With each step forward, her yearning grew stronger. The mansion emanated an aura of mystery, as though it held the key to her soul's deepest desires. The massive golden grill door of the mansion opened, followed by a gentle gust of wind, brushing against her cheeks, wiping away her tears and embracing her like a long-lost friend.
Rok invited them to follow him into the extravagant mansion. As she reached the massive, ornately carved glass doors, they swung open silently. Rows of servants greeted her, standing at attention on either side of the carpet. Each servant bowed in perfect unison; their faces carried politeness.
"Just who is this Darsh guy? For him to have such a big mansion?" Ira said. "And how did he hide it from the world?"
Their jaw dropped over the towering columns and ornate, golden accents. The entrance hall was a masterpiece, featuring lofty ceilings and sparkling chandeliers. Stunning artworks decorated the walls. The polished marble floors shimmered, reflecting the gentle glow of the ceiling. The brown carpets had subtle patterns.
Manya's and Ira's reflections were visible in the vast mirrors, revealing two impoverished women trying to act poised in an extravagant setting.
"Will you ask him if I can get a job here, even as a servant?" Ira said.
Manya smiled. "Their pay must be good. I'll become a cook, and you can become a driver."
"Manya…"
"What?"
"What if we get a cleaner's job? Just thinking about cleaning this mansion makes me dizzy."
Ira's innocence moved Manya's heart. Krishna, please take care of her. With eager eyes, she searched for Darsh, hoping he could help send Ira back to the world she had left behind, away from this unfamiliar one. Even if she had to force Ira unconscious.
The living room was bigger than Manya's entire apartment. It had tall ceilings, luxurious sofas, a beautiful coffee table, and an exceptional fireplace. Putting money into stocks would have been a smarter move than splurging on luxury. Why are rich obsessed with gold?
Rok invited them to sit. "Rok, where's Darsh?" Manya said.
"Sir Darsh will arrive shortly, Ms. Manya," he said.
"See." Ira moved her arm towards Manya. "I am still having goosebumps from this unreal experience." Her eyes sparkling at the luxurious lifestyle around her. "How many lockers are these worth of?"
"Nothing here would fit in a few lockers," Manya said.
"I mean, how many lockers I have to loot from to create something like this?"
"Thank you for bringing them." A familiar voice echoed. Darsh entered the living room.
"It's my duty to assist your guests," Rok said.
Ira grabbed Manya's arm, her grip growing stronger.
"Ira, you're hurting me."
Ira led Manya to a corner away from Darsh.
Darsh's eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up, and his mouth dropping open in surprise. "We've searched the entire cosmos in search of you, and here you are, concealed in this sphere of disgust," Darsh began walking forward. "And with her, the one who brought about his demise, the one who took your brother's life. Astonishing."
"It was never her!" Ira's gaze flared. "I know who it was, and I know who sent him."
"Mr. Rok, I need this mansion for the time being, and I want you to pay no attention to future events." Darsh pulled out an object resembling an ATM card, but longer. "Use this for the damages."
Rok followed instructions and took the card. Darsh's hesitant display of respect towards Rok took aback Manya. She couldn't overlook the rage in Darsh's eyes. Why did he sound so much like him? Who is he? She looked at Ira. "Who are you?"
Ira looked at her with a bittersweet smile, and eyes filled with sorrow. "Who am I, Manya?"
The question bewildered Manya; had Ira lost her mind? In a sudden move, Darsh tried to attack Manya, but Ira stepped in and delivered a forceful kick, sending him crashing into the central lobby. Ira raced after him. Darsh discharged a bullet at her, but it rebound off her as if she had impenetrable protection. Shock took over Manya. Darsh was holding her gun, supposed to be hidden at her waist.
"You've resorted to firearms!" Ira taunted Darsh while he evaded her kicks. With each powerful strike, the ground beneath her shattered into craters. "What would they say if they saw you like this, defenceless and fleeing?"
"They'll see when you tell them, but that won't be happening." Darsh unfurled his wings, feathers shimmering in the light. Angel?
Memories flooded back; each one a painful reminder of everything they had stolen from her. Her heart raced, and her chest, pounding to the rhythm of a drum. Breaths became short and shallow, as if her lungs had forgotten how to function. Her throat tightened, making it difficult to talk. Darsh's heavy and deep laughter was adding salt to wounds.
"Manya!" A heavy voice cut through the fog of panic.
The world spun, and her vision became blurry. However, a blurry figure moved towards her. "I am here." A soothing voice reached her ears. She concentrated on it, trying to calm herself down.
With each passing moment, her breaths grew calmer, and the rapid beating in her chest diminished. Inhaling deeply, she pressed the arms against the floor to compose herself. The negative thoughts vanished like storm clouds clearing to reveal a glimpse of sunlight. "Thank you," she whispered her gratitude to her saviour.
The trembling in her hands ceased. Her vision became clear and Ira came into focus, her features sharp and distinct. "Why are you crying?" Manya said. Ira embraced her. "I am fine."
Manya's eyes widened as she noticed a pair of blue wings gracefully emerging from Ira's back. Panic made her forgot the doubt surrounding Ira. "Why do you have his?" Manya whispered. Both Darsh's and Ira's wings were the same. She noticed a transformation in Ira's eyes. "You are." Ira's cornea showcased a captivating blue design.
"What's she like?"
"My sister? She. She resembles you. The first person who made me realise I am not alone, just like you did when I came here. I wanted you to meet her, but…"
"But, what?"
