The fire covering me from head to toe wasn't normal.
It didn't burn.
It didn't hurt.
"Who are you?" I asked whoever had just whispered in my ear—only to receive no answer.
My skin began to itch, and I felt the heat of the flames intensify, making it uncomfortable. Still, I didn't try to stop the fire. Somehow, I knew it couldn't burn what it was made from.
I turned to Hellen and stepped back, even though she was already far away.
The fire slowly began to fade—just like my vision.
And as I collapsed to the ground, my entire body went limp. But I was still aware of the sweat trailing down my skin, and the way my sight slipped into darkness.
Sunlight hit my eyes as I opened them.
I looked around. I was in my room.
The blood was gone—cleaned.
I slowly got to my feet. They felt weak. Weaker than ever.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
I looked older—maybe by a few months, maybe a year. Taller and thinner, like a stalk.
I stepped out into the hallway, walking slowly, my bare feet making almost no sound.
That's when I saw a door. One I hadn't seen since I arrived—exactly three months before the assassination attempt.
I approached it with quiet steps and slowly opened it.
Inside was a small room with a closet, a window, and a bed.
On the bed sat a boy with blond hair and blue eyes, staring out the window.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice cold and hoarse. He didn't even look at me.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking?" I replied.
"I'm Dan Dirora. You?"
"Lilith Lans Dirora," I said. My voice held not the slightest hint of emotion.
"I see. You're the adopted child."
"That's right."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"You protected everyone in the mansion by killing all the assassins."
"How long has it been?"
"Seven months."
To be continued...