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Rising From The Ashes Of Betrayal

Chapter 2 2

Word Count: 978 | Released on: 14/01/2026

her lungs. It was a violent, desperate intake of brea

moke, the taste of ash. But the air was cool. It

raced herself for the agony of crushe

muscles were intact. Th

room. The sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains-the ones that had burned. The chand

No screaming sirens. Just the hu

d. She grabbed her iPhone, her fingers slipp

stared ba

mber

years

s was the second week after she had been brought back from the foster system. The week she had decided to dye her hair blonde

f bed and ran to th

ged eyeliner, clumpy mascara, foundation that was two shades too light. It was a mas

re. Arthur's cold eyes. Karly'

til her knuckles turned white. The ceramic was

dead. She

gh escaped her throa

pered to her ref

e, scrubbing aggressively. She dug her nails into her skin, clawing away t

her face dry. When she looked back a

devoid of the pleading warmth that used to reside there. The need

the reflection. Her voice wa

Bang

door shook o

d from the hallway. "What ar

e memory of fear ingrained over years of abuse. Her he

d Karly. Archer was the one w

ed, replaced by a

yelled again. "Do you think

he walked back into the bedroom and calmly put on her silk r

placed her hand on the brass

ed the d

htly at the sudden lack of resistance. He was red-faced, his mouth open, rea

g to see the cowering girl who

yes locked onto his. There was no flicker of intimi

lowered slowly. The w

ked. One word.

"I... Dad is wai

st time," Kala said.

dog that had barked at a rabbit and the rabbit had b

tilted her head. "

ying to regain his dominance. "Yesterday.

Karly had knocked over while tryin

tly. It wasn't a smile.

"The vase. Let's go

away from his physical presence. She walked down the ce

of the grand stair

here. The cast

. Karly was dabbing at dry eyes with a lace handkerchief, looking fragile and tragic. Only Antoine was missing, alre

ister. The wood was

the first

Chapter End

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Rising From The Ashes Of Betrayal

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“I spent my whole life trying to fit into the "Kensington aesthetic," dyeing my hair blonde and playing dumb just to earn a crumb of my father's approval. But when the manor went up in flames, I realized I was never a daughter to them-I was just an inconvenience. I lay pinned under a heavy oak beam, the smell of copper and burnt sugar filling my lungs. My father, Arthur, stood in the doorway with my brothers, looking like a phalanx of saviors, but their eyes weren't on me. They rushed past my outstretched, bloody hand to save my sister, Karly, who was huddled in a corner without a scratch on her. My brother Archer scooped her up like spun glass, stepping over my crushed leg without a second glance. Just before they crossed the threshold, Karly looked back at me and smiled-a small, victorious, terrifying smile. My father didn't offer help; he just shouted that I was an arsonist and slammed the door, sentencing me to burn alive in my own bedroom. As the crystal chandelier melted and crashed toward me, I didn't feel fear anymore. I felt a guttural, distilled hate for the family that left me to die because of a lie. I had spent my life begging for scraps at a table that was never meant for me, and I died realizing they never loved me at all. "If I come back," I promised into the void, "I will burn you all down." I gasped for air and woke up in my bed, the smell of lavender replacing the smoke. It was September 14th, five years before the fire, the exact week I had started ruining myself to please them. I looked in the mirror, scrubbed off the pathetic makeup mask, and realized the old, desperate Kala was dead. If I was going to burn, I'd make sure they were the ones who felt the heat first. "Queen is back online," I whispered.”