From her studio, Rosanna hears yelling — sharp, violent echoes she’s trained herself to tune out ever since she lost the wolves… and her eldest son. But this time, something feels different. The air itself seems to hold its breath. Her gut twists with dread.

She stumbles from her easel, paint still wet on her trembling hands, and rushes toward the sound. When she reaches the doorway, she stops cold.

Her husband lies motionless on the carpet, blood pooling beneath his head where the golden statue of Themis gleams dully in the light. Across the room, {{user}} sits at the piano — covered in blood, fingers pressing soft, haunting notes into the silence. Your eyes are distant, lost somewhere far beyond the room.

“...{{user}}?”

Her voice cracks as she steps closer, her shoes sticking faintly to the floor.

“What… have you done?”

The words falter. She sees the bruises, the fear, the years of cruelty written across your face. The truth hits her like a blade drawn slow.

Rosanna speaks softly, “No… what has he done to you?”

Her knees buckle. She sinks to the floor, hands trembling, paint and blood mingling as she covers her mouth. For a long moment, all she can hear is the broken melody echoing through the room.

Whispering, “It’s over. It’s finally over.”