“Lord Eustar, what is that……”

Lobsker’s eyes trembled. Eustar gripped the sword handle tighter as he spoke.

“Do not listen to its words.”

With a thunderous sound, the ground around Eustar and his men caved in. A thick cloud of dust rose up, obscuring their vision.

Eustar felt something cool and sharp graze his cheek. Soon, a thin trickle of blood flowed as if cut by a very fine blade tip. The back of his neck tensed, as if something was about to burst through.

“Will you stand here watching me until that witch girl’s breath stops?”

The Smellkin in the form of a child giggled and did another somersault in the air. Eustar glanced in the direction of the sink.

When he saw the faint rippling of the darkness pooled towards the bottomless place, he smiled slightly, forgetting he was in a confrontation.

“Lobsker.”

“Yes, Lord Eustar.”

“Prepare the ‘mousetrap’. We’ll capture that thing.”

“Shouldn’t we eliminate it?”

“It would be troublesome if we hastily eliminated it now and something went wrong with the sink before Lady Kristrad escapes. So we’ll capture it first, ensure Lady Kristrad’s safety, then deal with it.”

Lobsker, who had been looking at him with strange eyes for a moment, straightened his sword and watched the small demon in the air.

“Understood, Lord Eustar. I’ll prepare it.”

Laila stared blankly at Rillin with uncomprehending eyes. Was it her imagination? At first, it seemed like a mist that would soon dissipate, but now it looked a bit clearer.

How to put it, as if the density had increased… If the form became just a bit more distinct, it might look like a living person rather than a ghost. Or perhaps like a statue sculpted to closely resemble a person.

“So for you to understand that, you must first understand me.”

Rillin said. Laila realized what he was trying to say. But she couldn’t understand why she had to understand that tiny demon.

No, was it even something that could be understood in the first place? The witches of the Dark Ages were often misunderstood to summon demons and hold festivals in the midst of disease, war, and nightmares, but that wasn’t true.

Those who thought demons were such insignificant beings that would readily respond to a few clumsy human incantations were all fools.

Laila shook her head. She didn’t want to understand it. But Rillin was adamant.

“If you don’t, you’ll die here. You need to see my ‘core’ to find a way to get rid of it.”

“Can’t you just tell me? It’s your memory, isn’t it!”

“You’re a witch, yet you know nothing.”

As he said this, Rillin wore an expression that only a centenarian might make. Laila felt an inexplicable shame welling up…

And then she was startled to recognize the anger and childish resentment that followed. Wasn’t she reacting like a child herself?

Rillin said:

“This sink is mine. And when I died, I was ten years old. The longer you stay here, the more influence you’ll receive. Your body will decay, but your mind, your spirit…”

“Will become younger and younger.”

“That’s right,” Rillin agreed. “So before that happens, you need to see my core. As long as I’m here, this space won’t disappear. The same goes for Smellkin. That demon needs me to exist. That’s why it trapped you and me here. So we can’t escape.”

A pained sigh escaped Laila’s lips.

“Alright,” Laila said. She saw Rillin’s round face, white as plaster, drawing closer and closer to her.

It was strange, given how small the space was, that it could get any closer. But soon she understood what was happening. Rillin wasn’t getting closer. He was entering. Slowly penetrating into Laila.

—Thank goodness.

As Rillin’s final, incomprehensible words were heard, Laila’s vision wavered. It rippled as if she had fallen into water, then the space opened up like tearing a black curtain, and Rillin’s figure appeared.

—Rillin!

Mom’s not in a good mood today. Six-year-old Rillin thought.

Well, her mother was always like that. Either not in a good mood, or in a very bad mood. Only one of the two.

Rather, when she was in a bad mood, cursing and frowning as she pleased, Rillin felt somewhat relieved. When her mother smiled, it was nothing short of a sign that a tremendous storm was about to hit.

—Rillin!

The moment her mother’s voice sounded right above her head, Rillin’s tiny body tumbled onto the floor. Her soft cheek was scratched by the wood grain that had become rough from lack of proper cleaning for a long time.

—Useless girl. I told you to drink all the milk! What were you thinking, leaving it until it turned into a damn chunk of cheese!

—It was already spoiled, Mom. I couldn’t drink anymore.

—’It was already spoiled, Mom’? Oh, is that so? You can’t drink something that’s spoiled? You useless thing who can’t even earn a penny! Get up, you damn thing!

Rillin tried to resist, but she was no match for her mother’s strength.

Her heels scraped against the landing, and her terribly thin calves from lack of proper food kept bumping. There would probably be bruises. Rillin tried scratching her mother’s forearm and hitting the back of her hand, but it was useless.

