My father slapped me hard, and my mother furiously hurled Kora's art awards at me, demanding an explanation. "Do you understand that Kora was destined to be an artist?" they yelled. "Bringing you back was our mistake, and yet you choose to direct your anger at us. Kora is blameless!"

Even my brother hurried back overnight from a business trip across the world, brandishing a knife and threatening to force me to kneel and apologize to Kora in the hospital. I was to stay on my knees until she deemed me forgiven; otherwise, he'd sever my tendons.

I refused to kneel, tears streaming down as I insisted it wasn't my doing, presenting evidence that they ignored. My brother held me down, trying to strip away the last shred of dignity I had in front of a smug Kora.

Perhaps I'd lost my mind. In a desperate moment, I grabbed a kitchen knife and slashed my wrist. The blood gushed out, leaving everyone stunned, while I simply smiled. "Now, I don't have to kneel, do I?"

The knife clattered to the ground, landing in the pool of my own blood with a sharp sound. Something broke within me. Oh. It was my heart.

From that day, I thought my life was on its final countdown. With nothing to lose, I could only fight back in death. In my remaining days, I accomplished many things. I filled my worn diaries with words of confusion about the future and my family's indifference.

Truthfully, my heart had long grown cold by then. I couldn't help but smile at the irony, even as I penned words filled with emotion. I then bribed one of Kora's little accomplices to gather evidence against her after my death. It was absurd, really, considering she was my former friend who had betrayed me. I despised her, yet in my last moments, I had no choice but to use her. After all, she owed me that much, right?

She wouldn't have dared betray Kora originally. Being a coward, she feared Kora's anger and joined in the bullying. But like me, she too longed to escape Kora's shadow. I challenged her, "We were friends once; will you wager my death for your freedom?" She looked at me, her resolve hardening. To make sure she really followed through, I lied, claiming I had evidence of her bullying set to release online, ensuring a grim future if she didn't comply.

In life, my words were always doubted. But in death, the rules changed. She had no choice but to obey me. Everything unfolded as planned. On the day of my death, Kora’s minions didn’t push me. I had already placed myself, ready to fall at just the right angle for it to be fatal.

I deceived that former friend of mine; neither I nor Kora wanted her freedom. She needed to face the consequences of her betrayal, so even though she helped me, her bullying evidence wouldn't remain hidden. It would make its way to the police.

There was one final thing—my body. I had signed the donation agreement. My parents loathed me so much, I doubted they'd bother to claim my body. But what if they realized they'd misunderstood me? Would they come to see me, to discover that besides the cuts, my body bore many gruesome scars, all thanks to Kora? It would be a shocking revelation, a final blow to both Kora and them.

And with that, it would all end. I awaited Kora’s downfall.

After that incident, Kora Allen became even more ruthless.

She accused me of bullying her and rallied classmates to treat me the same way. As the heiress of a wealthy family, she effortlessly commanded a legion of devoted followers, making me their favorite target. Torn-up books and thumbtacks on my chair were just the start. They cornered me in the restroom, dunking my head into a bucket. My teacher's only concern was how my dropping grades tarnished the class's reputation, summoning my parents to discuss my possible expulsion.

During a school play, a mishap occurred when a falling spotlight grazed my eye. My classmates laughed, calling it karma, and left me writhing in pain without assistance.

I took it all.

What truly crushed me was my only friend at this school betraying me. She was a scholarship student with outstanding grades, and we were once inseparable. She told me we shared the closest bond. Yet, one threat from Kora—defiance meant expulsion—and she immediately turned against me.

She publicly shared our private conversations, making my vulnerabilities the class's entertainment, leaving me embroiled in a scandal that made life unbearable. Yet, behind Kora’s back, she came to me sobbing, “Violette, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I had no choice…”

No choice?

I can't recall whether I forgave her at that moment. But forgiveness was pointless. It couldn't mend my shattered existence.

In the eyes of the elite, without anyone backing me, I was nothing but a joke. No matter how hard I worked, pulling all-nighters to study as a means of escape, they could easily drag me back down.

Eventually, I surrendered.

Because of something Kora said.

She took me to the rooftop and mocked me, asking if I thought getting into college would solve everything. She laughed at my foolishness.

“Don't you know? Bullies never end well,” she said, dripping with disdain. “If I were you, I’d jump off—end it all.”

Her words came so easily, as if life held no value to her. And perhaps it truly didn't.

So I jumped.

Initially, I hadn't intended to die. But under Kora's relentless bullying, I developed severe depression—a darkness that consumed my every thought and move. Countless nights I tried to focus on studies, but my hands would involuntarily reach for a blade. I fantasized about cutting my wrists, jumping from a window.

The doctor said I needed to escape the suffocating environment to avoid a grim fate. I had to free myself from Kora’s grip. But I was powerless.

Biting into my arm until it bled, tears mixed with rage as I glared into the darkness of Kora's room, hatred coursing through my veins.

If I had no way out, then I would ensure she went down with me.

It wasn’t until long after my death that the diagnosis of my depression resurfaced, delivering a shock to my parents.

By then, they were consumed by guilt, living in melancholy silence. But upon seeing it, they snapped and went to confront Kora at the psychiatric hospital.

They intended to kill her, driven by remorse for the daughter they neglected. But they failed. The struggle left everyone scarred; caught off guard by my father's attack, Kora was rendered brain-dead, aware but waiting to die.

My parents were committed to a psychiatric facility, never to see the outside world again. As the doctors restrained them, they glared at Kora with venomous eyes.

“We loved you more, always pretending to be emotionally wounded! But in the end, our dear Violette was the one truly harmed…” they cried.

“She was remarkable, hiding her depression to spare us worry, unlike you! Always feigning suffering for sympathy!”

Their voices, raw with despair, accused, as my mother lay back, tears streaming, staring at the sterile ceiling.

“Sweet daughter, we’ve sinned gravely. May you be born into a kinder family in your next life.”

I heard them.

And I will.