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“There aren’t four pigs in the story, which means one of you was the Big Bad Wolf in disguise, and I think we all know who that is. Are you planning to hide me in your straw house, piggy?” A sarcastic grin tugs at the corner of my mouth, boldly affirming what the past had firmly demonstrated.
Children's stories take on a different meaning when you grow up. Suddenly, you realize that Hansel and Gretel were just two dying children lost in the woods, and the gingerbread house was only a creation of their minds, just like the wicked witch, symbolizing death. Or in the The Goat and her Three Kids, the Big Bad Wolf wasn't necessarily the antagonist this time; the four of them hunted him down and trapped him, only to cook him in a boiling cauldron in the end. And as for The Little Mermaid, isn't it sad enough that she fell in love with a prince who saw her only as a naive child, and while she built castles in the air and sacrificed herself, giving her voice to the sea witch in exchange for legs just to be with him, he married another woman? So, The Little Mermaid, in her attempt to get revenge and kill the prince's new wife, ends up committing suicide, because that's the fate of people who were too good and lost everything.
As for me and my story, I choose to let it empower me rather than turn me into sea foam.
Perhaps the Preacher's Daughter is destined to become strong and overthrow the entire royal line.
“B-Becca, I...” Uriel looks over his shoulder, disturbed, while I bite my lower lip and straighten my back.
“When I wanted to be on your side, you didn't let me. Just wait and see when I turn against you.”
“But why?”
“Are you really naive to ask me that? Because I can, and because you've given me every reason to do so! Take care. I'm leaving now,” I point towards the door and tuck his hair behind his ear.
“See you later. I'm leaving next week. Maybe you’ll calm down by then,” he tries to fix the situation because things have taken quite a tense turn.
“It's better if we don't see each other for a while,” I look at him over my shoulder, taking advantage of his weakness. “In fact, it's better if you go back to where you came from. You don't want to be here. Soon, the game will turn ugly, and I don't think you'd want me to change my mind and start with the weakest piggy.”
“Hold on a second. What game are you talking about, Becca?”
“How about you ask your older brother, who probably spent last night in a cell and is now getting a spanking from his dad because he was a naughty boy and made a fool of himself over a pussy. But not just any pussy” - I bring my face so close to his that his hurried breathing betrays his nervousness – “my pussy,” his lips part when the dirty word leaves my lips, and I feel his body pulsating.
Revenge is sweet; it's satisfaction at a whole different level, which, if you're not careful, can become addictive.
“Is all of this for that past dumb thing?”
“That past dumb thing? Do you have a single thought in that charming head of yours? Nothing is in the past, everything is about to begin,” I reply, pressing the doorknob. “Do yourself a favor and get lost. If you're a nice boy, perhaps I will pretend you don’t exist, because it's pretty much as though you never did in my eyes,” I say, my tone dripping with arrogance, sensing him burning up from the inside.
I hurt him.
That was good.
It felt good.
On my way, I run into Rosé, who has come down to the kitchen and is drinking from a cup of something that looks like hot milk. That reminds me of Samael. He loved milk.
“Becca?” She blinks slightly and doesn't seem surprised to see me.
“Hi, Rosé. Bye, Rosé,” I wave to her, but the girl stops me.
“Mr. Manasseh told me to give you this,” she hands me an expensive shoebox from Versace.
“What's this?” I take the box and intend to open it.
“He said to open it when you get home!” Rosé stops me before I lift the lid.
“Why? Is it a bomb or something?” I smirk bitterly and sigh.
“I don't know,” Rosé tucks her hair behind her ear, and I can't help but notice that we look somewhat alike in appearance.
“Whatever,” I take it and head towards the door. “Bye, girl!”
When I step out of the front door of the Morgenstern house, I feel like Salma Hayek in the movie Desperado, but without Antonio Banderas, because I don't need a man to set the world on fire. I had just set fire to the Morgenstern house, at least figuratively for now.
I can feel Uriel's presence as he silently watches me from the bottom of the stairs. I won't deny that I devoured his fear earlier. My Vendetta is leaving here satisfied.
I head home and toss the box onto the kitchen counter. It can't be a bomb. Manasseh didn't achieve his ultimate goal, which is to slowly destroy me.
