The mansion was quiet that night, every corridor swallowed by darkness. Outside, the moonlight danced across the gardens, casting long, trembling shadows. Inside, a fragile warmth clung to the girl as her mother adjusted the blanket around her bruised shoulders.
Her green eyes flickered open, haunted but alert. Every small noise made her flinch footsteps in the hall, the creak of the floor, even her own breath. Her body ached, every movement a reminder of the river, of the rope, of the blood smeared across her skin.
Then she heard it: a soft whirring, mechanical and familiar.
"Ketchup…" she whispered, voice trembling.
From the shadowed corner rolled her secret companion, the AI she had built in the past, hidden away from the cruel hands that had tried to destroy her. Its tiny arms moved with delicate precision, its sensors blinking in soft, reassuring patterns. It had seen everything the knife, the stolen designs, the horror of that birthday. It had recorded every detail. And it had waited.
Her lips quivered as she reached out. The robot came closer, its little wheels whispering across the polished floor. Its sensors reflected her forest-green eyes, as if acknowledging every unspoken fear she carried. For the first time in days, a spark of control surged through her.
"They… they stole everything," she murmured, her voice barely audible, "my designs… my ideas…"
Ketchup tilted its head, a soft mechanical hum vibrating through its body. It was more than a machine; it was a witness, a keeper of secrets, a silent ally. And somehow, in that quiet, trembling moment, it felt alive. Almost like it understood.
Her father sat silently nearby, watching her fragile form. He did not speak he knew words could not erase the fear, the trauma, the years of cruelty she had endured. But in his eyes, there was a promise: she was safe now. The mansion, the guards, the locked gates they were walls to protect her, but they could not heal her completely. That would take time… and perhaps, a secret ally she had never expected.
Laria or the girl who had yet to reclaim her name clenched her fists, feeling the first flickers of resolve. "We will take it back," she whispered to Ketchup, "everything they stole… everything they took from me… we'll get it all back."
The robot's lights blinked once, softly, as though affirming her words. And in that small, shadowed room, surrounded by quiet hallways and locked doors, a plan began to form. A plan born from pain, hidden in the hum of wires and the heartbeat of a girl who refused to be broken.
Outside, the night pressed in, cold and unyielding. But inside, something had awakened something alive, secret, and unstoppable.