I straightened, letting her soak in the scene. Every second of her helplessness felt like justice.
For now, I would let her watch.
I picked up a kitchen knife, its cold weight pressing against my palm. In the dim kitchen light, the hatred etched across my face was impossible to hide.
With measured steps, I walked to where my parents lay. I stopped in front of them, staring down at their still forms.
Raising the knife high, I aimed it at their hearts.
The first strike sent blood splattering across my face. Warm and sticky, it clung to my skin, but I felt nothing—no hesitation, no sadness. Only the grim satisfaction of justice.
When their final breaths faded into silence, I knelt briefly to confirm they were gone.
Satisfied, I turned my gaze to Elysia.
Her face was flushed with anger and terror, her bloodshot eyes wide with panic. She trembled, attempting to move, but her drugged body betrayed her. She could do nothing but pant heavily, trapped like a cornered animal awaiting slaughter.
Looking at her pathetic state, my hatred surged, threatening to consume me.
Why? Why does the one who caused all this get to live so easily?
Tears blurred my vision, spilling unchecked down my cheeks.