There were rules now.
No doors could lock from the outside.
No man entered without a woman's consent.
All weapons were stored in a glass box beside Mirelle's office — clearly labeled, untouched unless needed.
Hollow House smelled like citrus and clean sheets.
In the mornings, the girls laughed while doing chores.
They painted the walls in colors they picked themselves.
Some had jobs. Some studied online. One taught yoga on weekends.
Another, a girl named Lila, raised a stray cat and named it Ghost.
Mirelle rarely smiled, but she watched them like a lighthouse watches waves.
She paid for their therapy.
Cooked once a week — terrible soup but rich with effort.
If a girl had a nightmare, Mirelle stayed up and read to her.
Never asked what it was about.
She already knew.
One night, the power went out.
The girls gathered in the common room with flashlights and tea.
Lila climbed onto the couch and said, "Tell us a story, Miss Mirelle."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why me?"
"Because you're scary," Lila grinned. "But in a safe way."
For a moment, silence.
Then Mirelle said softly, "Once upon a time, there was a girl no one wanted to save."
The girls leaned in.
"But she learned something. That you don't wait to be rescued. You take the fire that was meant to burn you… and you make it your own."
Lila whispered, "Is it a happy ending?"
Mirelle looked at them — warm faces in the dark.
"Not yet. But we're getting there."