Questions

I was 11 years old at that time, a little girl who didn't know better. I was content with myself, satisfied with the normal small-town life I had.

I took life as a beautiful journey that I could slowly savor and the people I met as lovely fireflies who would light up my way but that incident… changed me, transformed me into someone bereft of anything positive.

I felt like I didn't deserve it. I felt like the people that I cherished so much would only meet with accidents and misfortune if they associated with me. I locked myself in that guest room and didn't even come out for lunch or dinner.

Chloe wasn't allowed to come into my room by my parents since they knew that my mental state was fragile and I was going through traumatic flashbacks. I was in no condition to interact with people. I was in no condition to go out.

My mother came twice every day to wash my curse away with that bowl of 'holy' water. Unsurprisingly, this 'holy water' didn't even include any medicinal herbs and instead, was made up of a specified combination of some random spices that usually burned one's throat. This was a local remedy that had been passed down in my neighborhood for generations, with no clear origin, and no clear purpose other than triggering 'miracles'. I just let her do her thing as I lay on the ground or in the backyard like a breathing corpse.

My father also tried to talk to me every night after coming home. Unlike the first night when that incident happened, he didn't go back after just observing me. But he didn't make things difficult for me either. He didn't ask me anything or forced me to talk. Instead, he told me of his adventures, the stories that I missed because I wasn't eating at the dining table anymore. He would animatedly talk about each of those events and describe each of his clients in vivid detail, especially their eccentricities. He really did have a talent for storytelling as guides need to know a lot of stories about the place to keep the customers interested and make it worth their pay. Despite still being haunted by my memories, I lay still on the ground and listened as he talked, remembering some of it.

Both of my parents were always hesitant when they came to me as if they wanted to tell me something, but couldn't. In the beginning, I thought they just wanted me to open up but as it turned out, that wasn't the case.

I found it out when, after 5 days of being cooped up inside and dealing with regret and trauma, I decided to move out of the house.

When I came out of my room with dark circles under my eyes and ruffled and creased clothes, preparing to go out, I was stopped by my mother, who first checked my body in concern, then asked me where I was going.

With a hoarse and muffled voice, I spoke my innermost thoughts out loud,

"S-Sister H-Hin, did she become n-normal?"

I had been avoiding all the questions and answers related to that event. I was trying to avoid every thought that reminded me of the pain and guilt associated with that place. Yet, the pain was beginning to nibble my sanity away. I was running from that thought for 5 days already but running wasn't helping me at all. If anything, it was only making it worse for me. Therefore, I made up my mind to visit Sister Hin again, to check whether she woke up or not. Although I wasn't ready to face my fears, I was ready to look for answers.

However, my mother's expression changed as soon as I said my piece with a nervous and stuttering voice that somehow still carried a lot of hope.

But that hope drained quickly when I saw my mother's face paling. Instead of answering me, she hugged me tightly in her arms and comforted me,

"Oh sweety, it was her plan to go there,

right? I know how she is. You should stop blaming yourself now. Accidents happen to people because God is testing them. You did your best, Tiff. You'll only become stronger with time."

Her words were said with a positive and encouraging tone, but being cooped up inside four walls of a small room for 5 days, continuously experiencing guilt and regret, had also made me very perceptive of those emotions in other people.

And my mother's tone hid just that… a flicker of guilt that I caught. It gave me a sinking feeling as I thought of the possible reasons.

"M-Mom, what happened? Did S-Sister Hin not recover? Is she still like… that?"

I peered at her face when I said that, observing every little change in her expression. I knew she was not telling the whole truth and though I was afraid to know as well, I HAD to get to the bottom of that.