When I refused to donate corneas to my stepsister, my mom and stepdad decided to drag me before the so-called Court of Morality.

If found guilty, I'd be thrown into the so-called Flames of Righteousness, turned to ash, with all my possessions going to them.

But at the verdict, they dropped to their knees, crying and pleading for mercy from the judge.

*****

When I was led to the platform, I was unshaken.

The judge, sitting high and mighty, had a stern look plastered across his face.

Above his head, the large screen scrolled with live comments, each mocking me relentlessly.

[Isn't this the girl who injured her sister's eyes and refused to donate even one cornea?]

[Utterly heartless, acting all cool after such a foul deed!]

[Laughable! Saw another one like her, cocky till they tossed her into the flames—pissed herself!]

The Court of Morality was a workaround for legal loopholes, judging only those whose sins didn't breach actual laws but were deemed despicable.

It was a live broadcast, where a hundred anonymous people cast their votes on your fate.

If deemed guilty, into the Flames of Righteousness you go, to burn and then vanish into ashes, with all your belongings handed over to the accuser.

On the opposite side, my mother, tightly holding my stepsister with no blood relation between them, looked at me with scorn. My stepfather ogled me greedily.

The judge banged his gavel, asking once more for confirmation.

"Plaintiffs, are you certain you want Lexi to undergo this moral judgment? If she's found guilty, she'll face..."

He was cut off mid-sentence by my mother, who yelled with all her might, "Yes! I want this backstabbing brat to suffer!"

The judge shook his head, turning to me with a questioning look.

"Defendant, are you sure about using the Memory Extractor?"

The crowd gasped in shock, and even the faces of the three plaintiffs turned pale.

The Memory Extractor could pull out the most genuine memories, unlike the selective ones offered voluntarily—it would present the complete and unchangeable truth.

Yet, it was a painful process with serious potential side effects.

Due to imperfect technology, two thick tubes would be inserted deep into the brain to extract memories, and there was a significant risk of ending up brain-dead afterward.

In other words, I could become a vegetable once the procedure was over.

Facing my mother's distraught expression, I nodded firmly and calmly.

"Yes, I am."

The trial kicked off.

Screens encircled the platform while several technicians came forward to sanitize me for the procedure.

As the thick tubes were inserted into my brain, I managed a nod to the judge through the intense pain.

He dropped the gavel and began, "Charge one: disrespecting your stepfather, showing no gratitude, shamelessly exploiting men for money, bringing disgrace to your family."

Instantly, the screens flashed to life, displaying memories submitted by the plaintiffs.

There was fifteen-year-old me, rushing at my stepfather with a furious swing. Just home from his labor job, he was unprepared for my punch that sent blood dripping from his jaw.

Cut to another memory. Me at fifteen, my face full of disdain as I knocked a fifty-dollar bill from my mom's hand, yelling, "Really? This is pocket change. Are you kidding me?"

Then, me in a chic dress, and bright lipstick, hanging onto a shy, handsome boy, cooing, "Hey, Johnny, did you get your allowance? Hand over five hundred, will you?"

The comments went wild.

[What a schemer! Flirting right in the open, huh?]

[No shame, hitting her stepdad who's breaking his back to educate her!]

[Ingrate! Knows damn well the family's scrape, and still complains about money! Disgusting!]

[She deserves to be found guilty!]

My stepfather smirked triumphantly; my mom clutched at her heart in agony while my stepsister dabbed at her tears in secret.

As the jury furiously tapped on their screens, my memories played out for them.

A minute later, the live vote appeared on the big screen.

[Not Guilty!]

The comments section erupted.

[What a joke! How's that not guilty? Did the jury lose their minds?]

Amidst a barrage of insults, the judge looked at me resignedly.

[Defendant, would you like to share your memories on the big screen?]

Confronted with relentless demands from the commenters, I took a deep breath.

"I'm willing."

There I was at fifteen, holding my mom's hand, walking into my stepdad's house nervously.

He sat on the couch, scowling as he sized me up, while my stepsister devoured a cream cake beside him.

I couldn't help but eye the cake hungrily, swallowing hard.

My mom caught this and slapped me so hard that I tumbled to the floor.

"Embarrassing creature! Get down and show some respect! Look at you, drooling over cake like you deserve it!"

I stood my ground, refusing to kneel. My mom forced my head down, banging it repeatedly against the cold floor until my face was smeared with blood. Only then did my stepfather crack a satisfied grin.

That night, I was allowed to sleep in the living room.

In the dead of night, my bandaged wounds throbbed painfully from infection. Curled on the floor, I whimpered quietly.

My stepsister, on her way to the bathroom, heard me and yelled, "Get out of here!"

My mom and stepdad were also awakened by the noise. They all looked on coldly as I tried to explain, but my mom interrupted me.

With an icy tone I'd never heard before, she suggested, "Maybe you should sleep in the hallway."

Terrified, I curled up in the dark hallway, shaking uncontrollably.

I whispered to myself, "Hold on, Lexi. Just a little longer till dawn."

But I almost didn't see the next sunrise.