Csillia stood before me. The light all around the house shone over me like a spotlight on a main character, glowing with a quiet joy. I couldn't even slip past her in the darkness — just like in a movie scene.
I stole secret glances at her face, slowly lifting my eyes little by little, searching — but found no trace of any human emotion there.
Csilia always behaved this way — mostly with everyone — as if she couldn't care less about anyone. She would purse her lips and narrow her eyes, giving off the unmistakable air that everyone was beneath her, and she stood above them all… especially me.
"Btw, she is cute."
Because though her face and lips always gave the impression that she was stern, like she didn't care about anyone, her eyes often betrayed that facade.
(I don't know if it was just me or others too… because whenever she looked at me, I could always spot a softness hidden somewhere deep within her eyes, no matter how deeply it was buried.)
Raising her slender, vein-lined neck slightly, she fixed her deep gaze directly on me with precision—
and in a calm, stern voice, she moved her lips to say:
"Freya, where have you come from?"
And...
"What kind of state have you made of yourself?"
"Where were you all this time without telling anyone?"
"You look filthy… and—"
I could see her beautiful, shining cheeks slowly rise and curve upward at leisure , nose scrunching slightly.
After looking me over from head to toe with her eyes,
she parted her thin, pink lips again — about to say something sharp:
"And look at how soaked you are! Because of you, the floor's all dirty now! Go quickly, take a bath first, then I'll talk to you."
She spoke with a sharp warning in her voice.
I didn't answer.
I glanced at her briefly, nodded, and went off to bathe.
"This Freya, seriously… the floor's all wet!"
She said , almost tearfully, "Now I have to clean it myself."
As she stared at the floor, a quiet fire blazed within her—
one she didn't even want to extinguish.
Her face reflected her anger with a delicate intensity,
like a mirror of finely crafted glass.
She stood there, contemplating cleaning it—
when suddenly, a jingling sound echoed deep within her ears,
rhythmic and steady.
She let go of her frustration and glanced toward the door—
just as someone was opening it.
Her eyes fixed on the door,
as if her heart had filled with worry.
But in reality, she knew perfectly well who it was.
There was no one else— but ,
her dear, mischievous stupid brother stood there,
his branded shoes slightly soiled by the rain.
He took long strides forward into the room,
holding an umbrella firmly in his hand.
As the door fully opened, Sydrala felt cool gusts of air wafting inside,
chilling her skin—(but not calming her anger).
She could hear the sharp patter of heavy raindrops with remarkable clarity.
Her brother was probably drunk,
for he hadn't even noticed Csillia standing there yet.
After turning around with one hand to close the door,
he folded his umbrella and placed it back in its stand.
Csillia watched closely, her eyes narrowing and then widening as she studied intently.
Perhaps she had finally found a way to quell the fire burning inside her.
Her brother set the umbrella down and looked ahead.
Suddenly, his eyes lit up with a burst of laughter, and he froze—
seeing a witch standing before him,
strangely beautiful.
In fact, it was Csillia.
Like a madman, he first smiled broadly,
his eyes growing wide with laughter.
Then, looking at her, he flashed all his white teeth,
as if shooting in a toothpaste commercial.
He then gestured with his hand, signaling a casual "hi."
Csillia was quite tall and breathtakingly beautiful.
Her skin was as white as snow,
and her lips held a natural flush—
as if a rose itself had poured its essence onto them.
Her eyes were large, deep, and jet black.
Her hair was silky smooth and jet black—
now flowing freely over her broad shoulders.
She stood there silently—
perhaps waiting for her brother to make another foolish move.
Her brother slipped off his dirty shoes
and tried to place them with his foot and fingers carefully on the wooden shoe rack nearby.
Lazily, after some effort,
he glanced back once again at Csillia.
Freya's house had two entrances, both on the same side.
The first was the outer door,
leading inside the house.
Beyond that, leaving a space neither too small nor too large,
stood another door
that led into the main part of the house.
This entrance was set slightly apart,
crafted as if someone had skillfully broken through a wall,
cutting out a doorway in the middle.
The other entrance was a bit elevated compared to the main door.
That area was still dirty—
water had collected there.
And Csillia hated rain and dirt more than anything else.
Lan fixed a sharp gaze on Csilia,
showing his slightly yellowed teeth as he said,
"I didn't know you were so kind,
waiting for me standing by the door."
His eyebrows rose toward Csilia,
as if asking,
"Am I right "?
Hearing this, Csilia neither answered
nor changed the expression on her face.
Only anger glowed clearly in her eyes—
something Lan either failed to notice
or deliberately chose to ignore.
But when Csilia's furious gaze landed on him,
he suddenly began to tremble.
He started sneaking glances at her,
trying to look without being noticed.
