Aysha pulled her knees up to her chest, her back on her bedroom door. She could see the memory as clear as day now.

She and her father had been playing together. Aysha ran in and out of the kitchen, her mother yelling at her to get out. Her laughing with glee, not listening. Her father ran to chase her and Aysha accidentally pushed down a kitchen knife that landed on her father's foot.

Blood.

Fresh, crimson blood trailed down her father's foot.

Her mother and father were silent in shock and surprise at what happened.

Something intrigued Aysha. She didn't know what she was doing. Her body was simply moving on its own.

"Aysha, what are you doing? Stay back. Daddy's going to be fine, okay?" Her father's voice was riddled with pain, his teeth gritting. To his surprise, there were no tears on Aysha's face. There was a wild look in her eyes that showed Aysha was vacant at the moment.

Aysha reached for the knife and twisted it into her father's foot. Her father gripped the counter next to him, his face twisting into one of pure pain.

"Aysha! What are you doing?!"

Deeper and deeper the knife went.

More and more blood trailed down her father's foot.

"Aysha!" Her mother screamed again and dragged Aysha away from her father. Aysha didn't resist. She simply kept staring at the blood.

When the flashback ended, Aysha put her head in her knees, tears falling down her cheeks. She remembered how she had stabbed that man in the neck. The way she had enjoyed the hot and sticky liquid dripping down her hands. What was wrong with her? She wasn't normal. She was a bloody monster. She had practically stabbed her own father.

She wanted, no, needed to change things, yet here she was, acting just like everyone else. No, she wasn't a monster. She wasn't. She repeated the words to herself, knowing full well it couldn't change what had already happened.

Knock, knock.

"Aysha? I need to talk to you."

Aysha didn't answer. She couldn't stand to speak to Craytia looking like this. She was a crying mess. Craytia shoved the door as Aysha got up and looked away from the door.

"Please leave," Aysha managed to say.

"What's wrong?" Craytia asked. Aysha heard her footsteps entering the room and felt her arm on her shoulder.

Aysha didn't reply. She clutched one arm, tears still falling. She was a burning flame. A fire that supposedly couldn't extinguish, but here she was running out of oxygen. She was the only sponsored person that had survived under Craytia because of someone else. She was being used. Her parents, once upon a time, had feared her. She had killed and killed.

Craytia had walked around to face Aysha. She put two fingers under Aysha's chin and lifted her face up to hers. Aysha stared at her silently. When Craytia pulled her hand away, to Aysha's surprise, she hugged her. She couldn't think of Craytia the same way again knowing that Craytia had wanted to kill her to save her. She wasn't a god. She had no right to choose who lived or died, and yet her actions proved that she was.

"What are you doing?" Aysha asked, her voice hoarse.

"I figured you needed it." When Craytia pulled away, she was holding Aysha's arms. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"You wouldn't understand," Aysha said, her voice sharp and her red eyes full of a hurt and a newfound determination. She would take Craytia and whoever else worked with her down. What they were doing wasn't right. She was willing to take a stand against it. Others weren't, but she was.

Craytia raised a brow. "Are you sure about that?"

"Look at the life you're living. Do you really think you could possibly relate to whatever I'm feeling?" Aysha's flame had sparked. She'd found an even bigger purpose to live.

Craytia looked away in what Aysha hoped was hurt. She wanted her to be hurt. She wanted Craytia and everyone else like her to burn. A cruel smile was painted on Aysha's face. She had plotted Craytia's downfall and couldn't wait to go through with it.