Lily stared at the small vial of murky liquid in her hand, her stomach churning with dread. The medicine. She hated it, just like all the other kids did. It tasted bitter, worse than anything she could imagine, and it made her feel strange afterward—like she wasn’t entirely herself. But Nancy had said she was a good girl, and good girls took their medicine, even when they didn’t want to.
With a shaky breath, Lily brought the vial to her lips, her hand trembling slightly. She knew the children in the other rooms were the same, each one as reluctant as she was to take their own doses. But no one dared to disobey. They all knew what happened to those who refused.
She tipped the vial back, the foul liquid sliding down her throat, making her gag. The taste lingered, sharp and metallic, as if it was burning her insides. Lily squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the sensation, willing herself to be strong. She wanted to be strong, like Nancy always told her she should be.
But as the minutes ticked by, the familiar, unwelcome effects began to take hold. Lily’s breathing grew ragged, her chest tightening with an inexplicable pressure. Her vision blurred, the room around her twisting and warping in ways that made her feel sick. She tried to stay focused, to keep her thoughts clear, but it was no use. The world was slipping away from her, the edges of her consciousness fraying like a tattered cloth.
Before everything went black, she could hear Nancy’s voice, distant and uncaring.
“Lily?... Lily?… Ugh… This one didn’t even last a year… How useless…”
The words cut through the haze, the only thing clear in the murky fog of her fading mind. A dull ache formed in her chest, a mix of hurt and resignation. And then, everything went dark.
Iteration ??? Ended
Estelle felt the chill of the voice echoing in her mind. A sensation that sent shivers down her spine and twisted her insides with a deep, inexplicable fear. The laugh that accompanied it was cold, cruel, and filled with a twisted sense of satisfaction. Yet, despite the terror it invoked, there was a strange detachment. As if the laugh and the crumbling sight of her orphanage are from a distant dream rather than the harsh reality before her eyes.
The voice, insidious and commanding, cut through the haze of her thoughts. "Good, good," it cooed, its tone filled with a sickening approval. "What a perfect child you are. You are now my daughter—take pride in that."
The words seeped into her consciousness, embedding themselves like sharp thorns in her mind. Daughter. The word felt foreign, twisted in the mouth of the voice, as though it carried a weight far heavier than its usual meaning. Estelle felt her body respond, an involuntary nod, as if her very will had been stripped away, leaving her nothing more than a puppet to the voice's whims.
"Now," the voice continued, its tone shifting to one of cold expectation, "do you know what a good child should do? Get rid of the rest—those unsightly things before my eyes."
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Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm that seemed to scream against what was happening. She could see them—her friends, the children of the orphanage—standing before her, their faces twisted in fear and confusion. They were crying, pleading, reaching out to her for help, for protection. But she could do nothing. Her body moved against her will, her hand gripping the sword tightly, ready to strike at those she had once sworn to protect.
Her mind screamed in protest, but it was muffled, distant, as if trapped behind a thick fog that dulled her senses and numbed her soul. The voice had control, and all she could do was watch in horror as her body betrayed her, following the voice's commands with mechanical precision.
Tears streamed down her face, but they did nothing to stop the sword from being raised, nothing to stop her from obeying the voice's twisted demands. The faces of her friends blurred, becoming indistinguishable from one another, their cries blending into a single, agonized plea for mercy that went unheard.
And still, the voice laughed, a sound that would forever be etched into her soul. A reminder for being the perfect child, the obedient daughter to a monster.
…
The world around Estelle had grown still, the chaos of battle fading into a distant murmur. A strange calm settled over her as she looked down at the sword embedded in her chest. It should have hurt—should have filled her with agony—but there was only a profound sense of relief, as if a heavy burden she had carried for far too long was finally lifted.
Her vision began to blur, but she could still make out the man who held the sword, his expression a mix of sorrow and regret. His hand trembled slightly on the hilt, and his eyes, filled with a sadness that seemed to pierce through the very air, met hers.
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t free you from his tightened shackle,” he murmured, his voice breaking with the weight of his words.
Estelle wanted to reach out, to tell him it was alright, to ease the pain she saw in his gaze. But the strength to speak was slipping away from her, leaving her with only a faint whisper. She managed to force out a soft, almost inaudible “…thank you…” as the world around her began to fade.
With that final breath, her body relaxed, the tension draining away as if her spirit had finally found peace. The man’s grip on the sword loosened, his eyes never leaving her face as she slipped into the quiet embrace of death. There was no more struggle, no more pain—only the gentle release that came with the end.
Iteration ??? Ended
The man lay before her, his chest heaving with the ragged breaths of a life slipping away. His eyes, once so full of defiance, were now clouded with the finality of death. Estelle's tears fell freely, blurring her vision as she watched him struggle. She could feel the tremors in her hands, the weakness creeping through her limbs, but her mind was a fog of confusion and sorrow.
Why? The question echoed in her mind, but no answer came. All she knew was the unbearable weight pressing down on her chest, the deep ache that seemed to consume her very soul. The Essence she had wielded so fiercely in the battle had drained her, leaving her hollow and exhausted. Every breath was a struggle, every heartbeat a reminder of how little time she had left.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed beside him, her body too weak to hold her up any longer. The world around her dimmed, the edges of her vision darkening as her life force ebbed away. She reached out with trembling fingers, her hand brushing against his. His skin was cold, his pulse faint, but she held on, clinging to the last remnants of a connection she couldn’t fully understand.
"I'm sorry..." The words were barely more than a whisper, escaping her lips with the last of her strength. She closed her eyes, the world fading to nothingness as the tears continued to flow, even in her final moments.
Iteration ??? Ended