It seems true that whenever a good thing happens to you, a bad thing ought to follow. Yesterday, the beloved woman who'd taken care of her and fed her knowledge on paper spoons gave her the gift of a lifetime. A gem, a bundle of knowledge. That is, in words Layana deemed simple, a book. It was something good, she decided. And she was taught to love all things good.

But today, as she kneeled before her beloved, the lines of good and bad blurs. Maybe they've got it all wrong, perhaps, the good initiated the bad all along.

"She won't wake up." Sally's small voice echoed through the barely lit, barely furnished room, bouncing through the walls and sending chills down the five children's spine.

Cathy was still, her pale, liver-spotted feet gawking under the covers. Layana continued to shake the freezing lady, breath hitched.

Andriette mumbled something she could not comprehend beside her. Layana didn't pull her eyes away from the body that would not wake up, mind still racing despite her slow push and pulls on Cathy.

The silence continued to envelope Layana's head. The drip, drip, drip, from the leaky ceiling paused, as if it, as well, ought to pay respect for the confusion that swirled around her. Layana and the others stayed there, kneeling before Cathy. No one seemed to talk, or at least, Layana couldn't hear them over the murmurs of Cathy's old tales. She could've sworn she knew what was happening. She knew, but she didn't quite understand.

There was a single creeping feeling at the pit of her gut. Something is wrong, her gut decided. But her mind countered with a, what is wrong? Exactly?

Cathy won't wake up.

Though she did seem particularly heavy lidded when she came back from when the guards called her. Why did the guards call her? That wasn't something that usually happened. Or ever, at all.

But Layana's head was starting to ache, and the cold from Cathy's body started seeping into her own fingers. Only then has she realized she'd been clutching the old lady's arm like a vice. The others' voices resurfaced back to her ears; she blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected herself to zone out, she wasn't one to do that. Layana shook off the tingling feeling in her skin when she released Cathy's arm.

"Maybe she's just tired, like Mason said," Andriette, the thin-eyed girl with jagged hair spoke up.

"I don't...something's weird," Sally, the girl with red hair and emerald green eyes said, rocking on the ground. She turned to Layana, whose matted brown hair hang around her face. For once Layana was glad for them, they hid the clueless look on her face.

"What do you think, Layana?" Sally asked.

Layana didn't answer, only pondered.

She came up with a rather quick solution.

Briskly, she stood up and fetched the covers that were folded neatly on the other side of the room. The others watched her as she unfolded it, dusted it, and approached Cathy. In a swift motion, the old lady was swaddled with the cloth. Layana tucked her cold arms in carefully.

"What are you doing?" Andriette asked.

"She's cold, maybe that's why she won't wake up." It didn't make sense, even to Layana, but she's cold, and nobody wants to be this cold, right?

She stepped back as she finished tucking her in, leaving her wrinkled head exposed to the air. Cathy's white hair reached her elbows, and when she laid down it looked all the more beautiful as it spread through the soot-covered floor. Layana often asked when she'd get her own white hair, but Cathy only snorted as answers.

Cathy was not a sweet grandma, never was, and surely never will be. But she wasn't evil, either. Perhaps she was just snarky and sarcastic.

But when it came to Layana, she couldn't seem to resist, couldn't seem to give her favorite one a single snarky response. Every night, she would sit down underneath the silvery white light, invisible floating dust crowning her head as she conjured a single book from her pocket. She gives a rare smile to Layana and calls them over.

Those were the rarest of moments where they get to see her smile, or hear her laughs. Although she lectures them all day with vocabulary and other subjects, these nights were the only nights she would teach them about something far more important than literature.

These rarest nights, she talks about certain tales.

Layana's gut clenched at the thought.

Her uneasy smile fell into a frown when the metallic clanking of heavy footsteps rang outside.

The five children quickly set into motion as Ian, the quiet dark boy, threw a duffle bag across the room, right into Mason's hands. He kicked it under the covers on the far corner of the room.

It was the usual habit Cathy had trained them to do whenever they hear the guards outside their room. They didn't quite understand why though.

