Chapter 4
1132 Words
Taurus couldn’t take the child away from these wretched people—not for lack of will, but because of two binding reasons. The first was his pact with Gothom: the child was to remain here, in the place Gothom had selected for her using his otherworldly influence. He never revealed to Taurus what he truly intended for the girl, and Taurus, fearing Gothom’s wrath, kept her where she was. But he vowed she would never grow to mirror the ways of her twisted adoptive parents. He would protect her to the end—for he had sworn it upon his very soul.
Taurus watched the little girl grow, her beauty and innocence blooming day by day, drawing him in deeper. Whenever she cried in Vicky’s absence, he would approach and soothe her until she calmed, rewarding him with her sweet smiles and wide, trusting eyes. Yes—she saw him. And that simple truth gave him a strange sense of belonging to her fleeting, human world.
One evening, Vicky returned home exhausted, her expression sour after a long night performing for drunken patrons. She found the child crawling on the dirty floor, long neglected and unswept. With a sigh of irritation, she picked up the baby and placed her roughly on the bed.
“Brinta! Brinta! Where are you, you useless girl?!”
A thirteen-year-old hurried in, out of breath. She had been tasked with watching over the baby in Vicky’s absence.
“I’m sorry, ma’am—I was just using the bathroom,” she mumbled.
“You’re careless and lazy,” Vicky snapped. “You’re good for nothing. Maybe I should sell you off to that fool, Valentino.”
Brinta’s face went pale. “Please, don’t! I promise I’ll do everything you say. Just—don’t send me away.”
Vicky rolled her eyes, already stripping off her clothes to take a bath.
“Relax. He doesn’t want you anyway—he says you’re not even pretty enough. Just heat up the water—I need a massage to calm this aching body.”
Brinta nodded and disappeared to fulfill the order. Taurus watched the scene in silence, bitterness churning in his chest. Vicky was a cruel, selfish woman, and anyone under her roof lived a nightmare. Even now, she barely covered herself, indifferent to modesty. But Taurus found it bizarre how some people still desired her, even though her spirit—and dignity—had long been consumed by vice.
Vicky and her husband Cyrus had transformed their seedy establishment from a bar into something darker—exploiting the vulnerable under the guise of adoption. Their place had become a refuge for society’s worst—predators, traffickers, and criminals who thrived in the shadows, far from the eyes of the law.
Taurus was yanked from his grim thoughts by Vicky’s voice, sharp and mocking.
“You’re a strange little girl… I’ve never seen a child as beautiful as you. The older you get, the more breathtaking you become. Maybe fate brought you to me, since I can’t have kids of my own. If I had a daughter like you, I’d never let anyone near her.”
Taurus frowned deeply. Her words stirred unease in his heart. What was she planning?
Suddenly, Cyrus burst into the room, clearly in an altered state. Taurus sighed. It was rare to see the man sober.
“My lovely wife… I missed you,” he slurred.
Vicky pushed him away, annoyed. “Not now. I’m exhausted.”
He looked her over with longing. “But I need you… I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
She scoffed and threw a towel at him. “Clearly. But you’ll need to wait. I’ve had enough of the stench of drunks today. Go wash up first.”
She closed the bathroom door behind her, shutting out his gaze.
Brinta returned with the water and offered to help Vicky bathe, but Vicky declined coldly.
“Leave. Cyrus will help me. I don’t need you now.”
Brinta stepped outside—only to be caught off guard by Cyrus, who leaned in and muttered something low and ominous, warning her to be ready later that night. He sent her off with a harsh glare and a threatening tone.
Disappointed, Cyrus turned back to the child, who sat quietly watching. But Taurus was beside her, gently brushing his hand through her golden hair. She giggled with joy, responding to his presence with bright smiles and cheerful babble.
“Hey, you... who are you smiling at?” Cyrus muttered.
From behind the door came Vicky’s sarcastic voice:
“Didn’t I tell you kids can sense things we can’t? You’re acting like she’s going to answer you.”
Cyrus stared at the child, strangely unsettled.
“What if she’s not normal? Ever since she came here, I’ve felt like something’s watching us... constantly.”
Just then, Vicky stepped back into the room, Cyrus reached toward her instinctively. She stopped him with a teasing remark:
“Why don’t you go shower before the *eyes* you’re talking about decide you’re not worth watching anymore?”
She shoved him toward the bathroom and slammed the door.
Turning to the child, Vicky approached with a tilted head. Taurus, alarmed, tried to shield the girl’s sight again.
“When you grow up, you’ll turn heads,” Vicky whispered. “You’re not ordinary. Are you... something else?”
The girl laughed softly, staring at her with innocent amusement.
“Why do I feel like you understand me... like you’re laughing at me, too?”
Vicky reached for a strand of her own blonde hair, her expression darkening with strange delight.
“I’ve been so caught up in work... I forgot to give you a name. What would suit you, I wonder?”
The child opened her eyes wide, pointing her tiny finger upward, babbling something incomprehensible. Vicky’s smile twisted into something dark.
“You’re beautiful… but do you know what’s even more beautiful than beauty?”
She leaned in.
“*Sin.* Yes, sin is the most alluring thing in this world. And you… you’re just like it. I’ll name you Sin—it suits you. It fits what you’ll become.”
She laughed to herself and collapsed onto the bed, seemingly pleased by the darkness in her own thoughts.
Taurus stood frozen, her words stabbing into his mind like blades.
**Sin?**
His beloved, gentle little girl—named *Sin*?
No.
She was no sin.
She was his redemption, his return to grace, the one pure soul he had ever known.
How could she be called something so vile, when her presence brought him back from the brink?
She wasn’t *Sin*.
She was **Virtue** itself.
And he would never let filth define her otherwise.
he will call her virtue
- Writer
