It isn't easy to wake up and find a psychopath staring at you from the foot of your bed—especially one you know has kidnapped at least five women, keeping them locked away for years in some dark corner of her impenetrable mansion. One who hand-picks beautiful redheads to collect like trophies for her macabre obsession. One who buys expensive gifts to try to purchase their love, only for them to vanish without a trace the moment they reject her.
And yet, I'm forced to smile at her. I have to stay by her side all day long. And for what? What's the prize? If I pull this off without her catching on to the plan, I'll earn the "rare privilege" of boarding a plane with her, heading straight into her territory—a place crawling with armed men—to attempt the most dangerous rescue mission in history.
Right now, she and Evangelina are waiting for me outside. I ask myself again: why the hell am I here? Haven't I seen enough evil in my life?
As I run my fingers through my hair in front of the mirror, the truth finally hits me. Like someone flipped a switch, I suddenly know. I'm here because, beneath this paralyzing fear, I am the strongest one in this entire group. I'm here because I would do this even if the others weren't behind me. I'm here because I was forged in the fires of cruelty. I am the best person for this feat because, unlike those handsome billionaires who dream of one day faking their own deaths, my only fantasy is to live.
I stop trembling, open the door, and step out. An armored SUV from our security detail is waiting. The plan is to visit the Cheval Blanc Paris—a hotel Annia is looking to buy—and then keep her entertained throughout the day. We'll figure something out as we go. As I walk along, faking enthusiasm, the psychopath strikes again.
"Later, we'll find the best salon to dye your hair red," she says. "You'll look gorgeous."
I smile, catching a glimpse of Evangelina shaking her head no out of the corner of my eye. But I answer yes—that I'll do it for her. Annia pulls me into an embrace and whispers in my ear, "You're the best. I never want us to be apart."
Inside the vehicle, I make the mistake of mentioning the thickness of the armored glass. That alone is enough to set her off; she starts rambling about her life under the strict watch of her father's men. Then she spends the rest of the ride talking about someone named George, a former bodyguard. According to her, he was a bald animal who looked like a hideous giant, but he was capable of catching a bullet with his teeth to protect her—a man willing to obey the most absurd orders just to see her happy.
I asked her why he wasn't working as her bodyguard anymore. She answered, visibly annoyed:
"George still works for me. But my father said he couldn't be with me all day because he didn't know how to set boundaries."
While we were touring the hotel, Annia ran into two men—billionaires like her—and stayed behind to talk. Evangelina seized the moment to corner me.
"Are you insane? Why did you agree to the red hair? I don't understand you. You can't even hide the panic on your face, and yet you want to put yourself in even more danger?"
Flustered and with tears welling in my eyes, I told her I did it to buy time. I begged her to stop criticizing me. Everything I knew about criminals and villains came from books or movies; I had no idea how to handle myself, so I was just winging it.
She apologized, and I repeated:
"Please, Evangelina, stop scolding me. Look at me. You know my past. Everything about me is improvisation. I don't even know how I'm supposed to act around guys, or how to react when I like someone… let alone how to act in front of a woman who wants to kidnap us."
When Annia returned, she mocked the two wealthy men she'd been talking to. She told us they spent the whole time talking about their therapy sessions.
"Out of all the billionaires in the world," she reflected, "there isn't a single one who doesn't constantly ask themselves, 'Why am I the way I am? Why do I react the way I do?' No one has the answer. And I can assure you, I've been to plenty of psychologists, and I know better than anyone that it's a waste of time. I repeat: nobody has that answer."
I smile at her. But deep down, I'm certain Annia is wrong. I do have the answer. I know exactly why I'm attracted to beauty, why my mind drifts and urges me to dance when the music calls, why I let myself be carried away by pleasure with no rules other than living in the moment. I know why I allow myself to feel desire, to crave touch and sex—because I don't want death to catch me by surprise before I've lived it all. I know the answer to why I am the way I am.
Now, at the salon, while a stylist rambles on about how beautiful my hair will look once the dye is rinsed out, I think of you, my friend. Believe me, I don't want to die before we talk. Thank you for staying by my side even when I'm so far from perfect. I forgive you if you ever broke that oath and judged me; please forgive me, too, for every time I've disappointed you. That's what real friends do, right? I did the best I could, considering I was taken from a funeral and thrown into a new world with no instruction manual other than a contract that went against my very nature.
That's why, now that I'm about to face a death armored in pure evil, I need to tell you. I want you to understand why I am the way I am, and why I react the way I do.
I already told you what my parents did. And even if it was born from the desperation of their own misery—come on! Slamming your car into a semi-truck just to leave this world, without considering your little girl sitting in the back, screaming in terror? That wasn't exactly kind. My memory? Gone. My faith in humanity? Gone. But against all odds, I survived. The scars on my body and my mind… I still carry them. But unlike them—unlike the ones who gave up—I'm still here.
