The Woman in Red

The sack hadn't moved in minutes.

Maybe he was just unconscious. Or maybe worse.

A scar on his left cheek looked old and deep.

Merina scanned the dim room for anything that might help with his injuries, but there was nothing useful within reach—no bandages, no cloth, not even clean water. The silence in the room was thick, disturbed only by the uneven rhythm of her own breath.

She dragged the boy's body out of the sack with the last of her strength, inch by inch, until she got him to the bed. He was breathing—barely. The air between them was filled with shallow, faint breaths—one from her, one from him.

Merina instinctively turned to look at his face.

He had the kind of beauty that felt unreal in such a grim place—his features delicate, almost like a porcelain doll.

There was a dullness to his appearance—his body limp and pale like someone who hadn't seen sunlight in years—but that dullness was laced with something heavenly.

The scar on his cheek, though deep and aged, added a strange elegance.

His lips looked too soft for a boy, almost like a whisper from a dream.

Even covered in bruises, there wasn't a single mark on his face—except for that one scar, almost like someone had tried to protect that part of him at all costs.

He wore a white loose shirt, the kind you only saw in noble portraits, with a ruffled collar tied by thin, silken laces. The material looked expensive, but it had been stained by dirt and dragged grime. The contrast was striking—luxury cloaked in ruin.

Her eyes drifted down to his wrists.

They were bleeding—angrily, painfully—red and raw. Deep marks showed how tightly someone had tied him.

She looked around again, desperately, but the room was bare.

Without a second thought, she tore a strip from her own brown, faded skirt using the shard of broken glass she'd kept close.

Wrapping it around his wrists, she whispered, "He'll die at this rate…"

Her voice trembled.

Then—hurried footsteps.

Someone was coming. Fast.

Merina grabbed the shard again, holding it out toward the door, her heart thudding against her ribs.

The door opened.

A familiar figure appeared—yet somehow unfamiliar.

"That's the woman who came to me earlier… isn't it?" Merina thought.

But this woman didn't even glance at her.

She rushed straight to the boy and dropped to her knees beside him.

Her arms wrapped tightly around him, her fingers tangled in his hair.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm really sorry… please, open your eyes, my dear… please…"

Her voice cracked and shook.

Tears rolled down her cheeks freely as she rocked him gently.

Merina stood frozen.

This couldn't be the same cold-hearted woman she'd met before.

This one was breaking. This one was bleeding.

Her dress clung to her like it had grown from her skin—a dark red, almost blood-colored mermaid gown that hugged her body tightly.

It shimmered slightly, catching what little light filtered in from the hallway.

Her shoulders were bold, her posture royal. The dress wrapped around her curves like a second skin, elegant but intimidating.

Even in her vulnerability, she looked powerful.

The woman pulled out a small box—bandages, ointments, medicine.

She paused when she saw the makeshift cloth tied around the boy's wrists.

"Did you do that?" she asked, turning to Merina with red-rimmed eyes.

"He might have died if I didn't," Merina answered.

The woman bowed her head slightly. "Thank you." Her voice was soft—shaken.

But as quickly as her gratitude appeared, it vanished.

Merina stood quietly, unsure of what to make of her.

"Are you his mother?" she asked.

The woman didn't look at her. She was staring at the boy again, her fingers gently caressing his bruised hand.

"No," she finally said. "I'm just a caretaker."

"But don't think that saving him means I'll let you leave," she added, her tone sharpening like a blade regaining its edge.

"I don't expect you to."

Merina moved, offering her hand to help with the boy's bandages.

"Stay away."

The words struck her like a slap.

She flinched and stepped back, watching silently as the woman worked.

When the bandaging was done, the woman held the boy close again. Her arms never loosened. Her fingers never stopped moving through his hair.

Minutes passed.

Then the door creaked open again, and a man entered.

"Master has called for you," he said plainly.

The woman turned her head slowly, giving him a side glance so sharp it could cut stone.

"What's the matter?"

"He wants you in his office. Immediately."

She hesitated. Her eyes returned to the boy. She clearly didn't want to leave—not like this.

But something flickered across her face—a realization. A decision.

"I'll be there in a minute," she replied.

The man left without another word.

Before she followed, the woman turned to Merina.

"Take care of him until I return. I'll explain everything to you. Why you were brought here… and who he is."

She walked to the door. Just before closing it, she looked back once more at the unconscious boy. Then, without another word, she stepped out and locked the door behind her.

The room fell into silence again.

Only the boy's soft breaths and Merina's racing thoughts filled the stillness.

The room fell into silence again.

Only the boy's soft breaths and Merina's racing thoughts filled the stillness.

She sat beside him, unsure what to do next—

Until his fingers twitched, ever so slightly… then again.

Merina leaned closer, heart pounding.

Was he waking up… or was someone else watching them from the dark?