Chapter 18: Guilt by Obedience

Camela's voice trembled. "What does it mean?"

Vincent stared without blinking. "You are marked and chosen. If you leave now, you are betraying her blood.”

"I didn't choose this," she snapped.

He stepped closer. "But you obeyed."

She took a step back. The rose felt hot in her hand, and its thorns poked into her skin.

"You told me I had a choice."

"You did," Vincent quietly corrected her. "But now, the choice is between guilt or death."

His gaze shifted to the rose she was holding. The petals had turned to ash, leaving only the thorny stem in her hand.

“No,” she whispered. “I want to leave.”

Vincent nodded. “You carried the rose. That binds you. That marks you.”

“So?” she asked barely audibly. “What does that mean?”

He didn't respond.

Amid the silence, the stem glowed red, broke in two, and was crushed to dust. Blood flowed from her palm, where the thorn had stung her skin.

“This means the binding is broken,” Vincent said. “But the debt remains.”

Camela flinched as the pain spread up her wrist. She raised her voice through the pain.

“What debt? What do you want from me?” She blurted out.

"Vincent walked toward her, the silk flag behind him rustling silently.

"Each bride must earn her position. You accept the rose. Now you must pay."

Camela shook her head. "No, I refuse."

"Refusal is guilt."

As she began to speak, Vincent snapped his fingers, causing the room to shift. The silk curtains parted, revealing a hidden door where ancient brides dressed in red silk were kneeling. Camela's heart raced.

"They obeyed, and look what happened," Vincent said, moving closer.

"They chose to obey, even when broken. Some believed that silence would save them."

He gestured toward the kneeling figures. "Do you see? They kept the peace and truth. However, peace comes at a cost.”

Camela stared at her mother's face on the flag, recalling the whispers in the glass and the hidden tunnels.

"I do not want such peace," She said softly.

Vincent stepped forward. "But you're carrying the signs." He said leaning closer, and placed his palm over the wound on her wrist.

Camela flinched. "Don't touch me."

He withdrew his hand, taking a step back. "I will not heal you."

"Obedience leads to guilt, Camela. Not disobedience," He whispered.

A woman's sob echoed behind the silk screen. It revealed a woman bound in silk, crying.

"This is what it looks like when obedience is broken,” He said, gesturing.

Then he turned to leave. "You may leave now. But you must repay the blood debt. Find and free her…Or the guilt will continue."

Camela staggered back. "Who is she?"

Vincent turned back and replied. "She has your face, but she is not you yet."

Suddenly, he disappeared through a hidden door, and the silk curtains fell, leaving her alone.

Camela took a deep breath, her wrist wounds still burning and her legs trembling. She looked in the direction where Vincent had walked.

A path was open, illuminated by red silk lanterns that dripped red. She took a step, blood on her hand, pain and rage combined.

"I'm coming," She whispered and followed the path through.

The walls were alive with murmurs—a song of broken brides. At the end of the passage, she discovered a small cell door. Behind it, a woman lay broken on the ground. Silk ropes had cut deep into her flesh.

Camela’s eyes widened. “Are you… Alive?”

The woman nodded weakly.

"I was told to free you," Camela explained, kneeling by her side.

The woman coughed and said barely audibly. "You must have to choose."

"What?"

"Will you take our place or let us leave?"

Camela remained silent, holding eye contact while tears streamed down her face. Suddenly, the cell door slammed shut, trapping her inside.

The ropes around the woman's wrist tightened by unseen hands, and her mother's flag unfolded on the wall.

From the shadows, Vincent's voice rang out, "Choose guilt or grace...and be careful what happens next."

Red silk dripped around the cell, and Camela realized she had nowhere left to run. The walls trembled and the red silk fell across her shoulders like a veil.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the silence —not hers, but one from a memory. She blinked, and the room transformed into a white hallway with cold floors.

There stood her mother, with bare feet, she moved forward, her dress stained with blood. “Don’t take her!” her mother cried out.

Camela stood frozen, as she watched her mother’s final moments while guards pulled her back.

A man in white gloves turned to face the shadows. "The child is prepared." Camela's heart raced.

Vincent's voice echoed again, "This is your legacy."