Apologize! Say you’re sorry! She heard her own voice urgently shouting in her mind. But Rillin didn’t. Rillin was a child who never apologized for things that weren’t her fault.

—Mom, Mom! No! Don’t, Mom!

As the closet door opened, Rillin’s eyes widened with terror. Rillin hated dark places.

Even at night, she could hardly close her eyes unless moonlight came through the window. She felt like something scary would suddenly appear and eat her.

But her mother didn’t even pretend to hear Rillin’s words. She shoved Rillin, who was trying to spring out like a cat, back into the closet and said,

—Starve in there. You’ll end up licking even rotten cheese chunks, not just spoiled milk, with gratitude. I’ll teach you some manners.

Rillin’s vision gradually darkened… No matter how hard she tried to push the door open, her mother wouldn’t budge. There was a sound of a latch being placed between the closet handles, and the thumping footsteps faded away.

—No! Open it! I’m scared! Mom!

She screamed at the top of her lungs, but her mother didn’t return. Rillin curled up amidst the familiar smell of dust and squeezed her eyes shut.

I won’t cry. Rillin thought. I won’t cry or apologize. I’m not a coward.

But adults like it when children are cowards.

Because then they obey well.

No, not me. Rillin’s lips tightened firmly.

I’m not a coward. I’ll get out of here someday. I won’t die here. I won’t drink spoiled milk. I’ll escape from Mom.

Whenever her mother’s neurotic laughter echoed from beyond the hallway, Rillin curled up on the bed and pulled the worn sheet over herself.

After remarrying, her mother no longer forced Rillin to drink spoiled milk.

She stopped throwing bread covered in blue and black mold at her and disappearing for two or three days, only to return with a disappointed look when Rillin opened the door for her.

But it would be wrong to say that her mother had become kind to Rillin.

‘I don’t like that man.’

Rillin shuddered every time she heard Manson’s voice reverberating through the walls.

Her mother went to work every day, but Manson didn’t. Sometimes he would be away for about a month and return with a money pouch, but that only happened two or three times a year, and the rest of the time he just loafed around the house.

Rillin’s mother now had to feed not only her daughter and herself, but also Manson, but she clearly didn’t understand the situation she was in.

She received the money pouches that Manson occasionally brought as if they were carts full of gold, and didn’t complain even when he spent the food and money in the house for months without lifting a finger.

She didn’t give him spoiled food like she had done to Rillin, and even when she returned home exhausted from work, she would make steaming hot soup.

Mom wasn’t like this from the beginning. Rillin whispered to herself under the blanket, folding and unfolding her fingers.

When her mother first started living with Manson, for less than half a year, Rillin thought several times that her mother might die soon.

Her mother was a big, strong woman — which was why she could throw Rillin into the closet — but Manson had shoulders about twice the size of her mother’s.

His hands were as thick as loaves of bread, but certainly not soft. They had no warmth either.

When her mother started chanting about why he wasn’t going out to earn money, that’s when Manson’s magic began.

Rillin always thought that there was something monstrous hidden under Manson’s huge body, different from humans, and when her mother started chanting, Rillin could see that her thoughts weren’t wrong.

The monster that tore through Manson’s skin broke and threw away everything it touched.

What he wanted to throw away the farthest was Rillin’s mother, and when his hands grabbed her mother’s collar, Rillin quickly ran to her room and hid under the bed.

And only when the monster went out of the house looking for another victim did she cautiously go downstairs to check.

If her mother was unconscious, she would wipe the blood from her nose and put a wet cloth on her forehead, and if her mother was still conscious, she would quietly return to her room. And she wouldn’t move from under the bed until morning came.

After this happened a few times, Rillin’s mother no longer chanted to wake Manson’s monster. Instead, she seemed to realize that it was much better to worship the monster.

Rillin knew that to survive living with a monster that could spring out at any time, and a crazy worshipper who offered freshly boiled soup and alcohol to that monster, she had to be able to hide anywhere. There was no place Rillin couldn’t hide, except for one — the closet.

—Rillin.

When her mother was out for work and not at home, Manson would bury his huge body in the tattered leather sofa and drink alcohol.

When her mother wasn’t around, Rillin had to act as a worshipper in her place, and she hated it when Manson stared at her intently during those times. It was even worse on days like today when he called her name, not just staring.

—Rillin!

Manson shouted. Rillin knew she could no longer pretend not to hear his voice because of the sound of washing dishes, so she turned her head.

—Yes, Dad.

—Come here.