She rested her head against the rusted rods, the cold metal biting into her skin. The air around her felt heavy, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in to swallow her whole. She was far from the Land of Dark, a place she once called home—a place she had clawed her way out of. Yet, even in this foreign space, within the tight confines of his so-called security zone, she could feel the shadow of that cursed land creeping closer, like a storm waiting to break.

The Guvorner arrived soon after, his boots echoing against the rough stone floor. The dull scent of dust and decay filled his nostrils, mingling with the bitter essence of abandonment that clung to this place. He exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade. She had not expected him, not so soon. His presence unsettled her, but she hid it well. For years, she had been searching—for her child, for the fragments of her life, for answers. And now, she had nothing left to lose.

Her thoughts wandered, as they often did, to the day her world had shattered. The day Oracle, her husband, had been killed. His death had not only stolen her peace but had carved out a piece of her soul, leaving her hollow. Yet, it was his death that had given her purpose—a dark, unrelenting force that drove her forward. It frightened her, the idea that her love for him, even in death, could consume her so completely. She had believed, once, that marriage to Oracle would give her control over her carefully constructed life. But she had been wrong.

Time had betrayed her. It moved like a predator, circling her slowly, waiting for the moment to pounce. And when it finally did, it took everything. The memory of that morning—Oracle’s lifeless body, the blood pooling around him—still haunted her. It crept through her veins like a poison, a constant reminder that death was always watching.

The next morning, she sat on the edge of her seat, unable to sleep, her gaze fixed on the guards. Guvorner’s men stood rigid, their feet apart, hands clasped behind their backs, faces devoid of emotion. They pretended not to notice her, but she could feel their unease, the way her presence made their muscles tense. Their gazes were locked on the shadows that stretched across the garden, avoiding the spot where her daughter lay unconscious—a fragile doll, her life teetering on the edge.

The poison had worked quickly. The juice she had mixed for her daughter—and herself—was her final act of defiance. She had poured the concoction with shaking hands, knowing what it meant. But as she sat there now, the weight of it settled over her like a shroud. The sweat that pooled beneath her hair and soaked through her thin gown—a gown she had worn for three days—was a testament to her desperation.

The guards stood like statues, their eyes fixed anywhere but on her. But she didn’t care. Let them ignore her. Let them pretend she wasn’t a threat. She sat there, her body trembling not from fear, but from the slow-burning rage that had been building inside her for years. They didn’t know what she was capable of. Not yet.

The shadows of the garden seemed to come alive, twisting and writhing like specters of the past. Somewhere in the distance, a crow cawed, its mournful cry cutting through the silence. She tightened her grip on the rods, the rust flaking off onto her hands. She could feel the darkness stirring within her—a beast she had kept caged for too long.

And when it finally broke free, the world would burn.

She had waited long enough. The blade in her hand felt unnervingly cold, its sharp edge gleaming in the dim light as she drove it into her daughter’s heart. The water around them was warm, like thick honey that seemed to wrap around her, but it felt colder than the air, chilling her to the bone. The act of it—the point of the knife pressing into her child’s fragile body—stirred something dark within her. It wasn’t fear that kept her hand steady, but something deeper, a disgust that twisted inside her chest. The weight of guilt pressed down on her like a heavy stone, but it didn’t stop her. It never did.

In the silence, she could hear the muffled sound of guards outside, their heavy boots echoing like a countdown to her fall. She didn’t turn toward the figures in the shadows behind her, but stared straight ahead, her gaze hardening. They didn’t move—those blurred shapes, standing there, watching. If they were seeing her, they showed no sign. Not a twitch. Not a flinch. The only movement was the rise and fall of her chest, slow and steady, like she was breathing in the poison of her own actions.

A voice echoed in her mind—a sin to harm your child. But whose voice was it? The voice of a mother, maybe? Or the voice of someone who never understood the dark path she had been forced to walk. Who could say that loving a dangerous man wasn’t the biggest mistake of her life? Yet it was the best choice, wasn’t it? Because it led her to this moment. It led her to the death of Oracle, her husband, the turning point that had set everything in motion. A spiral into madness. A path of revenge.