"No," she replied quietly, and the vision faded.

She found herself back in the room, holding a silver locket—her mother’s.

She stared at it in confusion. "Where did this come from?"

"You unlocked it," Vincent clarified, "by obeying."

He tossed something into the fire, and a scroll tied with red string emerged from the smoke. He handed it to her.

"What is this?" Camela inquired.

"This is a task. Complete it before dawn. If you do, the guilt is lifted. You get clean. If not..." He left his sentence unfinished.

She unwrapped the scroll and saw a name written on it.

"Luca?" She asked, shocked.

Vincent's expression darkened. "Your cousin—the one who ran away."

Camela felt a tightness in her chest. "He's just a child," She exclaimed.

"He's a traitor," Vincent replied firmly. "He witnessed something he shouldn’t have seen, and now he's in hiding. If he reveals what he saw in the chapel..."

She glanced at the scroll again. "You want me to silence him."

Vincent remained silent, but his lack of words spoke volumes.

In her hand, the scroll turned to ash. A door opened behind her, and a cold wind blew in. She turned around; outside, the path was narrow and lined with red roses that moved as if they were alive.

"You have until the bell rings," He whispered.

Camela stepped out into the night. The forest twisted around her, and the roses murmured, "Do not fail."

She quickened her pace, feeling uneasy. In the trees, flashes of her mother’s angry and accusing face appeared.

"You made me do this,” She whispered.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching. A boy ran across the path, barefoot and covered in mud.

"Luca!" Camela shouted as she grabbed him.

He stopped, frozen in his tracks, his eyes wide with surprise. "Camela?"

"Come with me! Right now!" she urged him.

"No," he replied, shaking his head firmly. "I know what they forced you to do."

His voice trembled. "You're just like them now."

"I'm not..." Camela insisted.

"You wear the ring—the mark." He pointed at her hand where the black ring glimmered faintly.

Camela hesitated for a moment. "I didn’t choose this."

Luca stepped back cautiously. “Then make your choice now: let me go,” he urged.

Her heart raced in her chest. "If I release you…they'll kill me."

He looked intently at her. "So you're going to kill me first?" Luca asked quietly.

Silence lingered between them.

She looked down at the rose, dripping blood, with its thorns twisted. Vincent's voice rang through her head: obey or perish.

Camela took a deep breath, as she picked a rose, held it tightly, and then dropped it. It hissed and black smoke began to rise from the ground.

Luca gasped, "What did you just do?"

The sky grew dark, the trees howled, and the rose on the ground caught fire, turning red.

Camela grabbed his hand. "Run!"

They ran through the woods.

But behind them —

A roar erupted.

A fiery fox with Vincent's eyes emerged from the shadows.

Luca screamed.

Camela hesitated for a moment but then pushed him forward. "Go!"

"I'm not leaving you."

"GO!"

He ran off.

The fox surrounded Camela. "You disobeyed," Vincent said, speaking from its mouth.

She raised her arms defiantly. "I will not kill a child."

"You already have. Your obedience led to your mother's death. Now your disobedience will cost you your life."

As the flames intensified, she screamed and then—

A familiar voice—her mother's—softly urged, “Camela…Close your eyes.”

She obeyed without hesitation.

Darkness enveloped her.

Silence followed.

Then—

A whisper broke through: "Open them."

When she opened her eyes, she found herself no longer in the forest but she stood in a grand hall with stone walls, iron mirrors reflecting her image, and red silk covering every surface. An empty throne loomed at the end while masked figures in white, black, and gold silently observed her presence.

Vincent appeared beside her. "You have been summoned for judgment."

"By whom?" Camela breathed out, her voice trembling slightly.

His smile remained calm as he replied, "By those who gave the ring." The black ring on her finger pulsed gently against her skin.

A man wearing a red mask stepped forward, speaking in an old, cold voice, he said.

"Camela Castellano." "Do you admit your crime?"

"What crime?" She asked softly as fear gripped her like ice along her spine.

The red-masked man raised his hand, and a door swung open behind the throne.

From the darkness, her mother emerged.

Alive.

Smiling, but cruel.

A soft, pale light illuminated her face.

Camela felt her breath caught in her throat.

"GUILTY," she said.