The mansion was quiet. Too quiet for a six-year-old used to chaos.
Sera clutched a tattered doll, its one eye missing — just like her innocence.
Her mother's voice echoed from the next room, cold and sharp.
"Seraphina, you will never be more than a mistake."
Sera's tiny hands tightened around the doll.
"But I'm your daughter," she whispered to the darkness.
"No," her mother replied. "You're a reminder of what I lost. A secret to bury."
That night, Sera made a promise.
To herself.
To the empty room.
**she would rise.**
**she would burn every lie.**
**she would take back what was her's no matter what cost.**