Chapter 05: Ashes to Ashes
[Seraphina POV]
I'm floating in a dream where everything is golden and warm.
Marco is twenty-five again, standing outside the university library with that crooked smile that used to make my heart skip. His dark hair catches the afternoon sunlight, and when he sees me walking down the steps, his whole face lights up like I'm the only person in the world.
"Seraphina," he calls out, jogging toward me with a bouquet of white roses. "I've been waiting for you."
In the dream, I'm twenty-two and still believe in fairy tales. I still think love can conquer anything, even the darkness that sometimes flickers behind his eyes.
"You didn't have to wait," I tell him, but I'm smiling as I take the flowers.
"I'd wait forever for you."
The scene shifts, and we're in his penthouse apartment. Candles everywhere, rose petals scattered across the floor. He's down on one knee, holding a ring that catches the light like captured starfire.
"Marry me, Seraphina. Let me give you everything."
The diamond is massive—a million-dollar stone that weighs heavy on my finger when I say yes. But in the dream, it feels light as air, like a promise of happiness.
My mother's voice cuts through the golden haze. "He's dangerous, sweetheart. Men like him don't change."
"You don't know him like I do, Mom. He loves me."
"Love and possession aren't the same thing."
But I don't listen. In the dream, I never listen.
The golden light starts to fade, replaced by shadows and bitter memories. Marco in bed with Livia, her naked body wrapped around his. Me standing in the doorway, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.
"It doesn't mean anything," he tells me later, not even bothering to look ashamed. "She's just a distraction."
I try so hard to save us. I cook his favorite meals, wear the lingerie he likes, pretend I don't see the lipstick stains on his collar. I become smaller and smaller, hoping that if I take up less space, he'll have room to love me again.
But the dream turns darker. My mother in the hospital bed, machines beeping around her. Marco's cold voice: "She's your mother, not mine."
The heart monitor's final, endless tone.
I jolt awake with a gasp, my body drenched in sweat. The hospital room spins around me, white walls and the smell of antiseptic. There's an IV in my arm, and my abdomen throbs with surgical pain.
The kidney. They took my kidney.
But that's not what makes me rip the IV from my hand and stumble to my feet. It's the memory of that final beep, the silence that followed. My mother's death.
I have to see her. I have to know it wasn't just another nightmare.
The hallway tilts as I stagger out of my room, my hospital gown flapping behind me. My bare feet slap against the cold linoleum as I follow the signs toward the morgue. Each step sends fire through my surgical incision, but I don't care.
The morgue is in the basement, behind heavy steel doors. I push through them, my breath coming in short gasps. The air is cold here, sterile and dead.
Rows of refrigerated drawers line the walls like metal coffins. I start pulling them open, one by one, searching for her face. Empty. Empty. Empty.
"Where is she?" I whisper to the silence.
Voices drift from around the corner—two nurses talking in low tones.
"I still can't believe she wanted to watch," one of them says.
"Livia has some morbid tastes, that's for sure. Insisting on observing the cremation like that."
My blood turns to ice. I press myself against the wall, straining to hear every word.
"A woman in her sixties, recently deceased. The family wanted a quick cremation, but Livia said she found the process 'fascinating.'"
"Creepy, if you ask me. Who wants to watch a body burn?"
I grab the nearest nurse by the shoulders, my fingers digging into her scrubs. "The cremation—when did it happen?"
She jerks back, startled. "Ma'am, you shouldn't be down here—"
"When?" I shake her harder. "The woman in her sixties—when was she cremated?"
"I... about an hour ago. But ma'am, you need to get back to your room—"
I release her and run. My surgical wound tears open, blood seeping through the hospital gown, but I don't stop. I follow the signs to the crematorium, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The door is unlocked. I burst through it to find a small room with a table in the center. On the table sits a pile of gray ash, still warm from the furnace.
Livia stands beside it, her face glowing with sick satisfaction.
"Looking for something?" she asks, her voice sweet as poison.
I stare at the ashes, my world tilting sideways. "No. No, this isn't real."
"Oh, it's very real. Your mother made such interesting sounds when the flames reached her. I recorded some of it, if you'd like to hear—"
I launch myself at her, my hands going straight for her throat. She stumbles backward, gasping, as I squeeze with everything I have.
"You sick bitch!" I scream. "She was already dead! Why would you—"
Livia claws at my face, leaving bloody scratches down my cheeks. I grab a scalpel from a nearby tray and raise it above my head.
"Seraphina!"
Marco's voice cuts through my rage. His boot connects with my ribs, sending me flying across the room. I hit the wall hard, the scalpel clattering away.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" He helps Livia to her feet, checking her neck for damage. "Are you trying to kill her?"
I struggle to stand, blood running from my mouth. "She cremated my mother! She watched her burn!"
Marco's face twists with disgust. "Still acting! Seraphina, these are just anatomical ashes from the hospital, used for teaching. They're not your mother's at all!"
"You're lying." But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. The ashes look so ordinary, so anonymous.
"Livia was observing a routine educational cremation. Nothing more." He wraps his arm around her protectively. "Your mother's body is being prepared for a proper funeral. Stop being so dramatic."
They leave me there on the floor, bleeding and broken. The door slams shut behind them, and I'm alone with the pile of ash.
I crawl toward the table, my vision blurring with tears and pain. The ashes are still warm, still carrying the heat of the furnace. I reach out with trembling fingers, sifting through the gray powder.
There—a small, dark mark in the ash. Roughly circular, about the size of a quarter.
My mother's birthmark. The one on her shoulder that looked like a crescent moon.
The truth hits me like a physical blow. I double over, coughing up blood onto the sterile floor. They really did it. They really cremated her body and let that monster watch.
How could it not hurt? This was the mother who carried me for ten months, who gave me life and raised me. And just like that, she died right in front of me. But I didn't even have the chance to gather her ashes.
Something inside me dies in that moment. Some last vestige of hope or love or humanity just... stops. My heart turns to ash, just like my mother's body.
But from those ashes, something else is born. Something cold and patient and utterly ruthless.
I pull out my phone with shaking hands and dial a number I haven't called in years. It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.
"Hello? You've always wanted to bring down Marco, haven't you? I can help you, but you have to agree to one condition."