"Kurt?"
The voice was tiny, high-pitched, and filled with a cautious, heartbreaking warmth.
Kurt flinched and took a slow, painful step back. There, standing behind Emelie, was a small girl in an oversized black cloak.
"Hope?" His voice broke. Kurt shook his head, retreating another step. "No. You... you can't be here. I–"
"Rosie." Diana didn't let him retreat further. She squeezed his hand, her grip firm and grounding. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, but her eyes were sharp. "Didn't you hear what Emelie said? The children are not dead."
"... Really?" Kurt looked at Emelie, almost pleadingly.
Emelie crossed her arms as a tired but triumphant smirk playing on her lips.
"Yes."
"But… how? I felt the explosion."
"Well, you see. What had happened was…"
- A few minutes earlier -
"Hm? It's open." Emelie drifted onto the upper balcony, noting the broken frame and the smear of fresh blood on the stone.
