The time had come. Little did she know what was happening to her—it all felt new. This trauma was a new reality, but *could it be changed? Could life ever stop?* As she thought she was going to die, the sharp revolver trembled against her head. She looked up at the holder of the gun: her father, her *very own father*.
"Since you don't listen, you will die. I still have your sister with me."
Her dad smiled, laughing at his daughter. She closed her eyes. A gunshot pierced the air, and Diana fell. Blood gushed out as a **cross symbol dangled in the pool of crimson**. With her last glance downward, she finally understood what Little Diana had told her:
"There are two places a man calls home. The first is where you die. The second is decided by your actions."
Seer
Three Years Earlier
Diana stood in front of a scattered herd of cows, sweating and frustrated. She'd been chasing them since morning, but the cows were content to spend the whole day grazing. Her stomach growled, and her legs trembled with exhaustion. *If she didn't "dance to the beat," she had to get these cows home.*
She tried a new tactic: picking up a stone, she hurled it at the stubborn herd. The cows stopped, staring at her as if she were **an ancient grass they wanted to devour**. Then, all at once, they charged. Diana sprinted, leading them toward the house. Her speed was perfect—but as she reached the yard, she tripped, **landing face-first in the mud**.
Mariam rushed out of the old cabin, alarmed by the noise. "Mom! Sister's being chased again!"
Mrs. Pharaoh ran out, clutching a half-red frying pan (already burning her hands), and dropped it with a clatter. Diana stood, mud smeared across her face, and watched the cows calmly enter the barn. Defeated, she flopped back into the dirt, **tasting the mud**.
"Can she even say 'yes' to that?" Mariam giggled, watching Diana doze off as she and Mrs. Pharaoh returned to their TV series.
Onscreen, a man dangled a wedding ring, clearly ready for marriage—but the woman wasn't ready to be "put in a house and told to care for it." Tears welled in Mariam's eyes, hot and slow. "I can't take this,"she whispered. Mrs. Pharaoh pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her.
Then, Mr. Pharaoh walked in. The family turned to him—except Diana, fast asleep in her chair.
"Dad, welcome!"Mariam hugged her weary father.
"How are—wait, how old is Diana?"
Mariam frowned. Was he drunk? Her father never drank. *Why ask an elephant why the giraffe has a long neck?*
"Dad, Diana's 18. You should know that. I'm 16," she said defensively.
He gave a reassuring smile. "I've been too busy."
"Busy doing what? Everything is 'business'!" Mrs. Pharaoh snapped, setting the table for his solitary dinner.
He laughed. "If I don't do it, who will? I want you all happy."* Adjusting his tie, he sat down. *"You know I do this for us."
"Which 'us'? You'll work yourself to death!"
Mrs. Pharaoh's expression darkened as she set his plate down. He grabbed her hand. "What's wrong?"
She yanked free and stormed upstairs. Mr. Pharaoh glanced at Mariam, now 100% absorbed in the TV.
"Tomorrow's another day. You need sleep, Mariam." He swallowed a spoonful of marshmallow, feeling it settle heavily in his stomach.
The lights flickered off. Mrs. Pharaoh didn't move, even as she sensed someone behind her. Exhausted, Mr. Pharaoh collapsed onto the bed—but when she felt his weight, she stood, grabbed a pillow, and marched toward the door.
The light switched on.
"Where are you going?" he demanded, sitting up.
She turned but paused. Better to explain than leave him wondering all night.
"Why did you ask Diana's age?"
He looked puzzled.
"You can deceive them, but not me. You want to take her, like you took Feronia and Feron!"she shouted.
Diana burst in, dizzy and red-eyed. "Who are Feronia and Feron? And where am I going?"
Her father stood, rubbing her head. *"Nowhere, my dear."Then a strike to her skull. She collapsed.
He turned to Mrs. Pharaoh, furious. "Why do this? The one person I didn't want knowing now knows!"
"You killed her!"
"No, I made her pass out. They did the same to me—I woke up forgetting who did it."
Mrs. Pharaoh stared, horrified.
"Fine. She'll wake up,"he muttered. She fled, shaking her head in pity.
Mr. Pharaoh massaged his temples. "Will she wake up?" he whispered, staring into the dark.
Seer
*Wait… does Mr. Pharaoh have a history of murder?
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