So, she would not entertain wild dreams. Because it had always been just her and her mother, along with her hard-fated grandma.
With that thought, two lines of tears rolled down from beneath her lashes, crossed her porcelain-white cheeks, and dripped into her trembling, delicate, and rosy mouth. Perhaps it was an emotional breakdown; the deep scarlet she had deliberately suppressed in her heart suddenly resurfaced.
That scarlet was her mother's blood, the shocking blood that stained the entire floor that day, winding endlessly, turning the entire floor red. Her mother lay in a pool of blood, wrists slit, eyes wide open with tears at the corners, refusing to close in death.
"Ah!" At eight years old, she sat paralyzed on the ground, letting out such a scream before she never spoke again. The redness of the blood and those eyes full of grief haunted her dreams incessantly, becoming her mother's curse on her.
Because the blood of her father ran through her veins.
