The girl was collected from the hospital by her dreaded aunt, a bitter woman who’d agreed to care for her—temporarily—until the funeral and inheritance matters were settled. One could delve into the family’s tragic dynamics: how her grandparents had opposed her parents’ marriage, disowned them, refused to acknowledge her as their granddaughter, and didn’t even attend the funeral... A sad story, but the world overflowed with those. Unwanted children, too.

  The girl’s parents had been gentle souls, hopelessly in love. That love cost them everything. To marry in peace, they’d severed ties with everyone… except the father’s older sister. She’d never opposed their union. “Live as you please,” she’d say, yet deep down, she’d envied her brother’s happiness, a love she’d never known. Still, she loved her brother and his wife, but that warmth never extended to their daughter. It wasn’t dislike; her body simply hadn’t mustered the right hormones to spark maternal instinct. No matter how she tried, tenderness eluded her. So, she’d care for the girl through the worst of it, then find her a proper home, someone capable of unconditional love. Besides, the girl barely tolerated her. Why prolong their misery?

  The funeral took place a few days after the accident. Only a handful of mourners showed up. Even death couldn’t bridge the family’s rift. The girl watched the twin urns descend into the earth. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, she thought. No torrential rains, no ghostly snowflakes, though films insisted grief required such theatrics. Onscreen, the world paused, the sky mourned with the living. Yet here, time barreled forward, and she wondered if anyone truly grieved with her. Again, betrayal clawed at her. In her fractured heart, a conviction festered: someone would pay. Who? How? No matter. One day, she’d ensure it.

  A Week Later her aunt sifted through her parents’ documents while the girl curled on the couch, listless. No desire to talk, play, or think. The child psychologist had been useless, more interested in the aunt’s guilt than the child’s grief. Not that the girl listened. She’d retreated into a world where a malevolent priest demanded her hand, but she’d fled to rebels, plotting grand… revelution? Revalution? Whatever the movie called it — the one she’d watched with Mom — No! Don’t think about that.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  He’s coming, she thought. The cook brought a letter from my friend trapped in the tower. He’ll search every house, every street… even the parks. Fool! He thinks I’d avoid the sewers because they stink. But I’m smarter.

  “Alice, I’m talking to you.” The woman leaned over, her voice laced with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Auntie,” Alice replied automatically, her mind fixated on an imaginary curved dagger.

  “You’re pale. If you’d rather not be here…”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, tears carving silent paths down her cheeks. “It’s the onions. We’re chopping them… to hide the sewer stench.”

  For a moment, the woman studied her face closely. Concern melted into surprise, then hardened into understanding, and a grief so raw it seemed to fracture her composure. Alice would’ve sworn she saw tears glistening in her aunt’s eyes before they vanished behind a blink.

  “Forgive me for pulling you back, Alice,” the aunt murmured, her voice feather-light. “Stay in your world as long as you need.”

  The words settled like a heavy stone in Alice’s gut. A revelation came unwanted: her aunt’s pain might eclipse her own. The world owed her no cinematic tragedy. Just this hollow, unscripted ache.

  “Auntie?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Did you…” Alice’s throat tightened. The words dissolved before they reached her lips. Children shouldn’t shoulder adult sorrows. Adults resented that. Instead, she deflected: “…did you need something?”

  “Ah… Yes.” The woman’s smile was a frail thing. “Did your parents ever mention buying a house?”

  A shake of the head.

  “Any house at all?”

  Another shake.

  “Then where in God’s name did this deed come from?”

  “Deed?”

  “Yes.” The aunt exhaled sharply. “It seems my foolish brother and his wife left you a house. Some place I’ve never even heard of.”