When Lorelei opened her eyes, she found herself lying in a bed so soft it felt foreign beneath her. For a brief moment, she basked in the unfamiliar comfort, but her peace was short-lived. As she turned her head, she spotted a strange-looking man sitting beside her. Instinct took over. She scrambled backward, pressing herself against the wall like a wild animal locking eyes with its predator. Her heart pounded as she stared at him, almost pressing against her ribcage.
But the man did not move. He remained silent, calmly peeling an apple in a slow, circular motion, completely unbothered by her panic. When he finished, he placed the knife and the plate on the table, then turned to her and asked, in a gentle voice:
"What is your name?"
Lorelei cocked her head to the side. The man scratched his head, letting out a quiet sigh.
"Guess we'll be starting from the bottom," he muttered.
He rose from the wooden chair and slowly approached her. Every inch of her being screamed danger. She backed away further until she reached the very edge of the bed. The man kept advancing, and just as she was about to fall off, he reached out, grabbed the hem of her shirt, and pulled her back onto the mattress.
He climbed onto the bed and, with deliberate slowness, repeated his question—this time using hand signs and exaggerated mouth movements.
"W-h-a-t i-s y-o-u-r n-a-m-e?"
He made sure to enunciate every letter clearly, shaping his lips as though he were speaking to a toddler… which she was. Mentally.
Lorelei studied his gestures. It dawned on her: he was searching for the one word she could say without hesitation—her own name. It was the only remnant she had left of her mother, the only thing that still belonged to her.
"Lorelei," she whispered. "I'm Lorelei."
Something in the man's demeanor told her he meant no harm. Slowly, the fear she felt in her body began to wash away. For the first time since her birth, she felt safe—or so she would have said, if she knew how to put it into words. Safety was a concept she had never understood; from birth, she had never had the chance to experience what they called safety, one too foreign for her simplistic mind to comprehend.
The man rose and handed her the apple, which he had cut into thin slices so she wouldn't choke. As soon as the scent of food hit her, she snatched it from his hands and devoured it hastily. It had been days since the townsfolk had chased her away, and she hadn't eaten a single bite since. In these past few days, the man had taken care of her while she slumbered… rather peacefully for someone who had just lost a limb. The only explanation for such a phenomenon was that the extreme pain her mind had to undergo had shut off before it could register more of these waves. Even in town, her mind may have been strong—or rather ignorant—but faced with such a great amount of pain, one far too grave, a pain she had yet to experience and a pain she would soon come to terms with.
The man let out a soft chuckle.
"Slowly, slowly. It won't run away from you, I promise."
He left the room and gently closed the door behind him. From inside, Lorelei could hear his footsteps fading down the hallway. They came back to her ear with a soft tone, like a warm breeze gently caressing her cheek.
Once she finished eating, she glanced down at her missing limb. It felt sore—a dull, distant ache—but not really painful. It was tightly wrapped in long, thin herbs that stung against her skin. Even more so, the rather obvious detail that stood out was how short it had become. Flesh and ligament of her muscles that were once dangling, exposed to the exterior, seemed to have been completely cut off, and so had any remains from her torn forearm, leaving only the round shape of her upper arm. She got up and limped toward the door, studying it curiously. It had a strange shape, nothing like the doors back in town. Those were rounded at the top, but this one was rectangular, made entirely of wood. It was the first time Lorelei had seen something like it. Everything beyond the boundaries of her old town was foreign to her now—as though an entirely new world had opened up the moment she stepped out. A common happiness she should have known all along became a treasured privilege she would hold dear. The pleasure of experiencing new things. Learning. Smiling. Laughing. And most of all, loving. These basic human needs had been stripped away from her, reduced to nothing for the so-called sake of common well-being. Her name, life, and future had been burnt to nothing but a haunting title: the fiend.
The door handle was round and wooden, matching the rest of the house, with a square-like carving around it. She took her time inspecting the room. On the table sat a pot of red flowers, the wooden chair the man had used, the stone knife he had peeled the apple with, and the wooden plate she had just eaten from, still resting on the bed.
The room was sparse and plain. Curiosity getting the better of her, Lorelei reached out and lightly touched the handle. The door creaked open slowly. She jumped back like a cat touched by water for the first time.
The man was standing right behind it. He laughed again and, using signs and gestures, showed her how to open a door properly. Once she understood, he taught her the word.
"T-h-i-s i-s a d-o-o-r."
She repeated slowly: "Doror."
Speaking hadn't become as natural as it should have been for a nine-year-old child, because Lorelei gave up on trying to. They never allowed her to learn; if the devil knew how to speak, wouldn't it become an even greater danger? Even if they hadn't killed her physically… they had killed what she kept living for, unbeknownst to herself: being human. Even if she wasn't a devil, they would simply slowly turn her into one, thereby claiming their rights to insult her. A collective thought, spoken by only glances and mutual understanding. As per, kins should. And as per humans would.
The man shook his head. Patiently, he repeated the word again and again, until finally, she said it correctly.
"Door."
"Good!" he praised.
It was a first for Lorelei. Making someone smile by speaking. She didn't understand why he wanted her to say the word, but she understood that it would make him happy, and if she didn't say it properly, it would make him upset. It brought joy to her little heart, a joy she had yet to experience, a joy she longed for and a joy that should have been granted since she gained the ability to think. No one had ever praised her for anything she'd done. They deemed she never did anything right; any excuse was given to beat her to a pulp, busting her lips and wounding her doll-like body. But… surprisingly enough, these wounds and marks of abuse had been totally wiped clean off her skin, as if these scars never belonged to begin with. It did strike her as odd, but she didn't question it either way, because it wasn't of her concern.
He turned and walked away. Lorelei scrambled to her feet and followed him through the house, taking in everything she could see. Shelves lined every wall, each one filled with books. Paintings hung between them, and wherever she looked, all she saw were pages and frames. There were probably more books in this house than there had been in the entire town. Her eyes then landed on a table where two beautiful pendants lay. She approached them slowly, mesmerized. She had no idea what they were, but to her, they were breathtaking. Two pendants, one of warm velvet and one of pale blue.
The man sat down at a nearby table and gestured for her to join him.
"T-h-i-s i-s a t-a-b-l-e."
Lorelei repeated: "Table."
She was learning quickly, and the man seemed genuinely delighted. He patted her head before she sat down, and for the first time, she felt truly at ease. He didn't glare at her. He didn't beat her. He didn't use her as a shield or a weapon. He didn't even seem curious about what had driven her so deep into the forest. All she could see in his crystal-clear eyes was pure kindness.
She sat beside him as he handed her a glass of milk. She drank it all in one go. When she finished, a small milk mustache clung to her upper lip. The man giggled, and so did she.
Soon, exhaustion took over, and she fell asleep right there on the table, softly murmuring the words he had taught her.
"Table... Door... Table... Door... Table..."
The man watched her sleep. He got up, quietly draped a fluffy, warm blanket over her, and placed a stuffed animal beside her. Even in her sleep, she clung to it unconsciously. He watched her, her head leaning on his arm.
"Four years, huh?" he slowly murmured.
"I… I deserve to die."
"…"
"…"
"Right? …Fray."