The house at the end of the street looked half-alive, like something that breathed only when the wind forced it to. Its walls were stained with old rainwater, the door hung crooked, and the windows were covered by nailed boards that never let light in.
Inside lived an eight-year-old girl named Saeles.
She was tall for her age, her limbs long and wiry from years of forced exercise. Her short dark-purple hair stuck to her forehead with sweat as she raised her trembling fists toward the heavy punching bag her mother dragged home from a trash pile years ago.
Her knuckles were cracked.
Her arms shook.
Her stomach burned with hunger.
Still, she didn't dare stop.
A sharp voice cut across the room like a blade.
"Don't slow down."
Her mother's tone was not instructive. It was threatening.
The woman leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a look of disgust twisting her features. Everything about her was sharp—her voice, her cheekbones, even the way she breathed. She had once dreamed of becoming a professional boxer, but had been humiliated out of the sport before she ever reached the ring.
And she punished Saeles for it every single day.
"Stand up straight," her mother snapped. "Do you want to embarrass me even in my own house?"
Saeles swallowed hard and adjusted her stance. She did not speak. She learned long ago that speaking created opportunities for punishment.
Her mother stalked closer, the floorboards creaking under her heavy steps.
"You're slow today," she hissed. "Lazy."
Saeles punched harder.
"Harder."
She did.
"HARDER!"
The scream made Saeles flinch. A mistake.
Her mother grabbed the back of her head and shoved her face toward the punching bag.
"You think you can slack off just because I'm watching? Do you want me to break your fingers again?"
Her mother didn't wait for an answer—Saeles knew she wasn't supposed to reply anyway. Instead, she resumed punching, the bag swinging from the force, the chain above clinking sharply.
The smell in the room was a mixture of sweat and mold. The windows stayed blocked because her mother didn't want "nosy neighbors" or "weak distractions." Sunlight had not touched Saeles's skin in months.
She had only two worlds:
Training.
And punishment.
Her mother paced behind her like a predator, watching every movement.
"You'll become what I wasn't," she muttered bitterly, the words trembling with envy and rage. "If I couldn't be the best, you will be. I'll shape you into something useful."
Her mother's voice always sounded like that—like she was talking to a punching bag that dared to breathe.
Saeles didn't understand most of her mother's words, but she did understand one thing: if she didn't obey, she would suffer for it.
She lifted her fists again. Each punch sent a jolt of pain up her arm. Hunger gnawed at her. Sweat rolled from her chin to the floor.
Her mother suddenly kicked the back of Saeles's knee.
Saeles collapsed to the floor, choking on her breath.
"Get up," her mother snarled. "Pathetic."
Saeles scrambled upright before her mother could grab her hair again. She didn't cry. Crying made things worse.
She punched again.
Again.
Again.
The room darkened as afternoon slipped toward evening. The shadows moved across the walls, but Saeles kept going. She didn't know when she was allowed to stop.
Her mother eventually left the room—not because Saeles had done well, but because boredom had taken over cruelty. The door slammed behind her, rattling the thin walls.
Silence.
Saeles stayed standing for a long moment, waiting to see if her mother would come back and strike her for resting. When she was certain she was alone, her legs buckled again, and she sank to her knees, breathing hard.
A faint sound drifted in from outside—the laughter of children from somewhere down the road. Their voices were light, careless, bright with freedom she couldn't imagine.
She listened, frozen, as though the sound came from another universe.
For a brief moment, her fingers twitched toward the boarded-up window, as if she wanted to move toward the sound. But she didn't. She knew better.
Her mother would never allow school.
Or friends.
Or anything that didn't involve fists.
Saeles lay on her side, staring blankly at the dusty floor. A single thought flickered through her emptying mind, faint but persistent:
Is there another world outside this house?
Her stomach growled loudly.
She ignored it.
She always did.
Night crept over the neighborhood. Children went home. Streetlights flickered awake. And the house at the end of the road sank deeper into quiet, holding its secrets tightly.
Saeles's eyes drifted shut.
She didn't know that tomorrow would bring the first ripple of change in her life—the arrival of a small girl with mismatched hair, warm eyes, and stubborn feet that didn't know how to turn away.
A girl named Bada.
But for now, Saeles slept where she fell, curled on the floor like a stray animal too exhausted to lift its head.
In this house, mercy was never spoken.
Affection was never given.
And happiness was something she had never been taught to desire.