The older woman stood in front of the house for a long moment. The smile had long since vanished from her face, her eyes held only exhaustion. She had waited too many years for this day to come—far too many to feel joy now. She had also watched this world spin itself into madness for too long. She needed rest.

  She sighed deeply and slowly turned on her heel. There was no need to pretend anymore that her joints ached or that old age slowed her down. She nimbly skipped up the steps and disappeared inside the old building. The atmosphere shifted the instant she stepped through the door. She entered the room where Alice still slept peacefully. He was already there, leaning against the windowsill, smoking a cigarette, watching the child closely. Tall, slender, with long black hair and piercing ice-blue eyes. He didn’t look like someone who would take in an orphan out of the goodness of his heart. There was darkness around him. If he had a heart at all, it certainly wasn’t made of crystal.

  “She’s still…” the woman began but trailed off when his sharp gaze shifted from the sleeping girl to her.

  They stood in silence. She couldn’t utter a single word. He looked at her with disdain, his terrifying smile curling in amusement—as if her daring to speak without permission was laughable. She was unworthy, and he… he was the merciful monster who towered above all.

  “Merciful monster…” he murmured, then drew in a breath of smoke.

  The woman froze. Words still refused to come.

  “You don’t have to be so afraid. I rather like the phrase. Merciful monster… Yes, you’re right. It suits me perfectly. As for the child…” He paused, exhaling smoke. “You’re correct again, but her fate is no longer your concern.”

  “I know.”

  That was all she managed to say. He laughed, long and loud, then calmly finished his cigarette. He was savoring this—every second that stretched into an eternity for her. The air grew thick, heavy. Even in deep sleep, Alice sensed something was wrong. She whimpered softly, beginning to stir.

  “Leave,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

  The woman turned without a word and walked out. The girl stirred more, slowly opening her eyes, her mind still fogged with sleep. She glanced around but didn’t recognize a single thing in the room. Then, the memories crashed back—the fire, the screaming, her aunt’s trembling hands pushing her toward this stranger. With them came a cold, clawing certainty: her aunt was gone. She jolted upright, ready to bolt, when a voice coiled around her:

  “Hello, Alice.”

  The man by the window hadn’t moved, but his presence swallowed the room. The girl’s breath hitched. She knew him.

  “You’re not a real doctor,” she said, voice sharp as broken glass.

  “No, I’m not.”

  Silence. They locked eyes—a child’s defiance against a predator’s patience. A fairy tale standoff: Red Riding Hood meeting the wolf who’d already eaten her grandmother. Finally, he blinked, languid as a cat.

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  “This is your home now.”

  “Where’s my aunt?” Tears threatened to spill.

  “She forgot you.”

  “Liar!” Alice lunged for the door, but her fingers had barely brushed the knob when the truth slithered in: no one was coming.

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “You made her forget.”

  Not a guess. Not even anger. Just a terrible certainty.

  His smile split wider. “I didn’t make her. Minds are eager to surrender what burdens them. No violation… just relief.”

  Alice swiped at her cheeks, smearing tears like war paint.

  “You sent my parents away too.”

  “Yes. I guided them where they belonged—no delays, no suffering. Only balance.”

  “But now I’m alone!” The words tore out of her, raw and ragged. “And I hate you for it!

  Alice burned with fury, and she let it show. Her small fists clenched, her teeth gritted, and she stomped her foot hard enough to shake dust from the floorboards. The man only chuckled, which fanned the flames in her chest. Pure, undiluted rage lit her eyes—a wildfire in a child’s body. Yet the man didn’t so much as blink. He dismissed her tantrum with a sigh, stepped closer, and lowered himself to her level.

  “You’ve never been alone, Alice,” he murmured, extending his pale, slender hand.

  The air thickened with something older than reason—a whisper of forgotten magic, the kind that lurked in grandmothers’ warnings and the spaces between stars. Unseen by Alice, there was a dangerous intimacy in his posture: a king kneeling to a beggar, a wolf bowing to a lamb. But that truth would take years to unravel in her mind.

  “I am alone,” she whispered, the fire in her voice reduced to embers.

  His hand remained suspended, patient as a spider’s web. Almost against her will, her fingers brushed his—a sparrow alighting on a branch it mistook for safe.

  “I’m here, Alice.” His voice wrapped around her like smoke. “Even when my body is distant, my soul’s gaze will never leave you. I will not abandon you. I will not betray you.” A pause. “I will not let you leave.”

  “Promise?” The word slipped out, small and cracked.

  “Promise.” He sealed the vow with a kiss to her forehead—lighter than a moth’s wing, colder than moonlight.

  Alice folded into his arms, her breath melting into sleep’s tide.

  The man cradled Alice against his chest as he stepped into the hallway, her weight no more burdensome than a shadow. He moved toward the stairs—upward, always upward, like a pilgrim ascending to some profane altar. Time pulled taut around him, yet he refused to hurry. In the room that smelled of lavender, he laid her down, arranging her limbs with the precision of a sculptor. The blanket swallowed her whole as he tucked it beneath her chin, his fingers lingering in her hair—a gesture too tender for hands that had unraveled lifetimes. Years. Decades. A century, if necessary. He’d wait until she became the woman he had waited so long for. He’d wait until the stars corroded and the heavens cracked. She was worth it.

  The old woman materialized in the doorway, her breath hitching at the sight of the tear-glazed little angel in the bed. Pity twisted in her stomach. So much suffering… and now this.

  “I must leave this world, Helena.” His voice was honey over a blade. “The longer I linger, the more I disturb the balance. Heaven must not glimpse my shadow here. Not yet.”

  “When will you return?” She edged closer to Alice, her knuckles whitening on the bedpost.

  “When she burns bright enough to eclipse her fears.” At the threshold, he paused—a silhouette edged in black light. “Teach her. Protect her. Let her power unfurl like a storm.”

  Helena’s voice frayed:

  “And if she refuses your path?”

  “All choices are hers.” A hint of teeth in his smile. “I ask only that she awakens. No altars. No sacrifices. No devils but the ones she invites herself.”

  “But—”

  “This is no longer your burden.” The words vibrated with finality. As the door yawned open, the darkness beyond was not absence, but a presence—hungry, patient. He stepped into it, and the void swallowed him whole.