“I loved you so much… ever since I was a little girl.
I survived only because I drew strength from my wild, untamed feelings for you. I breathed because somewhere out there, you were breathing too, and I smiled in the darkness, knowing that one day I’d see you again. In my mind, I painted you with all the best qualities a man could have, because you deserved nothing less.
And then, one day, my dream finally came true. Happiness looked at me through your eyes and opened its arms to me, giving back the universe I’d lost. Your name alone, Sebastian, held my entire world! You made me feel loved, and I dove headfirst into that whirlwind, accepting some pretty strange conditions. Back then, I didn’t know that not all dreams are meant to come true—sometimes, they’re downright dangerous. Adult life isn’t what teenagers imagine it to be; it forces you to face responsibility and tough choices. Sometimes, to prove your love, you have to let go, with pain, with tears, with regret. Sometimes, you have to rip out your own heart and sell your soul just to ensure the one you love keeps breathing. The one you’re no longer allowed to love. Life throws storms at you, big and small Armageddons. You might not even notice until you’re teetering on the edge of that cursed abyss, fighting the urge to end your suffering and jump. I was lucky, though—I met someone who wouldn’t let me fall. You know, Sebastian, for him, it was probably worth enduring everything that crashed down on me.”
***
I was never exactly the obedient daughter, but I don’t think that’s why my father hated me. Personally, I always felt like he bitterly regretted that it wasn’t me who drowned instead of my brother.
My twin brother, Henry, drowned in the Krut River when we were just seven years old. People said the circumstances of his death were pretty strange, but whatever they were, Henry’s passing turned into a horrific tragedy for our family. I remember that awful day vividly, the day our lives shattered beyond repair.
It happened in early spring. The sun was shining so invitingly that morning, and Henry was itching to fly the kite he’d gotten for our birthday. I, on the other hand, got some dumb doll as a gift and was insanely jealous of him, so I ran off with him to join in on the fun.
That fateful day, Mrs. Nate was watching us, though she often liked to nap after lunch, dozing in an old armchair by the window, soaking up the sun like a fat, lazy cat. Henry and I sneaked out quietly, pretending to be spies, thrilled that we’d managed to escape. We raced down to the riverbank where there was more open space. Plus, last summer, we’d seen a kid taunting us by running along that same bank with his kite.
…Something went wrong. Our kite refused to take off, and then it just pathetically crashed right into the middle of the river. Since the river was still covered with a layer of dark, heavy ice, Henry decided to walk across it to retrieve the kite. I stood on the bank, watching… I saw him fall through the ice, saw him struggle. Terror and confusion rooted me to the spot, but then, snapping out of it, I ran to get help.
…Sadly, help arrived too late. My brother drowned.
That’s when the nightmare began. My father, blackened by grief, screamed at poor Mrs. Nate in a rage and even slapped her across the face a few times. Two security guards, who were supposed to be patrolling the estate but were playing cards in the garage instead, got beaten half to death by my father. I never saw them again after that. And my mom… she seemed to freeze in her sorrow, shutting herself off from everything alive. Even from me. She cried for hours, staring blankly at nothing.
They stopped noticing me altogether, as if I didn’t exist, as if I’d drowned along with Henry.
I was just a kid, acutely aware of the unfairness of it all. I grieved in my own way, scared and alone, but it seemed like no one cared. It was as if only Henry mattered to them. I was left to fend for myself or rely on the staff for any kind of attention.
My mom started getting sick often, my father turned to drinking, and six months after Henry’s death, my mom passed away from the grief that ate her alive. After everything, my father shut himself off completely. Sometimes, I felt like I was just a shadow, especially around him. He wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t talk to me, not even for show. That’s when it hit me—he hated me for being alive.
I’ll never forget those feelings, the pain and loneliness that weighed down my young shoulders. If it hadn’t been for Bas, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through those days.
In the darkest time of my life, a friend appeared out of nowhere, someone I needed like air. Bas knew how to laugh and goof around, and he also knew how to listen, furrowing his brow in this funny, thoughtful way. He showed me care and support, even though he was just a kid himself. I was eight, he was ten, and our friendship started in the strangest way.
