The Devil's Touch

*Elena's POV* The house was eerily silent, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the living room. I couldn’t remember the last time it wasn’t. It was always just me and my father—always had been since that night, years ago, when I lost her. My mother. The one person who could have made this house feel like a home. I leaned against the window, gazing out at the quiet street below. The autumn leaves danced in the wind, a reminder of how much time had passed since the accident. So much time, yet the pain still felt fresh, raw. She’d been gone for so long, but in moments like this, when the house felt too empty, I could still hear her voice. Her laughter. The warmth that used to fill every room. But all that was left now was my father. My distant, cold father. He never talked about her. Never let his guard down. I knew it was his way of coping, but it didn’t make it any easier. As an only child, I was left to fend for myself, to figure out the world alone. And in a world like ours—where shadows lurked and loyalty meant everything—being alone wasn’t a blessing. I sighed, pulling away from the window and glancing at the clock. It was getting late. My father would be home soon. His footsteps echoed in my mind as I wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like if things were different. If the accident had never happened. If we could have been a real family. But some things, some wounds, never healed. ---