A small child, a girl. Her hair barely brushes her shoulders, and her fragile body seems as though it might shatter at a touch. So small, so seemingly innocent — yet she stares at the wall with an icy gaze. Her eyes are hollow, devoid of life, mirroring those of a corpse. She is so young, yet she has spent her entire existence, from the beginning until now, trapped in this pit. I meet her eyes, and they remind me of my own: extinguished sparks, lifeless embers. But there is a difference — her eyes have always been this way. She has never known what it feels like to burn with vitality. She does not even know what sparks are.

  I lower my gaze, thinking of the fire that once seared her arm. My chest tightens, pain radiating through me at the sight. My brows knit together, and I stand there, silent, and still, sharing the suffocating void with her. Seconds pass, but to me, it feels as though the world is spinning faster than my eyes can capture. In the next moment, the little girl is gone. In her place sits someone older, a young woman now. Her face and arms are ablaze, her body hunched over the half-eaten remains of another human. Her clothes lie shredded and blood-soaked to the side, forgotten.

  Time accelerates again, memories rushing through my mind in a torrent. My vision flickers and a cold shiver runs down my spine as I fall to my knees. My hands clutch my head, my skull pounding with an unbearable rhythm. The images keep coming, relentless and unyielding. Once, Kaila had been a baby. Then, a small child. Then older, but still a child. And now, she is an adult, her body marked by scars and her spirit buried beneath layers of pain. Not a single day has passed where she has known anything beyond this wretched pit. My fists clench, nails digging into my palms, as a storm brews within me. My eyes, now a mirror of that storm, reflect an uncontrollable rage.

  I do not fully understand why this makes me so furious. After all, I hardly know her. In the past, I might have heard this story and felt nothing or perhaps offered a distant sympathy. But now, I am angry. My blood — red, unlike her brown — boils. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing my attention back to the fragile woman sitting before me. Fire licks at her skin again, her arms engulfed. A towering man laughs at her, his lust unmistakable in his gaze. My hands tremble, my muscles taut with tension. I want to strike him. No — I want to humiliate him. No — I want him to suffer. I want to see him beg for mercy, and regret his very existence. I want to kill him. I want to break the chains that bind Kaila to this pit, tear open the cage that has confined her life, and reveal the world to her. I want to shatter the malevolence that has been inflicted upon her and erase her loneliness.

  Tears fall before I realize it. I weep without intention, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face. Once again, my vision blurs, the scene before me distorted. Gone is the baby, the child, the young or older Kaila. All that remains is an endless void. Physical and emotional emptiness.

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  I know now — I am in Kaila’s body again. She sits alone, trapped in this cold, dark pit. Unaware of the breeze or the scent of the outside world. She does not know what bread is, nor food beyond human flesh. Red flesh. She has never heard birds sing or waves crash upon a shore, nor smelled rain as it kisses the earth. She has never seen her own reflection, no mirrors to reveal her face. Kaila has never felt warmth — only the biting cold of this endless pit. No, that is not true. She has felt warmth twice before. Once from the searing flames of another — a fellow of her kind — whose face she can barely remember. And once from the warm blood of my kind, the red-blooded.

  Through her eyes, I see her emptiness. My gaze burns with fury, but hers remains hollow. She feels nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no joy. Nothing. Even as flames meld with her skin, she does not flinch. I drown in her memories, witnessing the grim smile, the cruel amusement of a man who revels in violating the innocence of a child. Now a grown woman. For countless years, Kaila has endured this torment, a reality I can only half comprehend. Is this why I feel so compelled to fight for her? Because she is crushed under the heel of someone stronger, with no reason or justification? Perhaps. I do not know. But then I hear my voice, speaking words with absolute clarity:

  “Kaila, use your power. Feel the matter around you and walk through the door before you.”

  A powerful gust of wind rushes past me, and a faint light pierces the darkness. My voice is commanding, resolute. Like a puppet responding to unseen strings, Kaila moves. She approaches the wall, her blood-streaked, burned hands pressing against the stone. The solid rock parts before her touch as if it were softened butter. The world fades to black for a moment, and when my vision returns, my pupils constrict. The dim light of a small fire illuminates the corridor, its glow as brilliant to my eyes as sunlight.

  Kaila is in control of her body once more. She turns briefly, her expression unreadable, her burnt arms resting against the cold stone. She looks left, then right, her gaze settling on the flame of a torch. Slowly, she approaches it, her steps hesitant, knees bent slightly. Each movement is deliberate, cautious but determined. She stops inches away from the fire, her face bathed in its glow. The flame reflects in her dull, faintly shimmering eyes. She does not recoil. Instead, she leans closer, her head inching toward the flame until it is almost touching. Then, with her burnt, brown hand, she grasps the torch and extinguishes the orange-red fire with her bare fingers.

  Darkness returns. The emptiness envelops me again.

  As my eyes close, so too does my awareness of Kaila’s body. I am back in my palace, seated upon my throne, my arms resting on its carved armrests. I see only red, my vision painted in the hue of fury and resolve.