Little Ren turned his head toward the shattered glass pieces laid out like a feast of suffering.
Celestine stood there—smiling, tilting her head, still playing the shy little girl act. Like none of this meant anything.
Leon, gritting his teeth in the present, watching all of this unfold through Ren's eyes, could feel the pain in his jaw before even touching the glass. But that wasn't what burned him inside.
It was her.
That Celestine.
When I saw her the first time... she looked like a cartoonish brat. The kind of bully who throws a tantrum when things don't go her way.
But this?
This is something else. Something darker.
How can a seven-year-old girl be this cruel? This brutal?
No hesitation, no fear, just pure, twisted joy in others' pain.
Her family… Does it come from them?
Is this the kind of monsters they raise in the Lysandra household?
Little Ren picked up a shard—his fingers trembling—and bit down.
A crunch. A sharp slice.
