Charlotte Howard’s POV

Maybe it was all just a dream.

I kept telling myself that, but questions were swirling in my head like hordes of hungry customers. 

I could not bear to look at the stream of blood flowing from the face of my angel. The gem, or whatever it was, was getting more painful on my forehead that I just want to rip it off. And this swirling magma inside my body was threatening to overflow at the slightest wave of my emotion.

I wonder who had caused all this? My rationality was telling me that there was no definite, central culprit. But some mysterious force in my body, bolstered by the excess energy, was whispering to me like a dark seductress. There was something I had forgotten, something not of this world, but he was to blame for all the misfortune I was having. Even the injury of this faultless child. 

It was not rational. But I could not help believing in it. 

The world felt silent. I thought of it; I searched my mind for that one figure shrouded in unending darkness that I knew was the culprit to all of my pains. This pain, that could never be satiated. I was going to give it back tenfold. 

Who was blocking it from me? Who was shielding that despicable from my memory? Was that you, God of J?

Even if it was you...so what? I would just kill you then.

Oh.

It was so simple. The statement came like enlightenment. I felt my head being cleared up like the sky after a pouring rain. 

Yes. I had power now. Unimaginable power within the small palms of my hands. But I knew I was strong. Strong enough to kill one of two people. 

Maybe I could not kill him yet, that God. But if I keep on massacring, then he would have to humour me anyway. I would pry it from him, the memory of my nemesis.

First, let's start with whoever had caused my angel to bleed.

My vocal cord had not been used for too long. I could not use it, but when the energy in my body filled my throat, suddenly I felt a familiar feeling, like I had been talking my entire life.

I opened my mouth. My first words were:

"Tell me. Who was it?"

My own voice gave me a slight surprise. It was deeper and more tenuous than the high tones of a normal child. It was like the voice of an adult. The language felt foreign as I rolled it off my tongue. It was not my native language. But this, this was no doubt my voice. My real voice.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I was...

"W-who are you..? A-are you...Ch-charlotte?"

I was not the only one surprised by my voice. The white child was not one to stutter so distastefully, but he must have been in a confusion to hear me speaking like this. Well, it was of no consequence to me anyway.

I gather the energy in my throat and started speaking again.

"I am, indeed, your cousin. Now please tell me who was the one that did this to you. Hurry."

I had a feeling I would not be able to freely move when they caught winds of me waking up. I needed to make my moves now and kill as much as I could. But some people really deserved to die first.

The white child looked in utter confusion. Then he had this strange laugh on his face that was still stained with the blood. He looked much less pained now, that was good. But the same would not be said for the one who did this to him.

He glanced a bit timidly at the door, then looked at me. I really wanted to wipe away the blood on his face, but I did not know if I would open up the wound instead. 

He spoke in a low voice. I felt vexed by how secretive he was acting, but I went along anyway. What I needed was the information. Then I could just leave to do my deed.

"Charlotte, you can't tell this to anyone. Promise me?"

"Okay. Hurry hurry."

"...why are you in such a hurry? This was, was made by Mother. My mother. She had an argument with Father like usual, and I said something rather brazen. She gave me this stern look. Her eyes were bright green, like the elf! Then the next moment, I was kicked out of the room. I felt pain in my eye, so I went to look for a mirror. I didn't know it was such a deep cut..."

... .. . Alright, it was the mother then.

"What does your mother look like?"

"...She has short black hair and pretty green eyes. We don't look very similar though. They said I've got my eyes and everything from my father's side."

"..Okay. Wait here then."

I made for the door. There was force in my steps. I could feel the power surging within me, responding to my blood lust. I would bound it and keep it under wraps now. I needed to make it to the woman herself without being suspected. 

I had heard more than enough when I was still with Father. The relationships of everyone in this house, had long since been grasped by me, their "courteous" way of speaking, their convoluted etiquettes, all internalized. I knew that I was naturally observant towards these kinds of things. However, I had never found a use for them even if they had come to me as naturally as breathing.

I had great use for them now, when I needed to navigate the house before they made a ruckus of me waking up.

As all these thoughts were swirling in my mind, my physical self pulled me back to reality. Literally. A hand was firmly on my wrist, stopping me from going further. 

The white child, left eye now closed because of the sudden movement he made, was stopping me from my mission.

What was this? Could he not see that I was doing this for him?

"...let go."

"Where are you planning to go? Charlotte, you are so strange today. You speak like an adult, you look so much different from yesterday, and you are burning up! You shouldn't be moving anywhere!"

... .. . He was...

I wanted to rid myself of his hold, but suddenly found no strength to. Or my body just did not want to act against this boy. Or it was how he looked at me that I could not bring myself to resist his words.

It was okay. He was okay. You needn't kill.

It was a mantra from the back of my head. But I knew better to trust there words. They were from someone trying to appease my anger, to make me forget this pain. But I simply could not.

I did not belong here. I needed to be somewhere else. To exact my revenge. So I need to kill. 

I closed my eyes, and swung my gripped arm hard. I broke free. Immediately, pushing aside the sound of that someone opposite me wincing in pain, I ran out of the room. 

The hallway was long and dark. Something was rising within me. But I had no time to pay attention to these trifling emotional responses. I needed to accomplish my plan: kill that woman.

I asked a maid walking by with the utmost grace of a noble lady. The lady looked me down from head to toes. She was probably a young employee, as her confusion over my identity was clearly shown on her manner. This place needed better service training for these maids. Her leaving me in wait was already a breach of etiquette on its own. She was lucky I had a bone to pick today, just not with her.

Then, the maid threw her confusion out of the window and pointed me to a door in the distance: the door to Viscountess Ballester's room.

I excused myself gracefully and walked towards it with great mirth.

A sliver of red was caught at the corner of my vision. But I paid it no heed. The door was right in front of me.

My whole world shook as if a car had rammed into me. I was shackled between a pair of arms that was as heavy as lead. Ironic was that I found comfort, a feeling I had missed, in this embrace that was closer to an arrest.

Red eyes looked into mine. My father's ragged figure was burned into my sight.