Metallic juggling of keys signalled rang just outside the door. It burst open, revealing tall guards clad in black suits that covered all traces of skin.

Why are the guards here? Layana thought, and there was a strike of bitterness in the voice inside her head.

Her hands dampened beside her as she watched the guard step forward. Another identical guard moved to Cathy and placed her body over the black, human-sized bag. With a swift motion, Cathy is zipped up inside it.

"H--hold on..." her voice came out hoarse, what are they doing? The guard carried her over his shoulder with such carelessness that made Layana's blood boil.

"Where are you taking her?" Layana's jaw squared, there was a fire in her eyes and despite the ache in her bones or the twisting in her gut, she stood as tall as she can in front of the guard. Behind her, the others called her name. Layana didn't listen, they can't just take Cathy away!

"Please...she isn't feeling well yet; let her rest," She reached out a hand to grab the towering guard. A sharp gasp. Her hand was slapped to the side.

The guard clicked his tongue under the mask, "It's none of your business, kid. Stay away."

"What do you mean?" Andriette quickly retaliated from behind, she didn't step out but her voice was laced with the same rage that burned in her eyes. "She's still sleeping."

A laugh came from the guard, "Sleeping? Keep lying to yourself." he mumbled something under his breath.

"Please Layana," Sally's whisper appeared from beside her, tugging her wrist back. Layana's fists curled tighter; she shook the girl off her arm.

Spreading her two bony arms in a courageous show, she said, "Give her to me. You're not taking her anywhere."

"Are you scared?"

The guard's words made her tilt her head.

"Are you afraid she's not coming back? I can't promise you she will." Smug was evident in his stance, and his voice dipped lower. The guard leaned closer and almost whispered, though the silence in the room still carried his voice, "I can't promise you she's here at all."

The guard turned with Cathy in his arms, the door slammed, and he was gone.

Layana released a loud exhale, hands still tightly clamped into a fist. She blinked out of her trance, raising the bony fist up to her sight, what was she planning to do with them? She knew she wanted Cathy back, that's the only thing on her mind.

Layana turned back to the others, whose backs stayed flattened against the far wall. It's so cold here, Layana stopped herself from rubbing the part in her chest that seemed to long for something.

"Does anyone know where they're taking her?" She asked.

"We know as much as you do, Layana," Andriette exhaled and sank to the ground. Her hands seeming to shake, but she didn't let it show.

Ian, the boy with bronze skin and tight curls, replied with a calm tone, too quiet, "We should just let it slide. They did take her yesterday, didn't they? And she came back safe."

Sally, fiddling her fingers as she placed her legs close to her chest, said, "We should really ask her what they do with her."

"Cathy came back with no energy! They're tiring her!" Layana worried, clawing at her lips as she paced around the room.

But even that single motion tired her, so she collapsed onto one corner, the one where the papers and ink conjured together to create a rather small pile. She spent most of her time there, writing poems and reading them, understanding knowledge through questions and words.

That's what always went through in her life, asking questions, getting answers, writing poems, and understanding words. It was knowledge enough for her, it was what Cathy taught her. But now as she looked at the pile, the silence hanging in the air, the unanswered questions leaving holes in her heart. Or was it the Cathy's disappearance itself left those holes? Questions, questions, it annoyed her that she can't get answers.

Layana tasted blood, and she stopped her own sharp fingers from tearing through her lips.

Exhaling, Layana opened one of the most recent poems...

For the Living
Tales from the past,
move tears to your eyes
Words from the dead,
live in your head.

When unknown cages barricade you,
break free, freedom
He will open the door for you

Speak up, freedom
He is with you
When the dark tries to manipulate you
hold on, freedom

Put on your armor
He is with you

When the battle appears over you,
Do not cower
Wield the two-edged sword before you,
May He always be with you.