"She thinks it's not a good idea. Our worlds are different. And if I still try to sneak you into my home, she'll kill you."
"Kill me? For real or figuratively?"
"There's one thing about her–if she loves someone, she can do anything to save them, even if she has to shatter their soul."
Ira helped Manya to the couch, corrected her messy hair. "Stay here and don't move." She pulled out a tiny thin container with pink liquid and handed over to Manya. "Drink this."
Before Manya could form a word, Ira was already in the air. Dhruv had dreamed of introducing her to this very person. He always believed that his sister would like Manya, despite their differences. Dhruv had confidence in Manya's fun and calm nature, as well as in his sister's stubborn yet loving personality.
With a mighty toss, Ira sent Darsh crashing to the ground, shattering the surface beneath them. Even though Manya had recovered some strength, she continued to have difficulty standing. As Ira descended into the hole, the floor vibrated in intervals.
The weight of memories stunned Manya. Her tears found a path to the floor below. She had been friends with, even living with, Dhruv's sister all this time. And her limbs were trembling over seeing an angel—binding her to the couch.
A cry of agony echoed through the hole. It was Ira. "Move!" She jabbed her thighs with fists. "She's alone!" A minute later. She stood up swiftly, resulted in mild dizziness, but managed the fall. She moved while leaning on the damaged wall. The pain was unbearable, but with each passing moment, her legs grew stronger. While she tried to compose herself, she heard approaching footsteps. Next to the side table beside her, there was a hockey stick leaned on it. As she held it in her hand, her veins flared, but her hands were still trembling.
"Krishna. Please help me."
***
Shadows formed on the surface, uncovering a group of five moments away from her. She swung the hockey stick with perfect timing—a grey orb collided with her abdomen, restricting her movements. Has she paused? But she could see a hint of faint motion. Slow-motion?
A woman marched through the group. Her hair was white as snow, and eyes carrying a frightening presence. Dressed in a form-fitting attire, her penetrating gaze seemed to take in every detail. Same woman she had seen with that persistent coffee shop guy. Prime suspect of his murder.
The slow-motion effect around her disappeared, made her previous action to continue, but at the wall before—causing a scratch with the hockey stick. A man grabbed her from behind and pushed her down at the white hair's feet. Resulted in a few seconds of giggles. "Not bad for a human," white hair said. Meeting Manya's gaze with defiance. "A gaze of power, rare among peasants."
Manya summoned her strength, her fist propelling forward, but the white hair again halted her movements. Her fist hung in the air, mere inches from the white hair's face, moving with the sluggishness of a snail on its last legs.
She pried open Manya's fist, placed a sharp knife within her grasp, and twisted it back to her face. Manya's gut sank. Within seconds, she would pierce her own flesh, leading authorities to suspect she had taken her own life. So childish!
In spite of her attempt to pull back her arm, it persisted in moving forward with a greater force. A silence covered her ears. "You, Dirty," the mysterious male voice said. A surge of energy that was the opposite of the panic attack coursed through her veins. I-It's the same as back then. But why now? She could feel the heat of the mysterious energy spreading throughout her body—with a melody resonating inside her. Thank you, Krishna and whoever this voice belongs to.
White hair flinched at the sudden phenomenon. An orange glow surrounded Manya—painting the world with a warm, fiery palette. White hair seemed confused and frightened as she traced the back of her other hand, like pressing the delicate controls.
The intensity of the orange hue around her increased. Am I going to burn? But there's no pain. If the energy was the same as she had experienced before, then she'll receive strength and agility greater than all.
Manya took a deep breath, feeling the surge of energy coursing through her veins. The melody of the energy seemed to capture the essence of every human emotion. At the peak of her breath, the energy converged into a circle at her chest. With closed eyes, she exhaled slowly, feeling the collected energy coursing back to her limbs.
"Woo, that was something. It feels so refreshing," she said. Opening her eyes, she flinched over the surrounding chaos. "What in the world happened here?"
The once beautiful architectural masterpiece of a living room was now a symbol of destruction. Sunlight filtered through the damaged walls—creating an eerie but captivating scene. Amid the devastation, Manya took a seat on a stool with fabric same as the half-buried sofa in the ceiling. The remnants of the knife slipped from her hand and submerged onto the floor.
Manya picked up on a few groans. Two men who had been with the white hair were having difficulty standing up. Yet, what surprised her were the burn wounds they had, and she didn't. "But where does she go?"
A gust of wind swept over her, offering a refreshing break from the intense exertion. In the moment of her relief, a sudden gust of icy oceanic wind sent a shiver down her waist and legs. Her breath caught as she looked down.
"How did they burn?"
The bottom half of her pants were burnt. Relief washed over her upon discovering unharmed skin. Fragments of her burned clothing were scattered on the ground right beside her. Her sleeves became crisp—rest of the top survived after enduring some faint burns.
She let out a sigh over the intact undergarments. Her pants had morphed into stylish shorts with a trendy burnt edge. While looking at her reflection in a shattered mirror fragment, she couldn't help but awed at the accidental hellish design.
Looking through a hole in the wall, motionless guards stood outside the mansion. "Didn't I just destroyed the place they are working to protect?" Then, it occurred to her that Rok had received an order and compensation from Darsh regarding the damages.
Sudden tremors shook the floor, causing her thoughts to race. "Shit! Ira!"