At night, Diane waited in front of the theater building, a black robe covering her small figure as she blended into the shadows.
Even though she was relieved—almost happy—that her mother had finally noticed her, fear sat heavy in her chest.
She knew Isolde had changed. Viviane had crossed the line too many times, and punishment from their mother was never gentle.
Diane hugged herself, eyes fixed on the building, telling herself it would be fine. That her mother would only scare her sister. That nothing truly terrible would happen.
The moment the fire erupted, those thoughts shattered.
Flames burst from the structure as if the building itself had been cursed, swallowing wood and fabric in seconds. Diane gasped as screams tore through the night, people spilling into the streets in blind panic.
Buckets of water were thrown desperately, but they did nothing. The fire only grew, spreading like a living thing; devilish, relentless, tongues of flame licking higher with each breath.
