Ophelia awoke with a groan, taking a full minute to finally open her eyes on account of the immense headache she was sporting. Then, remembering what happened before she passed out, the young lady sat up like it was her job and checked the back of her head. Luckily, the huge gash she was expecting to feel had already scabbed up completely.
With that concern put to rest, Ophelia next observed her surroundings. But instead of finding a bandit camp or the top of a mass grave, she instead found herself still in the clearing. Even weirder, her wagon was intact and there was no sign of the bandits. Confused, Ophelia finally laid eyes on the reason behind these strange happenings: A tall, dark, and muscular man in butcher's garb with a sack covering his head and a cauldron full of delicious smelling soup directly in front of him.
After thinking on it and weighing her options, she decided to take a cautious yet friendly approach, saying "Excuse me, sir. Are you the one I have to thank for scaring off the bandits?"
The butcher turned to face this weird girl who's head ate his daughter's locket and, when their eyes met, the strangest thing happened. For just the briefest of moments, a mere fraction of a second, this girl looked exactly like his daughter before she died.
But even that fraction of a second was enough to send tears down his acid burned cheeks for the first time in seven years. Old memories, as if on cue, flooded the butcher's senses. The look of abject terror in her dead eyes, the smell of his business burning to the ground, the stinging sensation flooding pain receptors on his skin from the acid, and sound of laughing by the malicious men in white hoods threatening to burst his eardrums.
He freezes like a deer in the headlights, only managing to croak out the word "Daughter?"
Ophelia, on the other hand, wasn't doing any better. For when the butcher turned to face her, his bag was half up in preparation to eat. She thus bore witness to his chapped lips, hole ridden cheek, and discolored skin. But instead of feeling disgust like she thinks she should feel, intense sadness welled up instead.
Images flooded her mind, bringing on another headache, yet she finds she cannot turn away. They associate this pitiful man in front of her with the word 'papa,' and her old father with the word 'pig.' The latter was easy to accept, as it was the truth, but she couldn't for the life of her understand the former. But before that question could even finish forming in her mind, a voice whispered in her ears "This man saved you. If he isn't papa, who is?"
DING
An alert from her system suddenly sounded, and a status message popped up stating "New Advantages gained: Channeling... B!G_51$t3R#########"
With emotions surging and thoughts muddled, Ophelia absentmindedly responded to the Butcher's question, murmuring the word "papa..."
And with that acknowledgment, whatever spell cast upon them was broken. The two continued to look at each other in awkward silence before Ophelia finally took the initiative and said "ah, you mean I look like your daughter... I bet she's happy to have such a strong father to protect her."
Again, she found herself surprised as she felt genuine envy towards this other daughter upon saying that offhand comment. The butcher replied to her inquire with the pitiful statement "no... I couldn't save her!"
Awkwardness fills the air yet again. After a minute of silent fidgeting, Ophelia breaks the silence yet again by saying "I'm sorry, I didn't know... But, considering my father tried to trade me to those scum in exchange for his life, I'd much rather be your daughter."
The Butcher focuses his bloodshot eyes on her and asks "really?".
Ophelia thinks for a moment and, hearing the whispers of the voice again, agrees.
"Sure thing... papa."
The Butcher nods and passes her a bowl of soup; "Eat then. You must be famished."
Ophelia agrees and scarfs down multiple bowls of this delicious soup, still blissfully unaware of its grizzly ingredients.