After leaving the living room, I enter the small hallway. My door is the second on the right. There are three on the left and three on the right. If all bedrooms are on the right, then maybe I could find a washroom on the left.
I try to open the first door on the left. It's locked. I try the second and it opens. I find a barrel filled with water, a chipped mirror and a bathtub.
I quickly wash my face and hands. Then I open the vial. I try to sniff it, the odour is sharp but manageable. Maybe it won't be that bad. I try to reassure myself. I pour a bit into my hand, it's a dark and slimy liquid.
I bend over a bucket next to the barrel filled with water, my long hair falling in front of my face and start massaging the dark liquid into my scalp. After a while, I check myself in the mirror.
For a moment, it feels like I've lost more than just colour. Like a layer of myself has been scraped off. If Jonah and Taliah saw me now … would they even look twice? Or would I just be another stranger in the crowd?
I touch my chest where the locket rests, as if it can remind me who I am.
Now I look just like any ordinary person within Caerum.
With a hollow ache in my chest, I close the vial and return to the living room. I notice a bucket filled with dirty clothes in the corner. In a chair, a woman is sitting and chatting with Silas.
I politely greet her, "Burn bright."
She looks at me smiling, "You as well." Then she turns back to Silas. "Is that Seraph? The girl you talked about?"
"Yes, she was curious about the executions," he says not looking happy at all.
"Curious? At her age? Spirits ..." she sighs. "I don't like the executions myself." I can see her expression turn sour.
I look at her. She is an older woman with plain clothes. But her hair is elegant, styled. It's obvious she puts a lot of care into it. Despite her plain clothing, she really appears elegant, almost like a noble. When I think about it, Silas, if he wasn't so old, could maybe pass for one as well. His hair is done, and he keeps himself clean.
"Come here," Silas says. I come to him and he puts his hand into my hair. "Good job, it's hard to recognise you."
Eira stands and walks over, ignoring Silas. She kneels down to my level, her touch much gentler as she tucks a strand of my damp hair behind my ear.
"That dye stinks, doesn't it, child?" she whispers, her thumb brushing my cheek. "But it did the trick. No one will see a flicker of blue on you. You just look like another slum rat. If you ever need more to dye your hair, don't hesitate to visit me."
Silas's voice cuts in, all business. "Eira will take you to the Square. You do exactly as she says, Seraph. No wandering. Am I clear?"
"Why?"
"Because," Silas says, his voice flat, "the Square is where the Prophet reminds us what he does to people who don't follow the rules. This is not a game. Don't cause trouble for her."
I nod.
"Now you go, so you are not too late."
I depart with the lady, entering the alley. We move quickly through a few turns before we enter the main street. The house is hidden in a maze of dark alleys. If I wanted to go back alone, I would get lost without a doubt.
On the way, I notice people curled up against walls. Thin, empty eyes, clutching rags against their ribs. A boy a bit older than me gnaws at something that doesn't even look like a food. Hunger is so thick here, I would have thought it could be eaten.
When we pass them, they look at us, not with hope, but resignation. They don't even dare to ask for food. As if they're scared of what we would do to them.
Eira looks at me, "Just stay close with me and nothing will happen." She smiles and offers me her hand. I grab it, following her.
Her reassurance should calm me, but all it does is remind me how dangerous this place must be. My palms are already sweating.
We arrive at the square. It is overcrowded and smells repulsive. There are platforms in the middle, I can barely make out anything over the crowd. But one thing is clear, there are guards everywhere, I can even spot a few Sentinels myself.
Eira looks at me and starts explaining, "Soon the carts with prisoners will arrive, then the Prophet will come and execute them."
"Why does Silas call him the False Prophet?"
She quickly hushes me. "Don't say that in public, unless you want to be on the podium yourself."
Carts start arriving. They have cages with dirty people inside.
Then a tall man with a blue hair and eyes appears on the podium.
Most of the crowd reacts immediately, cheers erupting all around us. Loud and eager. People raise their hands, some even call out to him, as if he is their saviour.
But my breath catches in my throat. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to a single point. Him.
The man who tore my life apart. The reason they're gone. Heat rushes up my spine, sharp and sickening. My fingers curl around the locket so hard the metal cuts into my palm.
He starts talking but I can't hear him at all. We are too far away. I want to go closer, but Eira prohibits it. When he is done talking they start bringing the chained criminals on stage.
The Prophet's eyes and hair start glowing bright blue. He raises one hand, palm up, as if offering a blessing. He looks serene, almost peaceful. Blue mist starts forming around him.
He makes a small elegant gesture and the mist spreads out, enveloping the first criminal.
My stomach twists, but I can't look away, the way the mist coils, the way it envelops his skin.
I see the man start to struggle. But he makes no sound. His hands fly to his throat, clawing at his own skin. His eyes bulge. His back arches, his body seizing in a silent, agonising spasms, but soon he drops to the floor, limp as a puppet with its strings cut.
Something inside me snaps.
Suddenly I'm not in the Square anymore. I'm back in the manor. Taliah and Jonah. Jonah's silent scream as the blade cut his heel. Taliah's final, desperate cry. Their bodies on the ground. The red blood staining the white marble.
I stumble backward. The stone beneath me turns red, the blood spreading. I'm shaking. I clench Eira's hand.
Eira notices and hugs me. "It's okay, Seraph. No one will hurt you," she repeats, trying to calm me down.
After I calm down, I look back at the platform. The Prophet is moving to the next prisoner.
And the next. His movements are calm, graceful, almost bored. He just gestures, and they die, choking on nothing, their bodies twitching on the wood.
When he finishes, all of the criminals are lying on the floor, dead. They are brought to a pile of wood. Then they light it on fire.
Blue flames erupt in a moment, consuming the bodies. An offering for the Lord of the Blue Flames.
Eira looks at me. "That is all. Let's go back."
We turn to leave. As the crowd presses around us, the cheering still echoes in my ears. My legs feel hollow, as if they aren't fully connected to me anymore. Each step is strange and distant, as if I'm moving through water. The world feels muted with muffled sounds.
I let Eira guide me because I'm not sure my body remembers how to move on its own.
I give one last brief glance to the Prophet. He is standing by the pyre, watching the blue flames rise, his face perfectly calm.
I carve his face into my mind like a pulsing wound. Someday, I will make him see mine.