NO!

After all these years, Mom still treats me like I'm five—naïve, obedient, willing to nod and accept whatever she says without question. But I'm not that little girl anymore. I feel it in my bones, in the fire simmering beneath my skin. Something is calling to me beyond these walls, an undeniable pull toward something unknown.

Frustration flares inside me, burning hotter than my own fire, and before I realize it, I'm storming out of the hut.

The night air is thick with silence—too thick. Then I hear it. A rustling. A footstep. Something—or someone—is moving nearby. My breath catches, and I strain to listen, but with Mom right behind me, her presence anchoring me in place, I can't concentrate.

"Anne," Mom warns, her voice low, but I don't turn around.

I hear it again. The snap of a twig, the shuffle of cautious steps. My heart pounds. Someone is out there, watching.

But Mom keeps calling my name, her voice edged with warning. She doesn't realize how furious I am with her—not just for keeping me locked away all these years, but for acting like I don't deserve answers. Like I'm still a child who can be silenced with a promise or a distraction.

I clench my fists.

The sounds beyond the trees grow fainter, but I know someone is there. I can feel it—like a whisper against my skin, a presence pressing into my senses. I take a step forward, my pulse quickening.

"Anne," Mom says sharply this time. "Come back inside."

I whirl around, my breath ragged. "Why?! Why do you get to decide everything for me? What are you so afraid of?!"

Her expression hardens. "You don't understand—"

"Then make me understand!" I cut her off, my voice rising. "Tell me what I am! Tell me why I feel like I don't belong in this… this prison!"

Mom's jaw tightens, her eyes dark with something I can't place. Fear? Anger? Guilt?

For a moment, I think she might actually tell me the truth. But then, from deep within the trees, I hear it—another footstep, hesitant but deliberate.

I snap my head toward the sound.

And that's when I see him.

Adam.

Standing just beyond the tree line. Looking straight at me.

A thrilling pulse of excitement coursed through my veins the moment I saw him—felt him. Adam was full of questions, searching for answers he didn't yet understand. And as he turned to leave, something deep inside me urged me forward.

I moved to follow, to step away from the suffocating presence of my mother, but before my foot could touch the ground—he was gone. Just like that. As if the world had shifted, resetting itself in an instant.

Confusion gripped me, and I spun around, only to find Mom standing there, a small pot in her hands, wisps of strange smoke curling into the air. Her face was unreadable—calm, sharp, knowing.

"You see," she began, her voice smooth, deliberate. "I had an old friend… She was, well, a psychic, if we're putting it simply. She taught me things—like how to make people see what I want them to see."

She slipped the pot back into her bag, her movements slow, methodical. My stomach twisted with unease.

"Your friend," she continued, eyes locking onto mine, "is probably driving away in fear right now… because, to him, you didn't just stand there, Anne." A smirk ghosted across her lips. "He saw you turn into a giant panda—a dangerous one, to be precise."

My breath hitched. A sharp, hot fury coiled inside me.

My whole body tenses. Anger surges through me like wildfire, hot and consuming.

"You—what?!" My voice shakes with disbelief. "You made him see a panda?! You made him afraid of me!"

Mom doesn't even flinch. She folds her arms, her expression unreadable. "He shouldn't have been here, Anne. I had to make sure he wouldn't come back."

I take a step forward, my hands trembling. "You're controlling what people see? Making them fear me? How could you do that?!"

Mom exhales sharply, as if I'm the one being unreasonable. "Because it's necessary. Because the world isn't safe for you—or for them."

I shake my head, my chest tightening. "You don't get to decide that for me! You don't get to twist my life into something I don't understand!"

Her eyes darken. "I do, Anne. I do because I'm your mother. And I will do whatever it takes to protect you, whether you like it or not."

I feel my fangs ache beneath my gums, my fingers curling into fists. "You're not protecting me, Mom. You're trapping me."

She says nothing. Just watches me, waiting for me to calm down, waiting for me to fold under her control like I always have.

But I won't. Not this time.

I take one last look at the direction Adam disappeared, heart pounding, and I make a silent vow.

If he's looking for answers—so am I. And I won't let Mom's illusions stop me.

I tried to run, tried to escape, but no matter how far I went, I always ended up back at the hut. Mom's illusions caged me like an invisible force, dragging me back each time. Over and over, I fought against it—until I couldn't hold it in any longer.

A sharp pain flared through my gums, and before I realized it, my fangs were out, razor-sharp. My emotions twisted into a storm—rage, frustration, confusion—blurring together into something uncontrollable. My breaths came in ragged gasps, my body trembling as if something inside me was breaking free.

Mom's expression shifted instantly. The cunning glint in her eyes vanished, replaced by something I had never seen before—fear.

"Anne, calm down!" she commanded, scrambling to grab something from her bag—witchcraft, no doubt. But it was too late.

"You can't control me! You can't keep me locked away, hiding me, lying to me!" My voice shook with fury. "I'm tired of your secrets! I want out!"

The world around me froze. The heat in my chest erupted, and before I could stop it, flames poured from my mouth, an inferno swallowing the air between us. Mom barely had time to lift her smoking pot—thick purple smoke curling from it—before the fire engulfed her.

A distant voice called my name, echoing through the chaos, but I couldn't process it. I could only watch in horror as the illusion shattered, and reality crashed down on me.

The hut—our home—was burning. And so was she.

"No…" My voice broke into a whisper, my body frozen in place.

Then, I heard it. A heartbeat. Weak. Struggling.

Mom was still alive.

I rushed into the flames, ignoring the searing heat as I pulled her from the wreckage. Her body was broken, her skin burned beyond recognition, but somehow, she was still breathing.

"Mom, I'm so sorry," I sobbed, tears falling freely down my cheeks. My hands trembled as I cradled her fragile form.

Her breath was ragged, every inhale a battle. With great effort, she lifted a shaking hand toward me.

"You're not just any girl, Anne," she whispered. "You are special."

I couldn't listen. I couldn't accept this. My mother—my only family—was dying, and it was because of me.

"Mom, please…" My voice cracked like fragile glass. "You can't die. I don't have anyone else. Please, don't leave me!"

A weak, pained smile touched her lips.

"Don't worry, my love. Your father… will take it from here."

And then, with one last breath, she closed her eyes forever.

The words barely registered. My father? A man I had never known?

It didn't matter. None of it did. Because in that moment, I realized the awful truth—I had killed my mother.

Her body began to smolder, thin wisps of smoke rising from her until she was nothing but ash. I reached for her, but there was nothing left to hold.

A hollow emptiness spread through me, colder than anything I had ever felt.

With grief clawing at my soul, I turned and walked into the woods, the world around me dark and silent, swallowed by the weight of what I had done.