Layana's forehead creased in curiosity. Her puzzled eyes scanned the poem, "who is He?"

~~~

That night, she had skipped dinner-the usual soup and meat-and went straight to bed instead. Calling it a bed is an overstatement; it was more so a bundle of blankets laid at the floor to make a makeshift, usable bed. But Layana couldn't sleep, even when Mason, the blond boy with strikingly blue eyes, had kindly offered her his blanket for extra warmth. She should have been asleep by then, cuddled up with all the people in her world.

Instead, she stared blankly at the tiny streak of silver light, clashing with the darkness of the room. Wide awake. Now that she has thought of it, she has never seen the silver light spilling from the very top of the high ceiling before.

The small piece of tarpaulin that once covered that spot in the ceiling shook violently, its last strand holding on for dear life. Until at last, the tarpaulin gave way into a stream of silver light, falling into the ground with a loud swish. She wondered if it woke any of her family.

But it was the least of Layana's worries, Cathy's poem was running rampant inside her head, tweaking her never-ending curiosity box.

Soon enough, she exhaled in defeat. Slowly easing out of the covers, Layana sneaked past snoring Mason and Ian, sleep-talking Sally, and quiet Andriette. She held her breath, as if it does anything to quieten her footsteps.

Finally, she reached her poem-infested corner. Shuffling around, she tried to find the poem once more. Layana took one poem and placed it under the silver light on the floor, it was her old poem. She took another one out, this time, it was Sally's.

This went on for what seemed like forever, always taking out old poems, activities and lessons Cathy had taught them.

Nearly giving up, she thrusted her hand into the pile, hoping she got the right one. Instead, it was an old pouch. Layana pressed her palm to her forehead in disappointment. At this point, she'd be here 'till Ian wakes up, and that's saying something.

As she carefully picked up all the poems she had discarded, the old pouch caught her eye. Only now had she remembered the old pouch, it was her grandma's inheritance.

Layana poked the duffle bag, back rigid straight with tension. Slowly, she zipped it open, feeling the vault in her heart tear open just a little bit, that night...that night before the guards took her away. She could still remember it vividly in her mind, as if nothing had changed at all. As if she was still in this very corner, talking to her...giving her this duffle bag.

Wait, she paused. The duffle bag, she said some weird things that night didn't she?

"'Not now, you'll know tomorrow,' she smiled sadly at the girl. 'Both for the bag and for your question earlier.'"

Tomorrow is today...did she know what would happen that night? Did she somehow know that the guard's would call for her? How? Why? Questions swarmed Layana's head once again, yet no one was there to answer.

Except the bag.

The bag that contained Cathy's inheritance.

Slowly, she unlatched it, curiosity sparkling in her eyes as she opened the pouch. Her eyebrow raised as she peeked inside, she couldn't quite believe her eyes.

A single book.

A smile crept up her face. Oh, she thought, as she reached for the book and placed it under the sparkling, silver light.

The Holy Bible.

The title was written in formal, non-cursive, silver writing. It was embedded in the old, beaten leather cover of the book as the sides crumbled from age.

She flipped the book open, the writings were small and non-cursive. Layana smiled as she caught a wisp of an old book's sweet, musky scent. Cathy never let them near her small collection of books in this very duffle bag. She just wondered where the other ones were.

Layana knew it was the bag they throw across the room and hide under the blankets every time the guards come in, but she didn't know how the other books could suddenly disappear.

Her eyes snapped open as a loud thud came from the sleeping bodies. A thin figure groggily moved around in the shadows. Layana froze and kept herself hidden, just between the darkness and the silver light.

She squinted closer at the figure before exhaling silently in relief, it was just Mason. By the looks of him, the closed eyes and disoriented moves suggested that he was simply sleepwalking.

Layana gathered her poems and slid the book back into the pouch before standing up carefully. She held her breath as she sneaked past sleep-walking Mason, sleep-talking Sally, snoring Ian and quiet Andriette. And finally back to her place, snuggling closer to the warm blanket, she stared up at the crumbling ceiling. Curiosities crawled around the wrinkles in her brain and seemed to make their own colony. What could Cathy's silent inheritance mean? Layana thought. How could the other books disappear? And who is Him?

Cathy's words echoed through her head as she slowly succumbed to sleep...

"It was my inheritance for all of you, my freedom."