When the police arrived, they were stunned by the carnage.

Blood painted the walls and soaked the floor. In the center of it all, I sat silently in a crimson pool, smiling faintly as I counted the candy wrappers my sister had left for me.

They said I was sick.

They locked me away in a mental hospital.

The windows of my ward were welded shut with iron bars. Cold. Rusted. Permanent.

Every time my sister came to visit, she would press her face to those bars, her smile curving her eyes into crescents.

“Sister,” she’d say, her voice light with joy, “the cherry blossoms by the roadside are all blooming today!”

I never replied. But that never stopped her. She’d chatter on, her words pouring through the steel like sunlight through cracks in a prison wall.

The last time I saw her, she said, beaming, “Sister, I’m getting married.”

“On the wedding day, I’ll have Mom livestream it for you. Just wait—I'm going to look so beautiful in my wedding dress!”

But she never made it to the end of that wedding.

She died before the vows.

That night, I strangled the dean with my own restraint belt until he choked and signed my discharge papers.

Anyone who dares lay a hand on my sister—will pay in blood.

After the funeral, I walked into the house clutching her urn.

Then the front door slammed open.

High heels clacked on the floor.

Jessie sauntered in beside Preston, a sneer stretched across her painted face.

“Well, well... isn’t this our dead Miss Caitlyn?”

Preston’s eyes landed on the urn in my arms. For a split second, his expression shifted. But as soon as he saw my face clearly, that sliver of humanity vanished.

His gaze turned cold.

“Caitlin, how low will you stoop? Faking your death now, just for attention?”

Jessie clung to his arm like a snake with a smile as sweet as poison.

“Preston only asked you to spend a few days meditating at the temple,” she said. “But you hurt the master and came back with an urn to play the victim? Really?”

She reached out suddenly, trying to snatch the urn. “Let me see—where’d you dig this trash up from?”

I stepped aside. She missed and nearly stumbled to the floor.

“Caitlin!” Preston barked. “Still causing trouble? First you fake your death, now you’re attacking Jessie?!”

Clutching her ankle pitifully, Jessie’s eyes shimmered with tears—and malice.

“I know... my sister must still hate me for ruining her wedding. Preston, don’t blame her—it’s all my fault…”

Preston’s face darkened. “Apologize to Jessie!”

I said nothing. My grip on my sister’s urn remained steady, my expression unreadable.

Then my mother stepped forward, standing between us like a fragile shield.

“Get out!” she shouted. “You’re not welcome in this house!”

Preston’s fury boiled over. He grabbed my wrist.

“This is how the Schultz family raises its daughters?” he spat. “No remorse, no shame. Fine. If you won’t repent—then you’ll come with me!”

“Take her!”

I jerked my hand free and looked up, a grim smile forming on my lips.

“Okay.”

He froze.

I turned and gently placed my sister’s urn on the altar, brushing my fingers over her framed photo.

She was smiling—just like she did as a child, the same way she smiled when she slipped her last piece of candy into my mouth.

Sweet. Innocent. Gone.

As I stood, my mother reached out and grabbed my arm.

“Claudia…”

Her voice trembled. Her eyes were filled with something between grief and helplessness.

I patted the back of her hand.

She sighed—a long, broken exhale—and let me go.

“Go.”

I nodded and left with Preston, never once looking back.

In the car, Jessie curled up in the passenger seat. As soon as I closed the door behind me, her voice rang out—delicate, childish.

“Preston… something got into my eye~”

Immediately, he leaned over to her, blowing gently into her lashes. Their noses nearly touched, their breaths mingled like lovers.

They had completely forgotten I was in the back seat.

After blowing into her eye with exaggerated tenderness, Jessie glanced back at me, a smug gleam flickering in her eyes.

I kept my gaze lowered, sitting quietly, motionless—like I hadn't noticed.

The car sped along the winding mountain road, climbing higher, closer to the temple nestled deep in the mountains.

With every turn, something primal stirred inside me.

They were the ones who killed my sister.

On the radio, a burst of static crackled, followed by a sharp voice:

“Emergency alert—an extremely dangerous patient has escaped from St. Elora's Mental Health Facility. Citizens are urged to remain vigilant…”

Neither of them seemed to hear it.

But I smiled faintly in the shadows, my lips curling at the edges.

After dropping me off at the temple, Preston left without a glance back.

He didn’t notice the flicker of panic in the host’s eyes.

Didn’t care.

The iron doors slammed shut behind me with a heavy clang.

A haze of smoke filled the courtyard. Several men with cigarettes hanging from their lips surrounded me, their smiles full of rot.

“Well, well,” one of them sneered. “Look who’s back. Missed us, sweetheart?”

Another one licked his teeth, pulling at his belt. “Didn’t get enough last time, huh? We’ll make it real good for you now.”

A third stepped forward, hands already tugging at my collar. “Don’t play shy. Take it off yourself, or we’ll help.”

I stood still, head bowed, listening to the weight of their breath draw closer. My muscles coiled tight beneath my skin.

When I didn’t move, the leader grinned and uncoiled a long leather whip from his waist.

“Stubborn little whore. Looks like you need another beating before you learn.”

He cracked the whip toward me—

—but I caught it midair.

His eyes went wide. “You bitch—!”

