Sethrak's life flickered before my eyes, a waking nightmare. Contrary to the portraits on the wall, her family had not abandoned her. Quite the opposite.

They kept her close, just within reach, a perfect distance to inflict pain and humiliation. They never treated her as a person, never as a daughter.

They kept her in the stables of that grand palace, among the horses and other beasts. The place was unfit for a child, unfit even for an animal.

It could hardly be called warm or clean. Raindrops and cold gusts of wind seeped mercilessly through the gaps in the wooden planks. And always, the heavy stench of manure and rotting hay hung in the air.

For food, she was fed scraps from the palace kitchen.

On cold winter nights, she tried to sleep wrapped in filthy, damp straw. She was afraid to go into the city. She was afraid to even step outside the stable in daylight.

The people despised her. On the rare occasions they saw her, they threw stones, shouting, "Murderer!" They screamed, "Cursed beast! Go and kill yourself!"

Sethrak could speak, but her voice was nothing more than a guttural, grating rasp that clawed at the ears. Because of this, she almost never spoke.

Even if she did, what could she say? Would she speak to defend herself? It was pointless. Everyone already hated her.

Witnessing Sethrak's life this way, through her own eyes, felt strangely painful. The memories would pause for a moment then shift abruptly, showing me another agonizing scene from her existence.

In one memory, her father, the "Red General" Herson, used Sethrak as a hunting dog when he went out to hunt.

He would drag her into the forest by her leash, ordering her to catch the beasts he hunted with her mouth, sometimes forcing her to eat them raw as a reward.

It was a disgusting sight. Sethrak had feelings too. Though she looked like a monster on the outside, she was still human within, a small child in fear and pain.

The memories shifted again. Time jumped forward.

In another memory, Mordret, the avatar of the Light God Radiar, the pride of the family, had come to the stable.

He held a wooden club, ready for the daily "purification" ritual, and was beating Sethrak.

Sethrak could only try to protect her head with her clawed hands. She was afraid to defend herself, afraid to fight back. All she could do was silently endure this endless torture.

Mordret spoke with every strike. "Why don't you just kill yourself? Do you think you have a right to live?" He brought the club down hard across the middle of Sethrak's back. The sound, a sharp crack, echoed in the stable's silence. Sethrak winced in pain but made no sound.

"Our mother died because of you! Our father changed into someone else, a cold, emotionless man, because of you! It's all your fault!" He swung the club into her defenseless stomach. Another sickening thud.

"Our image in the Empire is ruined because of you! The cursed child of the great 'Red General'... People even think Father made a deal with a demon because of you!"

Enraged, he dropped the club and drove a kick into Sethrak's stomach. Sethrak doubled over in pain, clutching her abdomen.

With her head exposed, Mordret picked up the club again and struck her across the head.

"Do you think what we do to you is unfair?" Mordret said, stopping suddenly. He leaned down slightly, staring into Sethrak's tear stained, pain filled eyes. "I know it is."

"You should be grateful our father lets you live. You should be grateful that I beat you with this club every day, purifying you of your disgusting sins.

Yes, you should be grateful!" He struck her back one last time with all his strength. This time, the club could not take the force and shattered, breaking in two.

"I suppose that's all for our 'purification ceremony' today. See you tomorrow... sister."

With a mocking smile, Mordret turned his back, walked toward the broken stable door, and left.

The memories continued in this cruel cycle. Sethrak lived every day like this, treated worse than a beast. After a point, she seemed to grow used to it.

The clubs her brother used no longer hurt as much. The garbage she ate no longer turned her stomach.

She no longer even reacted to her father treating her like a hunting dog. The stones thrown at her in the city... they didn't even sting anymore. She saw them as nothing more than motes of dust landing on her.

The curse she carried granted her not only an inhuman appearance but also an inhuman endurance and a hidden strength.

Gradually, Sethrak decided to stop rejecting the monster, the darkness within her, and instead to become one with it, to accept it.

One day, Mordret came to the stable as usual, ready to torture his "sister." But this time, instead of cowering in fear at the sight of him, Sethrak slowly rose from the straw and looked him straight in the eyes, defiant.

Mordret, clearly disliking this unexpected and insolent behavior, snarled in anger and raised his new, thicker club.

He swung it at Sethrak. But this time, Sethrak caught the club in mid air with her clawed hand.