On my eighth birthday, I got no gifts, no birthday wishes, not even a shred of attention. So, I ran away from home, completely sure no one would come looking for me, that they wouldn’t even notice I was gone. I walked for a long time, aiming for the ruins of an old fortress. Why did I want to go there, of all places?
The Erimor Fortress was surrounded by chilling legends—stories of spirits dragging people into the afterlife, of ghosts, of witches trapped in stone, of evil lurking in those ruins. I headed there not because I was brave, but because I wanted some ghost to take me to the other side, since I clearly wasn’t needed here.
When I got to the ruins, I didn’t dare go inside. I sat on the crumbling stone steps and just waited. I remember not feeling scared, though every now and then a shiver of impatience ran through me. Then I heard a rustle behind me, and I jumped, spinning around. But it wasn’t some evil spirit or ghost—it was just a regular boy.
“Well, well, what are you doing here, huh?” he asked loudly, with a demanding tone.
“What about you?”
“I asked first!”
“It’s none of your business,” I mumbled with a heavy sigh.
For a few minutes, he just stared at me in silence. Then, sitting down beside me, he flashed a friendly smile and extended his tanned hand.
“I’m Bas!”
“Charlotte,” I said, cautiously shaking his hand.
“Charlotte’s too fancy and too long,” Bas grinned. “Shortened to Charlie, right?”
“Yeah.”
Maybe it was my gloomy expression that made him feel sorry for me, because his questions suddenly turned serious, full of genuine concern.
“Are you lost, Charlie, or did you run away from home on purpose?” He looked at me, and from my expression, he figured it out on his own. “Got it, you ran away. Someone hurt you, didn’t they?”
I don’t know why it happened right then. I hadn’t cried since Henry died, and suddenly, to my shame, I burst into bitter sobs in front of this stranger. He just sat there, patiently waiting for me to calm down. And when, overwhelmed by my emotions, I tried to jump up and run off, Bas grabbed my hand firmly.
“My uncle says you can only deal with trouble together. So tell me, Charlie, maybe I can help you somehow.”
The moment I looked into his eyes, I felt an unshakable trust in this boy. Every part of me reached out to someone who noticed me, someone who didn’t stay indifferent.
“I came here to die because my father doesn’t need me! No one needs me!” I blurted out, sniffling. “Today’s my birthday, and he didn’t even look at me. He hasn’t looked at me all year! Dad blames me for Mom and Henry’s deaths, and I don’t even know why it’s my fault!”
I kept talking, as if something had broken open inside me. I told Bas about my father’s cold indifference and constant drinking, about the staff who saw me as nothing more than a chore. I spoke of my empty, pointless days, of the deep, unchildlike sadness and despair that filled my soul. Maybe I didn’t explain it all that well, but I think Bas understood me perfectly.
“You’re definitely not dying today, Charlie!” he said confidently, gripping my shoulders. It was the most touching gesture, so innocent and loyal, and it gave me hope. For me, that moment meant more than any adult intimacy ever could. From then on, I saw Bas in a different light. “And you’re not alone anymore. Let’s meet tomorrow by the split oak tree. You know where that is?”
The next day, he gave me a handmade amulet—a small, flat piece of stone from the Erimor ruins.
“I’ve got the other half of the stone,” Bas said proudly, showing me a similar fragment on a chain around his neck. “There’s a power of unity in this amulet. I didn’t make it alone—someone helped me—but wherever you are, Charlie, I’ll feel you. Always.”
I still keep that amulet to this day. That’s how our secret friendship began.
In those childhood years, Bas became the only person close to me. He’d sneak me candy, help me with homework, tell funny stories, and tease me—but always kindly, with a good heart.
Yes… we were just kids, but that pure friendship gave me such strength and resilience!
…But then, my only happiness was abruptly taken away. Turns out, in our neck of the woods, there was a rule—more like an unbreakable law—that no one from my family was allowed to be friends with a Corwin.
