Blasphemy ordered the minions to let her loose. They hesitated — but it was Blasphemy's order, so they obeyed.
Sarah was shocked.
She turned around to leave, but then stopped. Without looking back, she asked,
"I could escape… why?"
Blasphemy, still watching her, said,
"Wrong question."
Sarah was confused, but suddenly she remembered — the children, and the story Blasphemy had told her.
She asked,
"How much do I have left?"
"One week," Blasphemy replied.
Then Sarah began walking — one big step, one small.
The wind howled, like it was asking questions no one could hear.
Just before she was swallowed by the trees' shadows, she stopped and looked back.
She asked,
"Who are you in the story?
If I was the woman… were you the guard? Or the monster?"
Blasphemy looked satisfied by the question — like he had been waiting a long time for someone to ask.
"I am the director," he said.
Then Blasphemy looked away and stepped forward, disappearing into the shadows of the trees — vanishing beyond the horizon.
Sarah stood there, watching.
And she asked herself one last question then she returned to her house.
While Sarah searched around her burned house for God-knows-what, Blasphemy was on his way to opening a door. He stepped into a hallway with three doors and chose the second one. It led to a larger space with four staircases: two leading up, two leading down. I don't need to tell you which looked fancier.
Directly ahead stood a massive door. Blasphemy opened it and entered the place where Sarah had first been brought to him.
The room was sparse: a single enormous painting faced the throne, and decorative candles stood along the sides. The ceiling stretched ten meters high, with long pieces of metal hanging down as low as possible. From every point in the ceiling, metal rods descended together in a tangled pattern—like thorns—both strange and strangely beautiful. The walls were painted black with faint traces of gold.
In front of the throne, ten steps rose in a broken sequence: four steps, a landing, three steps, another landing, two steps, another landing, and finally one step leading directly to the throne. Candles lined the edges of these steps, the design clearly meant to make him speak from a position of height and authority.
This was Blasphemy's room. But the strange thing was—it didn't matter where the building was or what it looked like on the outside. Blasphemy could appear anywhere… even inside your own home if he wished. And that was why everyone feared him. People couldn't understand how he could bring his entire throne room with him wherever he went, decorations and all. Many believed he was something far beyond human.
No one came before Blasphemy unless they were under a death sentence and the people wanted them to suffer more than just death.
Blasphemy thought about this while glancing around the room, then sat on his throne. At that moment, the door opened.
A man entered, climbing the four sections of stairs, stopping before the final step. He lowered his head.
"Milord, may I speak freely?"
"As you always do, my old friend Miguel," Blasphemy replied.
Miguel raised his head. "Why… why… why?"
Blasphemy adjusted his seat. "Three whys at once. Does this have anything to do with Sarah?"
"Why did you free her? Why did you tell her our ways? And why are you talking to her at all?" Miguel asked.
Blasphemy rose from the throne and walked toward him. "First—because I can do whatever I want. Second—" he stopped in front of Miguel, "—you mean what if she escaped? She wouldn't. Not because of the children."
"But, milord, you didn't make it clear enough," Miguel said.
"You mean threaten her? Why would I do that when she already knows it herself? That would turn a threat into a promise, because she would threaten herself more than anyone else could. And if she believed I would kill them regardless, it would make no difference."
Miguel frowned. "So… because you didn't say it, she will still have hope—and ignore the worst possibility."
"That's not exactly what I said," Blasphemy replied. "She will ignore it because I didn't use the children as leverage. She'll convince herself that if she runs, the children will be in danger—without me having to say a word."