The darkness lingered long after the sharp pain I felt in my head had faded. I blinked, slowly, as the world came into shaky focus. I quickly scanned the room and the environment: It was a small, dimly lit room with curtains that were drawn against the night.
My hands still ached; they were bruised from the fall through the window. Immediately, my eyes landed on my doll that was across the room, dirty and torn.
I tried to remember, I had to remember, but all I could remember was the flames, the sound of gunshots, my parents shouting, the blood that spilled across the marble tiles. My memory was still hazy and scattered. It all just felt like smoke that slipped through my fingers.
My chest tightened as panic washed over me.
"You're awake."
The voice was calm, steady, and somehow commanded respect. It was measured but had no hints of kindness. My eyes snapped to the corner where the voice came from, then a figure emerged from the shadows. It was tall, cloaked, the face unclear, but the air around them demanded attention.
"Who... Who are you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"A friend," the figure said softly, "You're safe now. But you need to stay calm."
I stared at the figure; my chest was heavy. "Where.... where are my parents?"
The figure paused, then let out a heavy sigh. It was something that carried the sound of sympathy and weight. "They're… gone, little one. I'm sorry."
Immediately, he dropped those words, and something inside me shattered into a million pieces. I didn't even know when I started crying. I was only 6 years old, and my whole world had come crashing down. The warmth and love of my family, everything was gone, snatched by one night of fire and violence.
I twisted myself on the bed, shaking. I could still taste ash and fear in my mouth. "Why... why did this happen?" I whispered into the air, to no one in particular.
The figure, touched, knelt beside me, then placed a gloved hand over my shoulder. "Because they saw something worth killing for. But you survived... which means you have a chance at redemption."
I lifted my head slowly and then narrowed my eyes despite the tears. "What do you mean?"
"You have a choice, April," they started. Wait, how did they know my name? I never said anything to them, and I don't have any of that legal stuff with me. "You can be weak, like everyone else. Or you can rise. You can become someone no one dares to cross," they said, their voice low and heavy.
I didn't know what they meant, but I could feel something deep inside me stir. It was sharp, precise, and burning. I didn't want to be helpless again. I would not.
My gaze wandered around the room again, and this time I noticed more details than I did before: the way the window latch was old but tough, the slight unevenness of the floor boards, and, of course, the shadow of the lamp that fell across the wall. My little brain cataloged every bit of it. Observation. Awareness. Survival.
"I... I want to be strong," I said, my voice inaudible, barely to the figure and more to myself.
They nodded together. "Good. Strength is a beginning. But it will not be easy. They will come for you again. And you… You must be ready when they do."
A pause hung between us, then it filled the room.
It was only broken by the voice from outside the door, a deep, measured voice echoed:
"She survived… good. But now the real work begins."
This made my pulse jump, as fear and determination mixed into something dark and explosive. So whatever waited for me, I just knew one thing: I would not be the same little girl who hid in a closet that night. I would rise from the ashes and avenge my parents.
And when I did… the world would regret ever underestimating me.