Chapter 06: The Last Straw
[Seraphina POV]
The small wooden box sits on my kitchen table like an accusation.
I stare at it through swollen eyes, my hands trembling as I lift the lid. Inside, barely enough ash to fill a teacup—all that's left of my mother after I managed to scrape together what little I could from that crematorium floor.
It's not even really her. Most of her is gone, mixed with those teaching ashes, scattered to nothing. But these few gray specks are all I have left.
I break down completely, my sobs echoing through the empty apartment. My surgical wound throbs with each heaving breath, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whisper to the ashes. "I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."
The silence that answers me is deafening.
I need to take her somewhere sacred. Somewhere she can finally rest in peace, even if it's just these pitiful remains. My hands shake as I transfer the ashes to a small ceramic urn I bought from a funeral home—white with gold trim, the kind of thing she would have liked.
The Cathedral of the Gilded Saints in Veridia City isn't far from here. Mom used to take me there when I was little, lighting candles and whispering prayers for our future. Maybe if I pray hard enough, her soul will find some peace.
The cathedral's massive doors creak as I push through them, the urn clutched against my chest. Inside, golden light filters through stained glass windows, casting rainbow patterns across the marble floor. The air smells of incense and old wood, familiar and comforting.
A priest kneels at the altar, his head bowed in prayer. I slip into a pew near the back, not wanting to disturb him. Setting the urn beside me, I clasp my hands together and close my eyes.
"Please," I whisper. "Please let her be at peace. She suffered so much. She deserves—"
"Well, well. Look what we have here."
My blood turns to ice. That voice—sweet and mocking and full of malice.
I turn to see Livia standing in the aisle, looking radiant in a designer dress. Her skin glows with health, her hair perfectly styled. She looks nothing like someone who supposedly needed an emergency kidney transplant.
"Livia." The name tastes like poison on my tongue.
She slides into the pew beside me, her eyes fixed on the urn. "Is that supposed to be your mother?"
"Leave me alone."
"Oh, but I can't do that. You see, I have something to tell you." Her smile is sharp as a blade. "About what really happened to dear old Mom."
I grip the urn tighter. "She's dead. That's all that matters."
"But how she died—that's the interesting part." Livia leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You thought she drowned quickly, didn't you? Thought it was over fast?"
"Stop."
"It took me quite a bit of effort to swap your mother with that dummy. Had to make sure she was still alive when I threw her in the lake. I wanted her to experience every moment of drowning."
My vision starts to blur with rage, but she's not finished.
"I found that all her organs had rotted from being soaked in the lake water. Such a tragic way to die—" She pauses, savoring my horror. "She was conscious for most of it, you know. Calling your name as the water filled her lungs."
Something snaps inside me. I grab a handful of Livia's perfectly styled hair and slam her head down onto the marble floor with all the strength I have left.
"You sick bitch!" I scream, slamming her head down again. "She was innocent!"
Livia tries to fight back, but I'm beyond reason now. I slam her head against the floor over and over, blood spattering across the white marble.
"Seraphina!"
Marco's voice cuts through my rage like a whip. I look up to see him striding down the aisle, his face twisted with fury.
"Get off her!" He grabs me by the hair and yanks me away from Livia, who immediately collapses in a heap, whimpering.
"Marco," she gasps, touching the blood on her forehead. "She tried to kill me!"
His hand connects with my face so hard that stars explode across my vision. I hit the floor, my cheek burning from the impact.
"You're just like your crippled mother," he snarls, standing over me. "Weak and pathetic."
"Don't you dare mention her!" I struggle to my feet, my face throbbing. "You have no right!"
"Marco," Livia whimpers from behind him, her voice taking on that wounded, innocent tone she's perfected. "Seraphina said she put a pile of cigarette ash in the urn to curse me. It must be working."
I stare at her in shock. "What? I never said that!"
But Marco's face is already darkening with rage. He looks at the urn sitting on the pew, then back at me.
"You put cigarette ash in there?" His voice is deadly quiet.
"No! Marco, those are my mother's ashes! The real ones!"
"Liar." He picks up the urn, and my heart stops.
"No, wait—"
"If these are really your mother's ashes, then you won't mind if I dispose of them properly."
He walks toward the altar where several votive candles burn in their holders. The flames dance in the dim light, casting shadows across his face.
"Marco, please!" I scramble after him on my hands and knees. "Please don't do this!"
He holds the urn above one of the larger candles, its flame licking at the ceramic bottom.
"Those are cigarette ashes, aren't they, Seraphina? So it won't matter if they burn."
"They're not! They're my mother! Please, I'm begging you!"
But he's already tipping the urn. The gray ash pours out in a thin stream, falling directly into the flame. It hisses and sparks as it hits the fire, each speck disappearing forever.
"No—!" I scream until my voice is hoarse, plunging my hands into the fire. Blisters of all sizes immediately erupt on my skin. But still, I can't find even a single speck of my mother's ashes.
The flames burn my palms, my fingers, but I keep searching desperately through the fire. There has to be something left. Some trace of her.
But there's nothing. Just fire and pain and the smell of my own burning flesh.
Marco grabs my wrists and yanks my hands out of the flames. "Enough of this drama."
I stare at my burned hands, at the empty urn lying on the floor. Everything. He's taken everything from me.
"Next week is Livia's birthday," Marco says, his voice cold and final. "If you come and apologize to her then, I'll pretend this never happened, and I'll let your mother continue to stay in her hospital room."
I look up at him through my tears. "What hospital room? She's dead."
"The dummy is dead. Your mother is fine, just like I told you." He helps Livia to her feet, supporting her as she sways dramatically. "But if you don't apologize, I might decide she's not worth keeping alive after all."
They leave me there on the cathedral floor, my hands burned and bleeding, staring at the empty urn. The priest has disappeared, probably too frightened by the violence to intervene.
I don't know how long I sit there. Hours, maybe. Long enough for the candles to burn lower, for the shadows to lengthen across the marble.
Finally, I pick up the empty urn and walk home.
---
One week later, Marco storms into his mother-in-law's former hospital room, his face dark with rage.
The bed is empty. Stripped bare, the machines silent and unplugged. No trace that anyone was ever here.
"Where is she?" he demands of the nearest nurse.
The woman looks confused. "Sir, this room has been empty for over a week. We haven't had a patient here since—"
"Boss!" His assistant comes running down the hallway, his face pale with panic. "Boss, I have news!"
Marco turns, his jaw clenched. "What?"
The assistant stops in front of him, breathing hard. "Boss, they said the madam's mother passed away a week ago! And the madam is missing!"