Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace

Somebody’s got a hit out on you. Don’t blame us for what’s coming.” The ringleader, brandishing a knife, was hell–bent on taking me out.

Coly mustered its last ounce of strength and lunged forward.

What dark thoughts could a dog harbor? It knew only one thing: to protect me at all costs.

Argh!” My head throbbed as if it were about to explode. Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Flashes of memories surged through my mind.

A frail little pup, barely alive after its birth, its stray mother was stoned to death by a gang of kids.

The mother dog, dragging her weary body, was just trying to scrounge some scraps to feed her litter.

But those kids, it seemed, found pleasure in cruelty, pelting the dog with rocks mercilessly. From the moment of birth, the nature of good and evil is etched within us. Some manage to curb their malevolence, letting benevolence steer their course; others forsake all goodness, becoming slaves to their wickedness.

Those kids didn’t think they were in the wrong. It was the primitive, cruel gene within humanity.

They delighted in tormenting creatures weaker than themselves, finding joy in their pain.

“Get lost!” The me in the memory was just a kid, too, wielding a brick larger than my own head, slamming it emotionlessly into the forehead of the ringleader who had hurt the

puppy.

Instantly, the kid’s forehead bled, and he burst into tears.

“Does it hurt?” I grasped his hair, asking coldly. “Does getting hit by a rock hurt?”

The other kids fled in terror, leaving the crying boy alone. “See, you know what pain feels like, too.”

The boy’s parents came, berating my own, relentless in their accusations.

In the end, my parents paid the price and got the injured dog to the vet, but the poor thing didn’t survive.

My parents adopted the surviving pup, the only one from the litter, a fierce–looking wolfdog I named Howler.

From that moment on, a fearsome girl was never without her equally fearsome hound.

There she is, run!

The kids seemed terrified at the mere sight of me. Seeing me meant fleeing.

Phoebe can’t go on like this. She’s too cold, too detached. What are we going to do?”

“What sins did we commit to deserve this…”

“Did we do something wrong? Starting tomorrow, I’ll commit to charity work, I’ll pray to God, I’ll do anything just to see my daughter healthy again…”

In the memory, my parents cried secretly in their room.

“Damian said she’s got an emotional disorder, that it can be treated. There are mature treatments available now. If you can bear it, we’ll send Phoebe to him.”

“Edward Caldwell, she’s just a child! You want to send her to a mental institution?”

“Shush…”

In the memory, my dad tried to soothe my mom. “Then what? She cracked that kid’s head open and didn’t even blink! No daycare will take Phoebe now. At the last one, she bit off a male teacher’s finger! Our child is too harsh.”

“But didn’t Phoebe tell you? That teacher was picking on the little girls! The surveillance footage shows it; that teacher was the problem!” my mom argued.

“It’s not about who’s the problem now. It’s about how Phoebe solves problems, the methods she uses… They’re not what à child should even think of, let alone do. What child bites off fingers…”

Then, my mom fell silent.

“And the daycare before that, she pushed a girl down the slide. She’s just too cold…”

Even if that girl had pushed me first, repaying the deed in kind seemed too cruel in the eyes of others.

The memory of my younger self painted me as a villainess, the kind everyone feared upon sight.

“And have you not noticed? Howler, the dog Phoebe’s raised, listens only to her. It’s eerie, it’s frightening. It’s not just Howler. Even the circus beasts… they all fixate on Phoebe.”