Angel or demon

I stood there, aiming the gun at her. The realization that I had been living with a witch—a murderer—was crushing. Arina had killed so many children, so many innocent people. And I had been blind to it, lost in her beauty, under her spell.

"Leave my daughter," I demanded, but my voice wavered, my hands trembling uncontrollably. Arina's smile twisted into something dark and malevolent.

"You know you sold your soul to me, Zoe," she purred, her voice laced with malice. "How can you point a gun at your master?"

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over me. My vision blurred, and I saw two Arinas standing before me, both smiling wickedly. My hands trembled more violently, the gun feeling like a lead weight. I could barely hold it. Desperately, I clutched the locket around my neck, the only thing anchoring me to reality.

"Your God won't help you, Zoe," Arina's voice echoed, growing more distorted and sinister. "Look at me, open your eyes."

I fought against the urge, but it was like a heavy force pressing down on me. My eyelids fluttered open, and there she was—the beautiful, enchanting Arina, not the monstrous witch I had seen moments ago. My breath came in ragged gasps, my resolve crumbling.

Arina's smile softened, becoming almost tender. She stepped closer and placed her hand on my chest, right over my heart. "You belong to me, Zoe," she whispered, her voice soothing, almost hypnotic.

I could feel my strength waning, my will slipping away. But as her hand pressed against my heart, I felt the locket pulsing with a warmth that spread through my chest, fighting against her influence. A flicker of hope ignited within me.

This was not over. Not yet.

"You know, I also want to taste your heart," Arina's voice dripped with venom, her eyes gleaming with hunger. "I think it will be better than Avil's and Mrs. Roselia's."

I tried to respond, to muster some words of defiance, but I couldn't. It felt like something was squeezing my throat, choking the life out of me. Panic surged as I suddenly noticed blood on my hands. I bent down, confused, disoriented.

"Dad," Erin's small, trembling voice broke through the fog. I forced my head up, and the sight shattered my heart—blood was seeping from Erin's throat, and she was clutching a knife.

"Erin!" I gasped, trying to move toward her. But my body felt heavy, sluggish. Arina's hold on my soul was tightening, pulling me back. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, each step agonizingly slow as I descended the stairs.

Arina's voice, dark and mocking, echoed behind me. She was no longer walking—she was floating in the air, her hair swirling around her like a storm. "You can't run from me, Zoe," she taunted, her voice almost a sing-song. "I'm your destiny."

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to face her. Erin clung to my finger, her grip tight with fear. I knelt down to her level, my heart breaking. "Erin, you need to leave the house," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Now."

But before Erin could move, Arina descended gracefully, her feet never touching the ground. "Oh, poor baby," she cooed, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "Please leave. I don't want you to see your father's death."

"Daddy," Erin's voice wavered, her tiny hand clutching mine even tighter. I knew I couldn't let her see what was coming, but I also knew I couldn't let Arina win.

"I'm sorry, Arina. My carelessness cost us our children, but I won't make that mistake again," I said, my voice filled with resolve. Without hesitation, I threw petrol at her and lit a match. As the flames engulfed her, she screamed in agony. I quickly grabbed Erin, rushing out of the house, and locked the door behind us.

In minutes, our home was ablaze. The fire consumed everything, including the horrors that had haunted us. Max arrived just as I had planned, his face solemn as he watched the inferno. It was over.

At present...

I watched my dad from across the room. The events of that night still haunted him, lingering like a shadow in the corners of his mind. Officially, it was deemed an accident, a tragic fire that took everything from us. But we knew better. The deaths of children had stopped after that night, the curse seemingly lifted. Yet, the nightmares persisted, especially for him. He would wake up drenched in sweat, mumbling about the witch—my mother—coming back to take me.

He tries to protect me, always keeping a close watch, but deep down, he knows there's something different about me. Something he doesn't fully understand. Am I an angel, a beacon of light in this darkness? Or am I a demon, a creature born from the evil that once consumed our lives? Even I don't know for sure.

As I stared out the window, a familiar chill ran down my spine. An unusual shadow moved, slinking along the edges of the night. My heart raced, but I didn't panic. Instead, I felt a surge of power within me, a reminder that I was not defenseless. My eyes shifted to a deep, glowing red. The shadow hesitated, then quickly vanished as if sensing the danger.

I turned away from the window, the red in my eyes fading back to their usual color. The darkness might still be out there, lurking, waiting.

Enough to trust that whatever I am—angel or demon—I'm strong enough to keep us safe. And that, for now, is all that matters.