Sometimes, I forget how hard it was to reach this point. How much I worked, together with everyone I loved, to protect our home.
It was never easy when I first arrived… The day I died ten years ago is still vivid in my mind. Yet, it didn't happen here. Not in this world.
Years Ago...
21st Century, in a country by the sea.
At the age of four, Marin lived with her parents in a modest coastal town. The family had little in terms of wealth, yet love and unity made their small house a place of warmth and safety.
Summers, however, brought heavy rains. The town was plagued by seasonal floods, the result of government neglect and decaying infrastructure. Roads turned to rivers, and entire neighborhoods vanished beneath the rushing waters.
Her parents often spoke of leaving one day, of finding a safer place for their only daughter. They dreamed of a future where Marin could run through fields unafraid of the storms.
From her earliest memories, Marin loved the ocean. She would stand barefoot at the shore, the salty breeze tugging at her hair, her wide eyes reflecting the horizon. To her, the sea was vast and full of stories. Her mother often laughed and called her their little mermaid. That nickname alone was enough to make Marin beam with innocent joy.
It was a fleeting time of peace, a fragile bubble that could never last.
That very summer, when Marin was away at school in a neighboring district, a storm more violent than any before struck. Fierce winds and torrential rain battered the coastline. Her parents, along with neighbors, fought desperately to save others, hauling possessions, helping the elderly, guiding children to safety.
But the earth itself betrayed them. Saturated with rain, the ground gave way. Houses crumbled, and a raging torrent of mud and water devoured everything in its path.
The disaster showed no mercy.
Days later, the bodies were recovered among ruins and debris.
Even at four years old, Marin understood loss with terrifying clarity. The absence of her parents pierced her chest like a blade. For the first time, her world collapsed.
Years blurred as Marin passed through foster homes. Most families treated her as a burden, a mouth to feed, another problem in already strained households.
But when she turned nine, a distant relative reached out—her father's sister, who lived in another country. The woman, recently widowed, claimed she would take Marin into her care. To the young girl, this sounded like a second chance.
Marin clutched hope tightly.
A new home, a new language, a new culture. She believed that if she worked hard, if she smiled enough, if she tried her very best, things would finally improve.
At first, it almost seemed so. The journey was filled with anticipation. Marin pictured school friends, family dinners, a warm bed of her own.
But within months, reality revealed itself.
PAFT!
The sharp sound of a hand striking skin echoed through the living room.
Marin staggered, clutching her cheek. Her guardian's eyes blazed with fury.
"HOW CAN YOU BE SO USELESS?!" the widow screamed.
The little girl trembled, unable to understand what she had done wrong.
"I told you I wanted dinner ready before we came back! How dare you do nothing?!"
"I-I was trying—" Marin's voice cracked, but before she could finish, the woman silenced her with another harsh word.
That day marked the beginning. The mask of family fell away, revealing the truth. Marin had not been brought there as a daughter. She was a servant.
Her world collapsed for the second time.
The house was not small. Besides Marin and the widow, there were two others: the widow's stepson, a young man studying at university, and her biological daughter, still in school.
From the moment she entered that household, Marin was burdened with endless chores. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, errands—her small hands never rested.
Though her legal documents were properly arranged, she was not allowed to attend a normal school. Her guardian claimed to authorities that she was receiving homeschooling. In truth, Marin had to teach herself from borrowed books, cramming in study after midnight once her tasks were done.
It did not take her long to understand why she had been taken in.
In the past, when her parents first died, the widow had shown no interest in her. She had her own children to care for and the financial stability of her husband's income. But after the man's death, debts crushed the household. The maid was dismissed. Bills piled up.
Then, the woman remembered her late husband's niece—the little girl who had been left an inheritance. A modest fund her parents had saved, meant for her education and future.
Adopting Marin gave her access to that money. And beyond that, it provided her with free labor.
Hidden under the guise of kinship, Marin became little more than a slave.
By the time she turned seventeen, Marin was still trapped in that house. She had grown taller, her face framed by hair that glimmered faintly in sunlight, her eyes retaining the quiet glow of the sea. But her posture remained submissive, her spirit quietly yearning for freedom.
Whenever she was allowed outside—for groceries or errands—she imagined running away. She even considered reporting her situation to the police. But fear gnawed at her.
What if they don't believe me? What if I end up with nowhere to go?
Despite everything, she still held on to the hope that maybe, somehow, these people would accept her as family. They had not struck her in years, after all.
You cannot repay evil with evil, she told herself again and again. But evil, she learned, has many forms. And sometimes, it grows quietly, in shadows.
The widow's stepson, older than Marin, had been absent for years, living in the university dorms. Marin almost forgot his face. But after failing multiple courses, he returned to live at home temporarily.
She thought his presence would simply mean more work. More meals to prepare, more rooms to clean. But soon, she noticed something else—something darker.
One evening, as she scrubbed the kitchen floor, a prickling sensation crawled across her skin. The undeniable feeling of being watched.
Her hands froze. Her heart quickened.
TUM, TUM, TUM…
Slowly, she turned.
He was there—leaning casually against the doorway, a beer can in hand, his eyes fixed on her with a gaze that made her stomach twist.
"Do you need something?" Marin asked cautiously, forcing her voice to remain calm.
He smirked. "When I left, you were just skin and bones. But now… you've grown. They say a lot about women from your country. My father was enchanted too, wasn't he?"
TUM, TUM, TUM…
Her heart thundered. His words, his tone, his expression—they made bile rise in her throat.
Before anything more could happen, footsteps approached. His younger sister entered, fresh from the shower, drying her hair with a towel.
The man's gaze slipped away as if nothing had occurred.
The girl glanced at Marin, annoyance in her eyes. "Why are you just standing there like a slug? Hurry up and finish before Mom gets home!"
Marin bowed her head, gripping the cloth tightly in her hands.
She had no doubt. She knew danger when she saw it.
Her instincts screamed.
She needed to leave.
And so, Marin's world trembled once more. Not from storms or the cruelty of fate, but from the shadow of something insidious growing inside the very house she had been forced to call home.
Her heart whispered, louder each day: You cannot stay here. If you remain, you will lose yourself.