware of the blood on her hands, of Anton's feeble attempts to shake her off, but she couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop. She wanted the blood to be there. He had become everything that needed to be destroyed in that very moment.

And destroy him, she would.

She rose to her feet, breathing heavily, and grabbed the shovel from the wheelbarrow. Her hands shook as she raised it high above her head, the sharp edge glinting in the air. She was ready to end it, to rid Marco of this monster once and for all.

Anton could no longer harm his son if that shovel blade was buried in his chest. As much as she wanted to move away from killing, doing so in the pursuit of justice called to her once again. She would embrace the violence if it meant the boy was safe.

Past mistakes – repeated over and over. But she couldn't help it. What other solution was there? If she did not act, then the child would only continue to suffer. Something had to be done. Somebody had to be willing to take a life to change the future. It would be her.

Without warning, Mother Miranda's hand shot out, her fingers encircling Narratha's throat like a vice. She lifted her effortlessly off the ground, and the shovel fell from her grasp with a dull thud. The prophet had appeared from out of nowhere. Had she been watching this entire time? Narratha didn't know. She could only fight for air.

The villagers, who had silently gathered at a distance to witness the commotion, gasped and backed away in terror. Whispers of fear rippled through the crowd, but none dared to speak up. They knew better than to cross their leader, especially if an outsider had just transgressed. There was no doubt in their minds that a life was about to be cut short in front of them.

Narratha clawed at Miranda's hand, her legs kicking helplessly in the air. "Y-you... call yourself... a leader?" she managed through choked breaths, her voice hoarse but defiant. She would not bow to this woman, even if it meant her death. "People… are suffering."

Miranda's eyes narrowed behind her mask. "The winter is harsh, outsider," she replied casually, as if she had not a single care in the world. "We all suffer, but it is you who shall see the end of their suffering."

Narratha's vision blurred as oxygen fled her lungs, but she had to speak her mind. "No child… should… suffer."

Miranda's grip tightened, but just as it seemed she would end Narratha's life, she paused. A flicker of blue light flashed in the redhead's eyes, faint but undeniable. There was something there. Miranda's grip loosened slightly as curiosity crept into her expression. She tilted her head, studying the faint glow through the bars of her golden-beaked mask.

"Correct," Miranda murmured, almost to herself. "I always think of the children."

At that moment, the sound of hurried footsteps broke the tense silence. Heisenberg appeared, his hammer slung over his shoulder, and his eyes darting between Narratha and Miranda. "Mother Miranda," he called out in desperation. "I can handle her!"

Miranda didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on Narratha. "Silence, Heisenberg," she said, now speaking with some more disdain than before. Was it really how she felt? "I will not allow an outsider to insult everything we've worked for – nor harm any of my people."

Heisenberg's brow furrowed. "Let me punish her! I will ensure that she understands pain!"

Miranda's hand released Narratha, and she crumpled to the ground in a heap, gasping for air. "No, you may not. But until I decide her fate, she will be confined to your factory. Do you understand?"

Heisenberg looked like he had just undergone a massive wave of relief, but the man wasted no time. He grabbed Narratha by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

Narratha was too weak to move. She then found pieces of metal debris encasing her body and lifting her into the air above Heisenberg's shoulders. He was ready to depart without any other words to be spoken. As they moved, she turned her head, her eyes widening in horror.

Miranda had shifted her focus to Marco, who cowered in the snow, trembling. The prophet loomed over him, her imposing figure casting a shadow that swallowed the boy whole. Her jeweled hand reached out, pointing at him like he had been the cause of everything.

"And you…" Miranda said, her tone eerily calm. "What are my rules about obeying your parents?"

Tears ran down his face as he briefly turned his head at Narratha, who was still fading in and out of consciousness. The last thing she saw was the prophet picking Marco up by his coat and holding him up. The boy cried for help, right before a large piece of metal joined the cluster that had formed around her and sealed the world out in a wall of black.

His muffled screams filled the heavens and before Narratha slipped back into the abyss of the lost, she could only think about how she had failed him.

NOTES:

Welcome back! I am so sorry for the delay on this one. The holidays and work were busier than expected, and I have not been writing as much. I know I haven't been responsive lately, and I apologize for that. I have read your comments, and they mean so much to me. Thank you for supporting this.

Daniela has seemingly been going in circles and isn't a likable character at the same time. I know some of you have mentioned that, and frankly, that is the intent. Given that she is her canon self in her (mostly) canon world, there is nothing to change her. Her mood shifts are in part due to her delusional state. So, what will it take to change her? Well, we've seen that Kyia's powers are still kind of there. It is a hint at what may set Daniela on her path.

As far as Narratha and Kyia go, I admit, the story has been focused on the fawns to a heavy extent. Kyia, being the main antagonist and a flowing part of the castle, mixes her with the sisters, so the solo Daniela scenes have been minimal. Narratha does seem to be the only one going somewhere, but as we've just seen, that may be coming to an end. She will be the secondary antagonist for a reason, but I do want to turn the focus toward Daniela and Kyia—and Cassandra

In essence, the fawns need to do their thing to get this all set in motion. There are little nods to the series in general, including when Lia touched Cassandra and witnessed her bloody past. We all know what is coming between Dani and her older sibling, but how will Kyia influence this?

Besides that, I'm sure you all remember Anton, the drunken man that Ethan encountered in the beginning. I figured it would be fitting for him to be Marco's father. A little Luiza cameo was needed as well.

We're entering the next arc now, and everything is about to begin falling apart. Things are about to get bloody in the next few chapters, and all three of these characters will begin closing in on one another. With Narratha and Kyia's inevitable alliance looming, what will happen for Daniela—as well as everyone else unfortunate enough to cross their paths?

The next chapter should release on the 24th. I also want to start pumping out more artwork. Sorry for the lack of, as I've been wanting to get these chapters out faster.

I hope you all have been doing well and had a great New Year! I wish you well and can't wait to see you again soon when the next chapter drops. Until then, stay warm and stay safe!