Then, she crushed the thick club, snapping it as if it were a mere twig.

Mordret was in shock, then he roared with rage. "How dare you, you cursed creature!" He enveloped his fist in mana and swung it at Sethrak's face. But Sethrak caught his fist too, intercepting it in her palm and beginning to squeeze.

Mordret buckled in pain from that inhuman strength. He could hear his own bones cracking. He grabbed his trapped hand with his other arm, trying to pull free, but it was useless.

In a panic, he suddenly pulled his sword from his dimensional portal and shouted, trying to stab Sethrak.

But before he could even swing the blade, Sethrak yanked him forward by the arm she held, lifted him into the air, and slammed him onto his back on the hard ground. Mordret, his breath stolen, tried to get up, but Sethrak placed her massive foot on his chest and applied pressure.

As his ribs cracked one by one and pierced his lungs, Mordret began to cough up blood.

"Stop..." he groaned. "I beg you... stop!"

But Sethrak did not stop. She grabbed her brother by his head, his ribs already broken, lifted him again, and slammed him onto his back once more. Her brother's eyes rolled back, and after coughing up more blood, he lost consciousness.

Sethrak, feeling a strange, dark pleasure from fighting back for the first time in her life, left the stable behind.

She walked far away from the city, away from people, until she reached the ruins of an old village, burned and shattered.

It was a village where her father had once massacred people who worshipped dark gods, people who had refused to bow to him.

Unburied human skeletons lay on the ground. Skeletons of all ages. Her eyes fell on the tiny skeleton of a child, half buried under the wreckage of a house. Sethrak continued walking through the ruined village.

She passed an old well. From the well came a disgusting stench of decay, and with it, whispers.

"Help us..." "Mother... save me..." "Stop them..." "Great Nerath... protect us..."

The whispers of the dead still echoed from that dark well. Sethrak shook her head, ignoring the whispers in the well, and kept moving. Until she reached a dilapidated and ruined temple.

Sethrak paused when she saw the temple. She clenched her clawed fists. Gathering her courage, she stepped onto the temple grounds and stood before the altar, which was nothing more than a shattered piece of stone, almost unrecognizable.

It was the first time she had ever been to a temple. She did not know what to do, but she acted on instinct.

She fell to her knees and clasd her clawed hands together. She closed her eyes. Her agonizing life passed before her eyes like a film.

At that moment, a rusty bell, still miraculously hanging at the top of the ruined temple, began to toll on its own, a muffled sound. Then, everything went dark. Black smoke seeped from the ground, enveloping Sethrak.

From within the darkness, an ancient and powerful voice was heard. "Human who bears my curse... Why have you come here?"

Sethrak did not open her eyes. She answered the voice with her guttural, grating voice. "I want... my pain to end."

The voice spoke again. "Human who bears my curse... is not honest. Human who bears my curse, why have you come here?"

"I want people... to stop hating me. I want to be normal. I don't want to look like a monster."

The voice was beginning to grow impatient. "Human who bears my curse... is not honest. Human who bears my curse, why have you come here?"

"I... I want to be happy! I want to live a normal life! I want people to love me!" Sethrak's voice trembled, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Human who bears my curse... IS STILL NOT HONEST! HUMAN WHO BEARS MY CURSE, WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?"

Sethrak trembled at this final roar. This time, she listened to the dark impulses coming from the deepest part of her heart.

The burning urges she had tried to hide even from herself. She cast aside the final crumbs of her identity that still allowed her to see herself as "human." She unleashed the pure agony, the unadulterated spite, and the bottomless hatred that had accumulated over the years, all drawn from the abyss within her.

Sethrak's eyes turned a shade of pure darkness. She raised her head and spoke. This time, her voice was overflowing with hatred.

"I... I WANT REVENGE! Against my father! Against my sister! Against my brother! Against everyone in that palace! Against our entire dynasty!"

"I WANT TO KILL! I want to tear them apart! I want to see them bleed! I want to hear them scream in pain! I want them... I want them to become monsters just like me, I want them to suffer just like me!"

The voice in the darkness fell silent for a moment. Then, it spoke in a satisfied tone.

"Human who bears my curse... do you accept... becoming a monster?"

Sethrak was silent for a moment. This was a path of no return. But what did she have left to lose?

Without hesitation, she answered with her entire soul:

"I ACCEPT!"

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