"Wake up, child. You can't die now. You can't give up now. Look at me, child."
The voice echoed through the chaos, cutting through the suffocating heat and thick smoke. Isabelle's eyes fluttered open, only to squeeze shut again as the acrid air burned her lungs. A violent cough wracked her frail body. Flames raged around her, consuming everything in sight, their scorching tendrils creeping closer.
Through the haze, she saw her mother.
Standing in the doorway, untouched by the fire, the woman wore her favorite blue dress—the one her father had bought her after Isabelle was born. Her dark hair was neatly pulled back, her expression both serene and urgent. She looked just as she had the day she left and never returned.
"Mom?" Isabelle's voice was hoarse, barely audible over the roar of the fire. Pain pulsed through her battered body, pinning her in place. Yet her mother stood there, arms open, a soft smile on her lips.
"Come to me, Isabelle. You can do it. Come to me."
"I can't... I can't." Tears streaked through the soot on her face. Her legs refused to move. The agony was unbearable. The fire spread rapidly, closing in, hungry and unforgiving.
The warmth in her mother's gaze vanished, replaced by something cold, something sharp.
"So what now? You want to die? You want to give up?" Her voice cut through the smoke like a blade. "Don't you want revenge for what they did to you? Do you want to willingly burn to survive? If you die here, how will you make them pay?!"
Her figure wavered, beginning to fade.
Panic surged through Isabelle. She couldn't let her go. Not yet. Not like this.
Fueled by desperation, she dug her fingers into the scorched floor, dragging herself forward. Her muscles screamed in protest, her skin raw from the blistering heat. Still, she crawled. She had to. The fire raged, devouring the gasoline-soaked floor, moving too fast. If she hesitated, she would be nothing but ashes.
The door loomed ahead. With shaking fingers, she reached for the handle, only to recoil as it seared into her palm.
Biting back a cry, she fumbled for the key in her pocket, her last chance at escape.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
But as she pushed forward, her body gave out. She collapsed, the flames licking at her skin. Agony exploded through her nerves. A scream tore from her throat.
She was too late.
"I'm sorry, Mom… I… really can't. I can't do it. I hope you will forgive me when you see me."
The fire curled around her like a merciless predator closing in.
Then—a sudden shift. A downpour.
Rain crashed down, heavy and relentless. Steam hissed as the fire sputtered, losing its grip inch by inch. Isabelle's eyes fluttered open in disbelief. The universe wasn't just toying with her. It was saving her. One element had the power to destroy, but another had the power to overcome.
The rain turned violent, mixing with the blood and soot on her skin. She didn't care. It was better than burning. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself forward, inch by inch, until she finally dragged herself free from the wreckage.
She had survived. But now what? Where could she go? Who would even recognize her like this? Her phone wasn't with her at that point so she could call no one for help.
Then, through the storm, she saw him.
A man stood under a dim streetlamp, his suit pristine despite the chaos around him. Several figures flanked him, their umbrellas shielding them from the downpour. Even in the darkness, she knew who he was.
Hope surged through her shattered body. With the last of her strength, she crawled toward him. Pain didn't matter. She had endured it before so why bother about the few scratches when she looked like a monster right now?
The rain couldn't stop her.
She was on her knees, in front of the one man she never thought she would need. He wasn't evil, nor had she ever heard of him indulging in any bad habits, but he was known for one thing—he was not a helper. Mercy was not in his nature, yet in that moment, she clung to the desperate hope that, just this once, he might make an exception and save her life.
Lifting her head with effort, she winced under the heavy rain, dragging her broken legs in a feeble attempt to reach him. He stood tall before her, an umbrella shielding him from the downpour. Though she couldn't make out his face clearly, his cold, piercing gaze burned straight through her soul.
A pained grunt left her lips as she stretched a trembling hand toward him, barely able to function as her body weakened by the second. Her vision blurred, the darkness creeping in. The fire's devastation had left her face unrecognizable, her skin raw with pain, her blood flowing freely. She knew she looked monstrous—exactly what they had intended to turn her into. And now, she could hardly see at all.
"Please… help me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm.
He crouched down to her level, his umbrella now shielding her from the rain. With a slow, deliberate motion, he placed a hand under her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze. His voice was as indifferent as ever when he finally spoke.
"I thought you knew… helping is not my thing."
Of course, she had known. But somehow, she had still hoped. Hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would make an exception. He wouldn't be that wicked to neglect her in this position.
But it seemed she was doomed already.