After the hospital, the judge sent me to live with an aunt. The one I only mentioned in passing, saying she didn't love me. The one I didn't want to give any details about because I was always running away from her. Well, friend, it turns out the phrase "an aunt who didn't love me" hides a lot more than that. I swear, it wasn't easy to live through. She never got tired of telling me I was bad, ugly, stupid—a worthless good-for-nothing. Sometimes, she used more than just words to make that clear. And I fought. Boy, did I fight. I stood up to her every single day, even though that monster was three times my size, even though she beat me every time. I always got back up. Even when I was so full of rage that I couldn't speak for weeks, she would just laugh at me. I can still hear her cruel, mocking voice: "The dummy can't even say her own name! Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are?! Who do you think you are?! Nobody—that's what you are. Nobody. You don't even know your own name!"
Yes, friend, God hadn't dealt me a very good hand. How do you think I saw the world? The only way it had been presented to me: as an ugly, desolate place, stripped of every beautiful color except the ones in my own eyes. A world where everyone was trying to tear me apart in some cruel way.
I was brought before the judge again. When he saw me, he gasped.
"Good God! Was this child attacked by a pack of dogs?"
The officer read the report: "We found Carmilla under the bridge. She doesn't speak; hasn't said a word. It took us a while to identify her because, based on her size and condition, we thought she was seven. We now know she's eleven and an orphan."
The judge looked into my eyes and said, "I remember those colors." That's when he realized he was the one who had handed me over to that wicked aunt. He cried. He cried so much when he saw me like that. Out of pure remorse, he personally made it his mission to find a good mother for me. When he asked who was the most saintly of all the candidates who had signed up to adopt, everyone pointed to Carol. Just eight hours later, she was granted custody.
When I saw her arrive, looking so elegant and filling the air with sweet words, I thought she was an angel speaking an unknown language from heaven. I had never heard those kinds of words before. And she truly was an angel of God to me. In her home, in Mary Garden, I learned that something called love existed in this world. I learned there was a place on this planet where stomachaches only came from eating too much chocolate or laughing too hard. A place where, if you were sad, there was a remedy: you could walk through the garden and live surrounded by color and beauty, where the only scents were flowers and home-cooked meals.
Yes, Carol saved me. She had turned her own personal tragedy into a boundless kindness that she poured into me. She gave me her last name and the three pieces of advice that made me who I am—three rules I could understand, which sounded sacred in her voice:
If a song makes your soul tremble: dance. Just follow the rhythm, no matter what people say. Practice makes perfect.
If sadness catches you: look at something beautiful. A flower, a boy you like. Look at him. You'll see that not everything in the world is always gray and rainy. You'll remember there are colors, and there is a sun.
If a love makes your skin tingle: surrender to it. And for God's sake, Carmilla, enjoy life.
Enjoy life… she talked about that a lot. Once she told me:
"Do you remember when you were dancing to a song and I told you my daughter Mary would have loved it? Or when you read that novel and I told you Mary never got to read it?"
I answered, "Yes, Carol. You were so sad, and we went to the garden together."
And she said, "Good. The lesson is that as long as you are alive, every day counts. Every single day. Surround yourself with beauty, music, love, passion—everything that makes you happy. Celebrate. Be good, be responsible, but at the very least, celebrate that you woke up to a new adventure. Always make your way with this advice in mind. Remember: nothing that happened to you was your fault, and you must know that you aren't a victim. You are an indestructible force, one that got back up every time they tried to destroy you."
Do you understand me a little better now, friend? I am the way I am because I owe it to Carol. Every day, I will honor her by living like an adventurer. I might be scatterbrained, even naive at times, but I am going to celebrate life. And if I make mistakes with you or with men, it's because I never knew friendship until you arrived, and I never knew a thing about love until the Longfield brothers. Everything I knew on the subject was learned from books, movies, and my dreams. I didn't arrive at the mansion knowing how to handle relationships or passion. I'm going to make mistakes, and I'm going to forgive myself for every single one of them.
That is exactly why—because I want to live more than anyone else, because nobody could stop me—I am the perfect one to save those girls. To show them that there are still colors left in the world. Even if I'm shaking, scared to death just thinking about it… I know I can do it. Even if Annia is obsessed with my new hair, red as the hell in her soul, I smile at her through the mirror and tell myself: endure. Endure one more time. Tonight, you're going to rescue them all… you are a force of nature.
Today, I can say my own name. Who do I think I am? I am Carmilla Morris, and I swear to you, my friend, before dawn breaks, you will see me walk out of the Vandereck Mansion with every last one of them.