"...It seems the blood of your father runs strong in you."
The young Purple Death stared at the stranger with empty, wary eyes.
Her small hands clenched into fists, purple flames still flickering weakly around her fingers.
The hooded man stopped a few meters away, continuing to clap softly.
"You've been running and hiding your whole life, haven't you? Chased like a pest, beaten and humiliated. Told over and over again that you don't deserve to exist."
He tilted his head slightly, his smile widening.
"So tell me, child... how does it feel? To finally make them pay?"
At the question, the little girl remained silent for a long moment.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, cracked by years of suppressed pain, she answered.
"...It doesn't feel like anything."
The hooded man chuckled softly.
"Good. That means you've learned the truth, and at your age, you're already more mature than most adults."
He folded his hands behind his back and walk around the little girl.
