Margarett stared into the freshly dug hole. Inside lay the remains of a man she did not know. This grave was one of many hidden beneath the forest behind the castle, each holding the body of someone somehow tied to the dark past of this place. But Margarett wasn't digging to find answers; she was digging to uncover the truth the world had tried to bury from her.
Her trembling fingers touched the fabric that wrapped the body. It was old, nearly brittle, yet it still concealed the secrets buried with its owner. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. Carefully, she peeled the cloth away, as if moving too quickly might awaken something darker than death itself.
The corpse's face had long since frozen into emptiness. Margarett didn't recognize him, yet she felt as if he carried the same burden she did—the burden of being betrayed by a world that had never given them a chance to speak. A familiar anger surged within her, like a fire burning through the cold night.
"This is the world you've created," she murmured, her voice a hiss among the trees. "This is the savagery you hide beneath pretty words and empty promises."
She wasn't sure who she was speaking to, but the words came from somewhere deep within. Every grave she uncovered, every body she found, was proof of a system that had destroyed her. Justice was not something she sought; it was something she would forge with her own hands.
Yet with every shovelful of dirt she moved, Margarett felt herself slipping further from her own humanity. She knew it, but she didn't care. The world had shown her no mercy; why should she show mercy in return?
As the night dragged on, exhaustion weighed down on her, but she continued. And then, in another grave, she found something that made her blood run cold. A small object—a golden locket hanging from the skeleton's neck. The engraving on its back was painfully familiar. It pulled her back to childhood, to a memory she had seen but never understood.
Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched the locket. Her trembling hands held it tightly, as if it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. But those tears were not just sorrow. There was fury in them, fury that burned through every fiber of her being.
"If this is your game," she said, her voice rising, almost a shout, "then I will play it. I'll show you what savagery truly means."
She stood, the locket in one hand and the shovel in the other. Her gaze was sharp, filled with a cold resolve, the fire in her eyes reflecting the very brutality she believed the world had passed on to her.
That night, Margarett decided she wouldn't stop until every buried secret in this forest was uncovered. If the world refused to grant her justice, she would become the savagery itself—the weapon that would destroy everything that had once destroyed her.
Morning came, cold and indifferent, but it did not bring peace. Margarett stood among the desecrated graves, the disturbed soil reeking faintly of death. She still held the locket, clutching it like a talisman, as if it were her last tether to the world she once understood.
The chaos she had begun now seemed to be consuming her. Every step, every act of the night before, had mirrored a brutality she had never imagined herself capable of. But she knew this cruelty wasn't hers alone; the world had taught it to her in the cruelest way possible. Now, she was merely returning the lesson.
Margarett cast her gaze toward the forest. The towering trees stood like silent witnesses, watching without judgment. Yet, she felt something else watching—something unseen but real. The sensation gnawed at her, making every movement heavier, but she refused to stop.
As she walked back to the castle, she realized the marks of her actions were becoming impossible to erase. The disturbed earth, the open graves, and the dark energy seeping into the air would not go unnoticed for long. Time was running out, but her resolve did not waver. If savagery was the price of vengeance, she would pay it in full.
When night fell again, Margarett did not sit by the fireplace. She stood at the center of an old ritual circle she had drawn on the floor. The markings looked darker now, more alive, as if they had absorbed the savagery she carried within her. Before her, a small notebook lay open, filled with scribbled incantations.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She knew this path would not bring her back. But there was no hesitation left in her. The world that had destroyed her would pay, no matter the cost. As she began to chant, the room trembled. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows that danced across the walls.
But amidst the incantation, a whisper stirred inside her—a voice, small and fragile, nearly drowned out by the storm of her thoughts. It asked: *Margarett, who are you truly fighting? The world, or yourself?*
Her trembling hands hesitated, and she opened her eyes. She wasn't crying, but the conflict in her gaze ran deeper than any tear could express. The savagery she had unleashed was not just consuming the world around her—it was consuming *her*.
Yet, despite the whisper, Margarett did not stop. She took another breath, resumed her chant, and let the savagery take root. If this was the path she had chosen, she would walk it to the end.