Before he could finish, I yanked him forward.

He stumbled, and I struck—one blow, two, a dozen.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

The air filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh.

The others jeered at first. “Third guy, can’t handle one woman?”

Then third guy turned, face swollen grotesquely, blood and shattered teeth pouring from his mouth.

The laughter died.

Silence swallowed the courtyard whole.

Then the warden shrieked, his voice breaking:

“Caitlin? She—she’s supposed to be dead! I saw the death certificate!”

Everyone froze and turned to stare at the ground near my feet.

In the sunlight, my shadow stretched out behind me—solid. Real.

“Shit,” someone whispered. “She’s alive.”

The leader spat. His expression hardened. “So what? She’s still just one woman.”

They closed in again, fists clenched, ready to strike.

I lowered my head slightly, but my lips pulled into a smile I couldn’t hide.

Of course they didn’t know.

I was born with strength that wasn’t human.

How else could I have wiped out the school director’s entire family all those years ago?

Violence runs in my blood like wildfire.

I endured it all only for my sister.

But now, I don’t have to endure anything.

The screams rang out for three days straight.

That’s the best thing about this old, crumbling temple buried in the mountains—no matter how loud you scream, your voice vanishes like a stone sinking into a bottomless pool.

When Preston returned, the temple was little more than smoldering ruins.

I sat by a broken wall, naked, soot-streaked, blood caked beneath my fingernails.

He looked at me with disgust and tossed a coat in my direction.

“Bad luck,” he muttered.

Jessie passed close and hissed in my ear, “Why didn’t they just burn you alive?”

I said nothing.

In the back seat, I trembled quietly, staring at the dried blood on my cuffs—the blood of the men who would never hurt anyone again.

It was almost funny, watching them kneel and beg.

Especially when I raised the mallet and crushed the soft rot beneath them inch by inch.

We’re all pure creatures at the end of the day.

So let’s stay pure.

Now, every one of their bones is shattered—just as beautifully broken as my sister’s.

Thinking of their howls—writhing in the flames, begging for mercy—I smiled.

Silently. Coldly.

Finally, I was home.

Just as I stepped onto the threshold, the sharp point of Jessie’s high heel pressed against the doorframe, blocking my way.

“Caitlin,” she said sweetly, “you’re filthy. You should wash up in the yard before coming inside.”

Her voice was gentle, almost soft. But her eyes—those eyes—gleamed with venom.

“The backyard faucet still works,” she added, smiling. “I’ll ask someone to help you.”

It was winter. The water outside was bone-deep cold.

If I used that icy pipe, I’d surely fall sick.

I turned to Preston, silently pleading—but he didn’t even glance at me.

“Clean up before you come in,” he said flatly and walked inside.

The door slammed shut behind him. I was locked out.

I crouched in front of the rusted faucet, fingers trembling, soaked in frostbite before a drop even touched me.

Three bodyguards surrounded me—the same men who had slapped my sister at the wedding.

One unscrewed the fire hydrant nozzle and smirked. “Madam, don’t take it personally.”

The leader licked his lips. The pressurized water shot out, icy and merciless, drilling straight down my collar.

“The lady told us to scrub every crevice clean,” he chuckled darkly.

From the second floor window, Jessie’s shadow loomed behind the curtain.

When Preston passed by, she snapped it shut.

I wiped the water from my eyes.

And smiled.

When I stepped into the house, hair dripping and clothes soaked, there were three new "fountain sculptures" frozen in grotesque poses in the yard—bloated, unconscious, and bruised like swollen hogs.

Preston frowned, then surprisingly wrapped a towel gently around my wet hair.

“Why did it take you so long to wash?” he asked, almost kindly.

“I only told you to rinse your feet.”

He slid a bowl of chicken soup across the table. Steam curled upward.

“I had the kitchen make it specially. Go change first—drink it while it’s hot.”

I nodded faintly and went upstairs to change.

When I returned, Jessie greeted me with a saccharine smile and a bowl of soup in her hands.

She leaned forward. “Here, Caitlin, let me serve you—”

But in the next moment, scalding soup poured down my front.

“Ah!” Jessie cried, dropping the bowl theatrically. “Caitlin! I was trying to help, and you splashed me! You burned me on purpose!”

She clutched her perfectly untouched hand to her chest.

“I know you don’t like me, but Preston— I won’t come back again! Clearly, I don’t belong here!”

Preston rushed to her side, seizing her uninjured hand with trembling tenderness.

He didn’t spare a glance at me—or the blistering burn swelling on the back of my own hand.

Instead, he turned and snapped, “Caitlin! Apologize to Jessie!”

Something inside me cracked.

So this is how they repay sincerity?

This is how they treat a sister?

I stormed to the front door.

With a sharp beep, I locked the villa from the inside.

“Caitlin!” Preston bellowed. “Where are you going? Haven’t you learned anything?”

“Apologize to Jessie—now!”

I turned slowly.

My face was pale, eyes burning red. I took one step forward, then another.

Jessie, still nestled in his arms, suddenly froze.

Her eyes widened in horror. She pointed toward the television mounted on the wall.

“You… you’re…”

Her voice was choked, trembling.

I raised a finger to my lips and whispered, “Shh… The real show is just beginning.”