Her hands shook as she stared at her daughter’s lifeless body, the blood spreading beneath her like a pool of regret.

Her voice broke through the silence, cold and unforgiving, aimed at the guards outside. "Your old habit of cutting people and throwing them in the gutter, do the same with them." Her words were full of venom, a promise of death, a warning of destruction. Inside, she was broken, but there was no turning back now.

Before the guards could burst through the door, before they could stop her, she jumped from the window, a shadow in the night, lost and untethered. For two days and nights, she wandered like a ghost, haunted by the choices she had made, the sound of her daughter’s final breath echoing in her ears. She ended up in the most unlikely place—a club. The air was thick with smoke, and the strobe lights flickered over bodies of strippers and men lost in their own addictions. And there, in the haze, was Donovan’s brother, high on drugs, surrounded by his own demons.

Without thinking, her hand found the knife again. She drove it into his neck, feeling the pulse of life drain out of him as he collapsed. The screams that filled the club were deafening, the sound of terror rising as people scrambled for safety. She remained calm, even as his blood stained her hands, knowing it would never be enough.

But her revenge, sweet yet bitter, was never finished. Her heart still burned for it, but it remained incomplete. The taste of vengeance was fleeting. Before she could finish what she had started, the authorities closed in on her. She was caught, dragged away, and thrown into the cold, unforgiving arms of prison. It was there, behind the cold iron bars, that the weight of her actions finally sank in.

“You came to meet me again, without my daughter?”

Her voice was hoarse, brittle, as if each word cut through the air with the weight of her grief. Governor stood at the cell door, his eyes unreadable, as he observed her—a woman broken by her own actions, yet still unyielding in some twisted, unspoken way.

For so long, she had lived with the darkness she had created, the loss of her daughter, the cold satisfaction of vengeance. "I will take you with me from here soon" Yet, here he was—Guvorner, the very man who controlled everything, standing in front of her, the same man who once had the power to destroy life or save her husband.

She let out a bitter laugh, a hollow sound that filled the small, cold room. Her hands, shackled and bruised, rested against the bars. "You think you can still save me?" she whispered, almost to herself. "After all that’s happened... my daughter’s blood, my sin?"

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze shifting as though searching for the right words. She knew that his presence here was no act of kindness—it was strategy, control. He had his reasons for wanting her alive, for wanting her close.

"You were always stronger than you let on," he finally said, his voice soft but laced with something colder beneath. "But you cannot outrun what you’ve done. What you’ve lost."

Her eyes narrowed, a flash of something dark passing over her face. "I don’t need your pity," she spat, her voice low and dangerous. "I never did."

His voice was low, filled with a dangerous edge. "What our father started, I’ll finish this, Sarla. This isn’t just my fight now. Oracle began this, and it’s only right that your daughter ends it." He clenched his fists, his anger rising with every word.

His lips curled into a sinister smile. "And if I find her, just remember—she’ll pay the price. I’ll make sure of it."

His eyes darkened with rage. "Oracle took my mother from me, Sarla. Now, I’m taking your daughter. You can’t stop me."

Her laughter was cold, almost mocking. "What do you think you can do? After all these years, you should know better. She’s gone. Dead. You’re wasting your time."

Her smirk twisted as she saw the pain flicker in his eyes, but it quickly turned into a challenge. "But if you’re so certain, what’s stopping you? Can you bring her back?" She wants to see her daughter.

He leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper, but full of venom. "If I have to make a deal with the devil himself to get what I want... I will." His words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of a storm that was about to be unleashed. The tension was thick, and as he stood up, the room seemed to grow colder, more oppressive, as if the very walls themselves could sense the danger that simmered in his soul. "And trust me, Sarla, I always get what I want."

She had walked this path willingly, and now she was left with nothing but the hollow echoes of her own destruction.

She still had the fire of revenge burning in her chest. There was something left—something she hadn’t yet lost. And it was that something that would keep her alive, even in the darkness of this prison.

Governor watched her for a moment longer before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing in the cold, empty hallway. As the door closed behind him, she remained sitting by the bars, staring into the void, waiting to get out of the holy prison.