He kept her in the basement now. She was becoming too “defiant” for him at the time, it seemed.

She was fed only once a day now, with two buckets of water; one for drinking and one for bathing. Not that he was nice enough to give her shampoo and conditioner, though. Just a brush with enough hair in it that it didn’t get the job done well enough. She couldn’t see her tangles coming undone, for the room was too dark for her to see anything; she could only hear the sound echoing and the pain of the tangle being undone. Not as painful as not listening to him, though…

The door slowly creaked open, like the way he always opened it.

“Hello, _darling,_“_ _he said, knowing that word made her uncomfortable. He gave up on the idea of them being lovers. She realized that happened on Day 128. Not that she was keeping track…

…oh, who was she kidding? She kept track of everything, it was the only way to pass the time. She kept chalk in her pocket and made small markings on the wall. That day was Day 1095.

“Do you know what day it is?” He asked, now right next to the cell.

Of course she did. It was the third year she was locked up like this, like a prisoner although she did nothing wrong. He stared at her, grinning, like it was an anniversary to celebrate.

She stared back.

And suddenly—

She snapped. _She would be the violent one now._

“Say it,” she said, softly but threatening.

“…Say what, my _darling_?”He was off guard. This was her chance. Within seconds, she reached through the bars and grabbed the key she knew was always in his right pocket, twisted the key, let herself out, and made _him_ fall down— a motion she had practiced each and every day, she had mastered it by now.

“Say ‘I love you.’”

She stepped on his bare back. _Hard_.

At that moment, she found it was quite pleasing to torture your enemies.

“_Dar…ling,_”he strained, “you don’t treat your lover like this..!” “So, why did you?”

He didn’t say anything. She pressed her foot on his back even harder— ironic, seeing how she wore heavy, brown boots that day.

“I’m just so happy I’ll soon be free of the horrible people like you, boy. Or, as you would say, _darling.”_

_“_You _silly _girl,” he claimed despite the situation he was in, “you must know by now I won’t ever let you leave…” Inside, she was laughing at the very _thought_ of keeping him alive to let him fulfill this promise.

“You know, you missed a spot while checking me for weapons…” She slowly pulled out a small dagger from her left boot, the one not on his back. She had bled from constantly having to walk on it, but it was worth this moment. She slowly leaned in her head to examine his neck. He kept it in good condition—

How sad that she had to cut it.

Clutching the dagger in her right hand, she slowly let the dagger dig into his skin.

A yelp. From his mouth. How pleasuring it was to finally hear him scream…

“I will still… never leave your side…”

She was angered by these words, and cut off the rest of his neck.

She picked up his head.

He was dead.

He was _actually dead._

_She did it._

_She was free._

———🩸———

She walked upstairs to the living room— oh, how bright the world was!— and looked around. She was almost having to cover her eyes for five entire minutes before adjusting to the living room’s light compared to the dim lighting of the basement that she adjusted her eyes to.

She was shocked, in a way.

An entire house.

All to herself. After three years of being illegally locked up.

Could she get used to eating three meals a day? Or would she have the same one meal as before? There was a lot to plan, and not enough time to plan it all— she needed to see if the groceries needed to be restocked.

She walked over to the kitchen, and—

_No way._

He only ate one meal for three years too. _That’s_ why he looked so skinny.

She could tell because she noticed the ingredients were in doubles. He kept his food in doubles— two chicken breasts, two lettuces, two packs of bread, two of everything.

She was a bit confused. Did he feel sympathy for the girl? Why would someone so horrible not continue life as if he didn’t have someone suffering in his basement? Did he feel at least _some_ love left in his heart?

Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter now. He was dead, and she needed to clean herself up— her knife and hand were extremely bloody from holding his head and putting it down, and some blood got on her boots, too, so she needed to dispose of those and buy new ones.

She walked over to the bathroom. She took off her boots—

Oh, right, she forgot about the blood on her foot. That didn’t matter, blood on her foot wouldn’t contribute to the suspicion of a murder. It would heal itself up. Eventually.

But her mental scars wouldn’t.

They would always stay, haunting her. Telling her how bad humanity is…

Locking her away…

It would be best to not communicate with them… she wouldn’t want her secret coming out accidentally, would she…

She shook her head to get herself out of her mind, and put soap on her bloody hand— she expected it to sting, then quickly remembered it wasn’t her own injury— then turned on the sink water, and washed off her crime. The blood was a bit persistent on the knife, but a little elbow grease and enough determination got it all off.

Her hands… they were shaking. Why was she so afraid? Nobody knew. Nobody _would_ know. She kept telling herself to stop feeling afraid—

To no avail.

Her hands only shook more rapidly. But what was causing this? Guilt? No— she shan’t have that emotion for a terrible person, not only for a moment.

Rage?

Yes, that must have been it, she reasoned to herself. Her hands were shaking from the pure presence of him inside the house. She had to go outside to freshen up.

———💧———

_What is that light orb in the sky?_ She thought as soon as she saw the thing.

She quickly made sense of it.

The “sunlight” she had always hoped to feel. It felt… warm. A temperature her body has not felt in a long while, trapped in that cold, cold basement.

She kept her eyes closed— simply looking at that white orb made her eyes hurt. The silent chatter of the citizens around— the ones that failed to help her three years ago— seemed like a welcome back to the true world, and not a very nice one, at that.

She touched her fragile face, then put her hand to her heart— covered by the cotton, grey shirt she wore— and smiled. This was the beautiful, beautiful world God had created. If only the people in it were as beautiful inside. But that was out of His control, after millions of years.

Her thoughts were interrupted. It was now time to go back inside the house, and plan everything. She had a lot of work to do, now that she had the responsibility of being free.