30. Oscar

I examined the scarred and scabby remains of my wound. To be honest, I was repulsed and intrigued at the same time, the skin had almost healed back although a little raw and blistered.

It was a clean cut, thanks to Chae, and shallow as well, digging under the skin and skimming the undersides of my branded flesh. The girl always had a steady hand. Any death would have been quick and painless if it were delivered by Chae Park.

She hadn't visited me after that one time, just a few days ago. I wondered if she had changed much, the girl I remembered was much more cheerful than the one I had met. The one I met felt like she was concentrating on enduring life itself. Granted, the situation was rather trying when we met.


I think the younger kids are avoiding me, perhaps they're scared of me, being the eldest of them all. I saw Wesley a few times, but he wouldn't meet my eyes. I knew he was my cousin, even though he wasn't much like me. Just a wiry tall boy, shrewd and intelligent. And I saw a smaller one, although stouter, peering through my window, merely curious. I pretended not to see him.


It's all my fault. She looked so lost.

When the great migration occurred, my father took it as an opportunity to wander. To be his own man, no matter how ordinary life was. How do I tell Chae we roamed the Grayson territory? That the Grayson territory was no longer looked after by Graysons? To my knowledge, it wasn't revenge at all, nobody cared that Evelyn Grayson died, however cruel it sounded. I wouldn't know much, it's cowardly the way some people hide behind others.

The woman I knew, called herself the Artist. She was a twisted thing, she was already elderly but appeared thirty. She had probably lived at least sixty odd years. She was the one who branded us, and through these brands manipulated us. If one of us were ever free, the others were forced to hunt them down, and commit the inevitable, no matter how we felt.

And although I should have expected it, I never thought that she would kills us to remove the evidence. She never smiled but I had thought of her as an acquaintance at the very least. She never went any further than what she had to do. As though, she herself was branded. She never talked to us, and seemed to look hurt every time she looked at us.

Maybe she was sending others to finish me, maybe she thought I died. Or maybe, she let me off.

There's no way I want to end up like my father. Never.