Christina was just eight years old. Clark, her brother, was eighteen. He'd grown into a man, all muscle and strength. He felt a power inside him, humming just beneath the surface. It was like a live wire, ready to jolt at a moment's notice. They hadn't felt it in years, but suddenly, there was a tiny spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could get through the dark cloud that had hung over them since they were kids.
Their dad, Alistair, was the reason for that dark cloud. He was already drunk before noon and had holed himself up in his study. The house was quiet, but for once, it wasn't a scary quiet. It was almost… peaceful.
Clark grabbed Christina's hand, a real smile on his face. "Come on", he said quietly. "Let's get out of this place."
They ran outside, straight into the Scottish afternoon. The wind whipped through their hair, carrying the smell of heather and damp earth. They played tag, running like crazy across the hills. They laughed... Real, honest laughter that wasn't forced. It was the kind of laughter that comes from deep inside when you completely forget about everything bad. For a little while, the weight on their shoulders vanished. The constant fear just disappeared. Christina's laughter was like music to Clark's ears. It was such a rare and beautiful sound that it made his heart ache. For those few hours, she was just a normal kid, playing with her big brother. The sun felt warm on their faces. The world felt big and open, full of chances, instead of the gloomy, closed-off manor they called home.
But the second they stepped back inside, the happy feeling was gone.
The quiet inside was different... Wrong. It was heavy and thick, like something was pressing down on them. And there was a smell. Underneath the usual scents of old wood and polish, there was a new, awful odor. It smelled like copper, sharp and metallic, mixed with something earthy and rotten.
The entrance hall was a mess. A suit of armor, hundreds of years old, was in pieces on the floor. The dark wood walls had deep gashes in them, like some huge animal with claws had gone wild.
"Dad?" Clark called out, his voice tight. He moved Christina behind him, his body tensing, ready to fight.
There was no reply. Just that awful, waiting silence.
A trail of destruction led down the hall to the study. The door was smashed, hanging by one hinge. Clark felt his blood turn to ice. He started to move. But Christina was already ahead of him, slipping past him with a strange, silent grace. The happy little girl from the hills was gone.
"Christina, wait!" Clark shouted, but she didn't listen. She walked straight into the study.
Clark followed, every nerve in his body screaming at him to turn back. His stomach churned with fear. The room was like a battlefield. Books were torn to shreds, pages scattered everywhere. The furniture was smashed to bits. And in the middle of it all, lying in a huge pool of blood on the expensive rug, was their father.
It wasn't a peaceful passing. It was a statement, a horrible scene set up for them to find. Alistair Jenson had been badly hurt, his body arranged in a twisted way. But it was the wall above the fireplace that made their blood run cold. Scrawled in blood, was one word:
SLEVEN.
Clark dropped to his knees, letting out a choked cry that didn't sound human. He felt grief, horror, and a blinding rage all at once. He gagged. His body shook, his hands pressing into the sticky, cold blood on the floor.
Christina didn't make a sound.
She stood still, just inside the doorway, her arms hanging limp. Her face was blank and pale. She looked at her father's body. She didn't see the monster who had scared her for years. She didn't feel relieved or happy that he was gone. She only saw proof. She saw proof that she was the root of all evil. Sleven had come back. Her father was right all along. She was the curse. Her birth had ended her mother. Now, her being alive had ended her father. It all made sense, in a horrible way. A leads to B. Christina leads to ending.
The last bit of the happy girl from the hill was gone, disappeared entirely. The numbness she had learned to survive now filled her completely, taking over where her emotion, hope, or fear should have been. She didn't feel upset or scared. She felt a cold, hard certainty. It was like getting a diagnosis.
She turned and walked out of the room. Her footsteps made no sound on the bloody floor. Clark was caught up in his own pain and didn't see that she was gone right away. When he did, he stumbled after her. He found her standing in the hall, staring out the open door at the setting sun. The sky looked like the colors of blood and bruises.
"Christina…" he said, his voice hoarse. He reached for her.
She didn't look at him. Her voice was flat, empty, and cold. It was like a door slamming shut deep inside her.
"I did this", she said "I... Did all this." And in her mind, it was the most true and logical thing she had ever said.