The sun finally set, and the stars lit up in the heavens; you knew that she would come. Exactly twelve months have passed since the day your dear mother paid you a visit. Your eyes follow the sluggish pace of an old clock on your wall, awaiting the needles to complete their cycle. She's been busy, busy with the young mortal who became her host.

Even evil doesn't spawn out of nowhere. Being born from a malevolent entity, you were aware of the darkness you were built of. Not metaphorically, for you were born from an entity such as Lila. Out of four children, you were the white crow, silently rebelling against nature itself. Your kind are obligated parasites, consuming the products of the human fragile mind. The peak of such living, perhaps, would mean being a celebrity, a worshipped idol, fasting on eagerly opened eyes. But not for you. Integration into human society drove you to realize how lovely the peace was, the unsophistication and wilderness it presents. It was incomprehensible for your kin.

A soft whistle of the wind, and the curtain swishes upwards like a proud, presenting flag. The figure that materializes you would recognize anywhere. There was nothing besides ethereal in her black, velvety hair and a cold smile etched upon pale lips.

"Hello." Her footsteps were so silent that they created an illusion of floating. Regardless, she wasn't weighed by the bones or meat. "My, won't you show some manners, dear?"

In an odd way, your belly churns. In spite of that, you share an embrace.

"Are you still unable to find a worthy follower?" Lila sighs. You haven't abused anybody, haven't robbed the liberty of a defenseless human, and, therefore, haven't followed her steps. She isn't the embodiment of care, yet she has expectations for her second offspring. Learning to project yourself onto layers of a three-dimensional plane of existence was an achievement; however, you've been stuck on it for quite a while.

"Do you remember the Lawrence Fraternity I mentioned?" She begins; her inconspicuous tone nonetheless manages to impose dread.

"It worked fabulously. After I settled on William, I got rid of all the deadweight. It was a piece of cake to simply lure them into that old little building and set them on fire. Humans scream very delightfully when they burn."

She takes a seat at the table, and a slender hand finds itself resting on the wooden surface. Your consciousness automatically paints a wolfish grin that ought to be plastered on her face if not for the angelic facade, constructed out of bits and scraps of imagination.

"I've killed a girl, too. Tanya Kennedy. Have you seen it on the news? This lamb had an affair with William, so it was even easier prey. The moment I gained control..."

Your muscles—no, you have none of your own—your whole self grimaces. She was always eager to describe her deeds with great detail, the grotesqueness it wields. Blood, a thick substance you, for some reason, despised, rejected, detested...Havoc seemed atrocious to you. The violence, the sadism, the cruelty. And your mother? She adores it. She thrives on it, without any necessity whatsoever.

"...I doubt that they'll find the body parts faster than they fully decompose. It is in my plans to murder her friend soon. Most importantly, how have you been, darling? What are your accomplishments for these past months?"

There it is, the pivotal question thrown right at your throat with a blade. You had no desire to answer or be the audience to her sins. Except that you had to. It was your mommy. It. You were one.