Her face remained completely plain—
only her eyes narrowed, holding back anger.
After a brief moment of second,
he looked openly at Csilia
and suddenly burst into laughter:
"Oh! I'm scared!
Csilia is angry!
Somebody save me!"
He said all this in a theatrical tone,
then burst out laughing.
Then, adopting a carefree, teasing voice, he added,
"Come on, move aside, Csilia,
let me go.
And that water pooling here—
make sure you clean that up too, okay?"
Hearing this, Csilia's anger flared even more.
Her brother was just about to take a step forward,
but with one hand, Csilia stopped him right there,
in a dramatic, heroine-like manner.
Lan looked at her without much thought,
wearing a mischievous grin, and said, "What?"
Poor Lan thought Csilia was about to say something funny,
but what happened next was beyond his expectations.
He waited impatiently for her reply,
but no answer came... instead—
Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on his nose,
and his laughter died instantly.
Csilia's hand struck Lan's nose swiftly and gracefully.
A sudden wave of calm settled over her—
her stiff lips softened ever so slightly,
and her eyes, still sharp and fierce, now sparkled with quiet satisfaction.
Lan glared at Csilia, annoyed, and asked,
"Csilia! Why did you hit me?"
In a measured, deliberate tone—like a powerful movie scene—Csilia twisted her lips slightly and said,
"Because your useless laughter was unbearable."
Then, wagging a finger toward the water, she added,
"All this work you've been telling me about? You'll have to do it yourself, understood?
You haven't done anything; I've done everything. So this is on you. Got it?
And if you don't..."
Her eyes flashed sharply as she continued,
"I'll whisper all your secrets into Mom's ears.
Then they'll decide what to do with you."
Lan's expression shifted abruptly from amusement to anger, a flicker of shock crossing his face.
"What? What truth?"
"You don't know," Csilia said coolly, reasoning with him.
"Hey! My beautiful sister, why are you so angry?"
Suddenly, a composed and serious side awakened within Lan.
But Csilia could read the flickers of mocking in his expression—
and she knew well what he was quietly muttering about her.
Still, Lan's face remained stubbornly defiant.
He spoke in a gentle, respectful tone,
"Alright, go ahead! I'll take care of it."
(Csilia, one day my revenge will be complete… just wait for that day.)
Csilia glanced at him once. Lan, dropping his usual mumbling, smiled at her — sweeter than the moon and more cunning than a chameleon.
Csilia rolled her eyes and walked into her room, while Lan continued cleaning the water.
Freya stepped out of her room, freshly bathed.
I felt a strange fear... about what Csilia wanted to say to me.
Not that I feared her — she only shows anger but never acts on it.
But Mom and Dad... I don't think I can bear to hear anything from them.
Because the burden inside me has folded its hands,
refusing to endure any more.
If it bears any more, it will shatter like glass,
and its shards could hurt even a stranger.
The exhaustion inside me only grows heavier.
My faint smiles, my casual words, my attempts to appear happy —
none of it means I am truly the same inside as I appear outside.
Lost in these thoughts, she slowly began walking toward Csilia's room, she steps soft and hesitant.
Freya's wet hair hung loose, and she wasn't wearing her glasses.
She looked beautiful.
Her eyes were large and black, their beauty gleaming like deep, polished glass.
Csilia's room door stood open — a simple door, yet adorned with such graceful and stylish craftsmanship that it looked far more exquisite than an ordinary one.
This handiwork was done by Sydrala herself, a talented painter and craftsperson.
Peering through the slightly ajar door, she saw the lamp inside Csilia's room glowing softly. She was pacing back and forth, speaking on the phone.
she thought she'd come back later and was about to leave when she heard her voice,
"Freya, you can come in."
(Her instincts are sharp, I thought.)
Freya felt that Csilia might have something to say—perhaps something unpleasant.
Csilia looked at Freya and asked,
"Has the bathroom door lock broken?"
"No, why?" Freya replied.
"Nothing... you took too long. I thought maybe the lock was broken, so I started checking, but you hadn't even taken a bath yet."
"You see, this is my sister — the roaster," I was about to say more when she cut in,
"Mom and Dad aren't here. After you left, because Mom, Dad, and Grandma's health worsened, they went there and won't be back for a few days."
Hearing this, a shock hit me. I suddenly asked,
"What happened to Grandma? Is she not well?"
"She's fine. Old people get sick now and then," Csilia said, her tone a bit sharp.
(Csilia really can be rude sometimes.)
I wanted to ask her more, but looking at her face, it didn't seem like she would say anything else.
In a soft voice, I asked,
"So, was that all you wanted to say? Should I go?"
She looked at me and said,
"No, wait! Lindy has invited both of us to her birthday party."
Lindy was Csilia's friend and also a close friend of mine, someone I shared a good bond with.