And my Bas belonged to that very family. His full name was Sebastian Corwin. When my father found out about my outings and my friendship with Bas, he finally paid attention to me—something he hadn’t done in five years. Oh, sure! … Though it’s hard to call it attention. Mostly, he just yelled at me, hurling threats. And in that moment, looking at his twisted, red face, listening to his angry, venomous words, I realized that this man was a complete stranger to me, someone who no longer had the right to be considered part of my family.
Without explaining the reason for the taboo, they separated Bas and me, locking me inside the house. If I was allowed outside at all, it was only under the watchful eye of security guards my father had hired again. In complete despair, I resorted to drastic measures just to see my friend one more time.
I set fire to my father’s shed. And I did it out of revenge, with a certain satisfaction. It wasn’t just a shed—it was some kind of shrine to him, tied to hunting, something that meant the world to my father. Inside were strange weapons and creepy tools that scared me just by looking at them. Since I never supported hunters and always avoided that shed like the plague, burning it down was also my way of protesting violence of any kind. While it burned and everyone else scrambled to put out the fire, I ran away again.
I can’t say the Corwins were thrilled to see me, but I burst into their house so suddenly and forcefully that they didn’t even have time to react. I needed Bas, and luckily, I found him there.
Maybe at thirteen, it wasn’t just friendship anymore, but something more. Maybe it was the tender sprouts of first love. All I remember about our last meeting with Bas is how tightly that fifteen-year-old boy hugged me back.
The consequences of my stunt didn’t take long to catch up with me. Beside himself with rage, my father shipped me off to a strict boarding school for girls, far from home, where I was basically imprisoned for seven whole years. It was essentially a jail for troubled teens from wealthy families who wanted to get rid of a child that brought shame to their name.
Manakr Boarding School even looked like a real prison, and we felt like we were in a maximum-security facility. Heavy iron bars covered every window, and the grounds were surrounded by tall concrete walls with not even a crack to slip through. On the one unguarded side, there was a sheer cliff overlooking an endless mountain range, where only the wind and predatory eagles reigned.
At the boarding school, they taught us various precise sciences and disciplines that, according to our parents, were essential for well-bred young ladies. Our teachers were ancient, bitter hags—shriveled, mean old hounds who seemed to find their only joy in life through drilling us relentlessly. We slept in cold rooms on hard, creaky beds. We had to wake up before dawn and go to bed at dusk. There were no weekends, no free time for fun, and no vacations to visit family. From morning till night, we studied and worked, taking turns on cleaning duty with a mop or in the kitchen.
But within that strict regime was another school—a school of survival, where the strong, vicious, and aggressive preyed on the weak, trying to break them. Because you didn’t end up at Manakr for no reason; they didn’t keep quiet, obedient girls here. Every girl had her own rough story, her own life, often torn to pieces. We fought, endured bullying, and waited for betrayal every single day. Sometimes, it was even scary to fall asleep, because someone might smother you with a pillow or gang up on you in the dark. For some girls, the boarding school was nothing short of a torturous hell.
To my horror, in my first days there, I realized something else: the cruelest creature on this planet is a female human. Being at the boarding school was a kind of purgatory for all its residents. You could come out of it charred but hardened, or not come out at all. Not six months went by without one of the girls taking her own life. I saw girls who drowned, hanged themselves, slit their wrists, or jumped into the abyss onto the rocks below. … Seven years of pure terror.
Those who made it to the end were left emotionally scarred for life. And I was no exception.
I could never be the person I once was.
But what helped me survive that hell was the thought that my imprisonment had an end date, and every day I lived through brought me closer to it.
And Bas’s amulet kept me warm.
Every night, I clutched it in my fist, piecing together fragments of my happy memories. There weren’t many in my life, but the ones I had were mostly tied to that boy. Every day, I forced myself to remember his face so I wouldn’t forget, so I wouldn’t lose the memory of the one person who cared about me.
In those seven years, my father never once bothered to visit me. Not that I was waiting for him. Suddenly, I didn’t care what happened to the man who, by some absurd twist of fate, was my biological father. I hated him. Every cell in my body was soaked with hatred for Manakr Boarding School and for him.