Two hundred and sixty years ago, my parents were burned alive by a man I swore with my life to take revenge on. No matter how hard I tried, I could never let go of that memory, because that was what I lived for.The night was bitterly cold and unusually dark. Everyone in the house was fast asleep except me. Then I heard voices—strange voices coming from outside, or so I thought.I hurried toward my parents' room, but as I reached the door, I realized the voices were coming from inside.“Please, don't hurt my children,” my mother pleaded. “Let him go,” she cried, referring to my little brother, who clung to her like a frightened child refusing to let go.I placed my ear against the door, trying to hear what they were talking about. Instead, I heard the cry of my little brother.The moment the door slowly drifted open, I saw everything. My mum and dad were kneeling before a huge, heavily built man, a scar running along the side of his face. He held a wooden stake in his hand and drove i
Last Updated : 2026-09-17 Read more