Page 34 of The Demon's Tongue

"I couldn't fight back against the system," Miss Pickett explains, her words tumbling out faster now. "So I found a way to benefit from it. It was the only way to survive!"

I nod slowly, feeling a strange mix of emotions churning inside me. "Thank you for being honest, at the very least," I say, my voice soft. "It's more than you've ever given us before."

Miss Pickett's shoulders sag with relief, but I'm not done. I take a step closer, the crystal in my hand glowing ominously.

"But honesty doesn't erase what you've done," I continue. "It doesn't undo the pain, the fear, the loss of innocence. You still have to pay for what you've done to us. Do you realize how many girls you've condemned to death with your selfish actions? How many of us you've sold into a life of suffering?"

Her eyes widen in renewed terror. "Please, Geneva," she begs. "I did what I had to do. You would've done the same in my position!"

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "No, Miss Pickett. I wouldn't have. Because unlike you, I have a conscience."

The crystal pulses in my hand, as if sensing the moment is near. Miss Pickett's gaze is fixed on it, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

I lean in close, savoring the fear radiating from Miss Pickett. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated in terror. I can almost hear her heart pounding from where I stand.

"Miss Pickett, would you like to know something fun?" I whisper, eyes trailing along her quivering features. "There's something I haven't told anyone yet. Something that might interest you."

She swallows hard, her throat bobbing. "W-what's that?"

I smile, slow and predatory. "You should know that I haven't been working along. I've killed two dark elves during my short stint at Sylas' manor. And do you know how I managed to do it?"

Miss Pickett's bottom lip trembles.

"I have a demon on my side."

For a moment, there's silence. Then Miss Pickett lets out a strangled laugh, high-pitched and desperate. Sweat drips down the side of her face. "That's... that's impossible. Demons aren't real. You're lying."

"Am I?" I cock my head, studying her. "You don't have to believe me, Miss Pickett. It doesn't change the truth."

Her laughter dies abruptly, replaced by a look of dawning horror. "No," she whispers. "No, it can't be."

I show off the crystal once more. She tries to take it from out of my hand, but my reflexes are faster than hers. "This isn't just some pretty bauble. It's a soul trap. And now, your soul is mine to take."

Miss Pickett's eyes dart between my face and the crystal, panic etched into every line of her features. "Please, Geneva!" she begs, her voice cracking. She clasps her hands together, as if in prayer. "You don't have to do this. I can change! I can make things right! Please! I can release all of the girls in this orphanage right now. Right at this instant!"

I shake my head, unmoved by her pleas. "It's too late for that. You've had years to change, to show even a shred of compassion. But you never did."

"I was just trying to survive!" she cries out, pressing herself further against the wall.

"So were we," I reply coldly. "The difference is, we didn't destroy lives to do it."

I raise the crystal, its surface beginning to glow with an otherworldly light. Miss Pickett's eyes widen impossibly further, her mouth opening in a silent scream.

"Goodbye, Miss Pickett. Thank you for teaching me many important lessons about the cruelty of the world," I say softly. "May your next life teach you the compassion you lacked in this one."

Miss Pickett's scream pierces the air, a shrill sound that echoes off the walls. I focus my attention on the crystal in my hand, feeling its power pulse through my fingers. The sight before me is mesmerizing. This is something I've daydreamed about, during the many times where Miss Pickett's discipline has made me question my will to live.

Miss Pickett's hands fly to her throat, her nails digging into her skin as she claws desperately. Her eyes bulge, filled with a primal fear I've never seen before. She falls to her knees, her expensive dress pooling around her in a mockery of elegance.

"Help!" she chokes out, her voice barely more than a rasp. "Please, Geneva, don't do this!"

I watch, transfixed, as a silvery mist begins to seep from her mouth and nostrils. Her soul. Disgusting noises bubble out of her throat as she tries to fight the inevitable.

The mist swirls in the air for a moment before being inexorably drawn towards the crystal. I hold it steady, feeling an intense feeling of triumph as Miss Pickett's soul is absorbed into its depths. The crystal thrums with power, and I can already imagine her soul screaming out perpetually while trapped in the confines of this stone.

With a final, rattling gasp, Miss Pickett's body goes limp. She collapses to the floor with a dull thud, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. It's over. She's gone. The woman who tormented us, who sold us like animals, who stripped us of our dignity and humanity—she's finally paid for her crimes.

---