Page 16 of Goldsin

“All right.” He clears his throat. “Now, go get some rest. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

“Got something for me?”

“You just wait and see.”

Nodding, I make my way to my bedroom.

The moment I open the door, the mellow shade of cool teal greets me. Next are the various pieces of art I’ve painted over the years—some bold and vibrant, others dark and moody, just how I like them.

My bedroom is my cozy refuge from the chaos outside.

A console bookcase, which I painted white with scattered green leaves, stands against three walls of my room, overflowing with new and well-worn books, while some shelves are occupied by cherished mementos.

There’s a small vanity table that I still need to paint facing the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The view outside is just like one of the art pieces adorning the wall: a sky full of twinkling stars.

In the center of the room, far from the four walls, is my sanctuary: my bed, with its plush duvet and collection of colorful pillows. There’s no headboard—I decided to throw it away, wanting an unobstructed view of all my artwork while lying down. Some of the pieces on the wall behind my bed were purposely painted to be looked at upside down.

I plop down onto it, positioning the pillows to hold my back as I get comfortable. Brushing my fingers over the softness of the duvet, I lift the diary off the nightstand and open it.

The persisting scent of old paper and...lilies fills the air before my mom’s secrets are whispered back to life.

This is all I have of her. This book is a bridge between us; a connection that transcends time and death.

The more I read it, the more I get to know her.

Her fears, hopes, and dreams are all faded ink now. This is all that’s left of her.

I clutch the diary tighter, my knuckles turning white.

This, right here, is my mission. My purpose.

I was born from the ashes of my mother’s suffering. The least I can do is avenge her name.

Skimming the pages, I flip through the last entries. An ache spreads in my chest as her emotions seep from the inked words and surround me, making me feel like I’m there with her.

June 21st

They treat us like animals. They rotate us depending on the day and their twisted desires. But as time passes, the more I’m requested to be out of my room and in theirs.

They use me as an object. They see me as a soulless person.

The things they do to us ... the way they make me feel.

I must endure it. Now more than ever—for my daughter, for the hope that one day she’ll be free from this hell.

The words blur as my fingers, holding the diary, tremble.

Five months after this entry I was born. My mother must have only just found out about me. Maybe, justmaybe, I gave her the last remaining strength to fight for us.

I continue reading the words I’ve read a hundred times already. Each entry boils my blood.

These powerful families ... these monsters have been hurting and manipulating people for far too long. They hide behind their power and wealth, but I see right through them. I see their weakness and I’ll use it against them.

The Inferno Consortium will learn what pain feels like. And how powerful someone they’ve wronged really is.

July 15th

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