she slammed her hand against the mirror.
The sound of glass shattering tore the silence of the room into pieces,
and then… the silence broke.
"So those stupid couples sold their daughter instead of paying their debt?"
It was the woman's voice, talking to her subordinates.
Hearing her voice, my mind blurred.
A thick fog wrapped around my head.
"What does she mean?
What situation?
Which couple?
…Does she mean me?"
Unclear questions clawed at my mind, dragging me deeper and deeper into despair.
"Forget it.
It doesn't matter.
Either she dies… or she survives."
My body started shaking.
My mind could barely think.
They wanted to kill me.
I didn't want to die.
And then… that voice came.
Maybe from somewhere inside my head.
Maybe from somewhere unknown.
"If you want help… call my name."
(I wish everything would disappear…)
My lips didn't move.
But my heart screamed.
Suddenly, I found myself standing in front of several bodies lying on the floor.
The red color of blood had soaked deeply into their clothes.
I felt the coldness of something in my hand.
My eyes shifted.
A metal object.
A knife… fused with blood.
My breath stopped.
My legs gave out, and I crashed hard against the bed behind me.
My eyes were wider than ever.
My heart louder than ever.
I pressed my hands tightly over my mouth.
I didn't want to scream.
Sirens.
Suddenly, the door was thrown open.
Three police officers stood in front of me.
Their eyes were filled with anger… and confusion.
As if they couldn't see my fear.
They could only see the bloody knife in my hand.
———
"So… you killed five gangsters?
A six-year-old girl…?"
The words left my lips.
I didn't know whether what I felt was emptiness or not,
but the way she spoke… was too emotionless.
As if she hadn't committed those murders herself.
As if she was calmly telling a story.
Her eyes stayed on her red shoes.
She intertwined her fingers and explained everything with a soft smile.
Then my radio crackled:
"Alex, break time. That's enough for today."
I thought:
(Finally… a break.)
I walked toward the door.
But just as my hand touched the handle, she spoke again:
"Did you know she loved Camellia flowers?
Maybe because they bloom in winter…"
The air changed.
Heavier.
Darker.
I turned around.
She was looking at me.
A painful smile on her lips.
As if her mouth was smiling,
but her eyes were crying.
I didn't continue the conversation.
I knew it was useless.
Two officers entered and took her back to her cell.
As they dragged her away, she was still smiling.
I knew I was just a rookie.
But it still affected me.
I left the room quickly.
I wanted to breathe.
To feel normal.
Without permission, I left the station
and walked toward the nearest café,
two streets away.
Maybe not for the coffee…
Maybe just to see her.
On the board it read:
"Today's special: Coconut cake"
When I reached the door, my heart started racing.
I could feel the heat in my cheeks.
I took a deep breath… and opened the door.
The bell rang.
The first thing I saw was her silky black hair.
Her dark brown eyes, softly made up.
She was talking to a customer behind the counter.
Her brown uniform matched her warm skin.
After a few seconds, she noticed me.
She smiled… and returned to the customer.
I walked toward my usual seat:
the second table from the left, near the large window.
The perfect place to watch her…
without her noticing.
Her coworker brought my usual coffee.
She smiled shyly and walked away.
I lifted the cup.
Smelled it.
It smelled like freshly bloomed flowers.
Just as I took my first sip, my phone rang.
I sighed and answered:
"Mia… you know I'm on my break, right?"
"I'm sorry, sir. But we found new information.
We tracked down the doctor that Ms. Soura used to visit."
"So?"
"Soura has Dissociative Identity Disorder."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes. We'll interrogate them more and update you tomorrow."
The call ended.
I couldn't focus on my coffee anymore.
I finished it, grabbed my coat, and walked outside.
The sun was setting.
The sky was painted in orange.
Birds whispered in the air.
Time passed there like lightning.
I didn't want to go back to the station.
I was exhausted.
So I walked to the bus stop…
and took the first bus home.
But even on the bus…
I couldn't erase her from my mind.
I knew she was a criminal.
But something inside me whispered:
She is a victim too.
I knew I shouldn't feel sympathy for a killer.
But my mind kept replaying today
again… and again… and again.
And somehow…
I was curious.
What — or who — forced that little girl to become a murderer?
What sleeps inside her?
And how… will her story end?
It was the first time I had ever met someone like her