Through The Mists. Translated into Simplified “Modern English”. Chapter Nine. The Harvest of Jealousy.

I have no idea how far we travelled during our conversation, but judging by the changes in the scenery, it must have been a considerable distance. When I finally took notice of our surroundings, I realized we were moving through an area characterized by numerous secluded spots and quiet hideaways. There was no visible road to guide a newcomer, making the place an endless maze for anyone unfamiliar with its layout. At the same time, it felt like a perfect refuge for the weary or the hunted who needed a safe haven.

The atmosphere was noticeably heavier compared to what I had recently experienced. The wind, though not cold, carried a faint chill I hadn’t felt before.

The trees appeared darker and cast lingering shadows beneath them. The flowers lacked the brilliance and fragrance I had admired at the Home of Rest. The whole environment seemed to carry a feeling that the worst of sorrow had recently passed, though it remained uncertain whether peace would come to fill the void left behind.

My companion soon turned off the path and told me to follow him. As he moved forward, he wove his way through the low-hanging branches of the trees. I had to quicken my pace and carefully watch where he went because the thick foliage threatened to hide him from my view. A dozen steps behind us, our path was already erased, and I kept wondering how Cushna could move forward with such confidence, as if he knew exactly where he was going.

I also noticed a strange moisture rising from the leaves. It seemed like it would quickly drench us if we had much farther to go under these conditions.

But what unsettled me even more was that I saw the colour slowly fading—first from Cushna’s robes and then from my own—as we advanced. However, since I was too busy clearing my way through the thick undergrowth, I had to hold back my questions for the moment.

When we finally emerged from the trees, our once-delicate blue and pink robes had turned dark grey. What surprised me even more was that, despite the heavy mist and dew that had soaked everything around us, our clothes remained completely dry. As I caught up with Cushna, he smiled at my confusion and, without waiting for me to ask, began explaining this strange phenomenon.

“This,” he said, “is one of the most compassionate and thoughtful arrangements made by our Father. Anyone who comes here to visit or help one of the souls in this place undergoes this transformation as they near their destination. The purpose is to meet them on equal terms, making it impossible for them to see any difference in our condition. This allows us to offer them greater help without making them feel more aware of their past suffering.

“As you will soon see with Marie, everyone in this place has gone through unimaginable agony. They are now in a state of rest, caught between the pain of their past and the uncertainty of what comes next. This is the quiet after the storm, where the soul, still haunted by recent suffering, is hesitant to wake from the numb relief it has found. They are not yet strong enough to fully embrace hope, nor do they have the confidence to trust that they are safe. The only way to gently bring them out of this state is through the presence of messengers from the Hills of Wisdom, who offer reassurance and help them believe in the hope they have just begun to glimpse.”

"This change in our appearance, then, is just another way love is expressed?" I asked.

"Exactly," he replied. "Nothing but love."

Our path now led down a gentle slope between the hills, but before reaching the valley, we turned to go around a dense cluster of trees with thick foliage and low-hanging branches that brushed the ground. When we reached the far side, I realized that the trees were concealing the entrance to a peaceful little valley, where a single house stood—the first I had seen in the entire area.

The secluded setting made it a perfect retreat for someone seeking solitude. Natural barriers surrounded it, creating a sense of privacy without looking uninviting. There were no visible paths or signs of recent visitors, making it almost impossible for anyone to arrive here unless they already knew of the home and had a personal reason to visit its lone resident.

The garden, grounds, and overall design of the place encouraged peaceful reflection and provided plenty of opportunities to engage in meaningful activities. Everything here seemed meant to distract the mind from sorrow and offer a sense of healing through gentle, ever-changing tasks.

The house itself was not large—such a building would have felt out of place in this quiet setting—but it was bright, charming, and picturesque. It looked like a perfect mountain retreat, designed for rest and recovery. It had everything needed to help someone let go of the past and avoid worrying about the future. However, it was not meant to be a permanent home. Without companionship, even a peaceful place like this could become lonely for a mind that longed for connection.

As we stepped out of the narrow passage that led into the valley, I noticed two women walking slowly across the grounds ahead of us. They had their arms wrapped around each other in a gesture of affection, moving in silent companionship.

Their deep focus on one another allowed me a moment to observe them before they realized we were there. From the first glance, I felt certain that the shorter woman was there to help the other—a minister, or perhaps more fittingly, an angel—following the example of the Great Teacher by setting aside her higher state to offer comfort through personal sacrifice.

The taller woman, in contrast, carried visible signs of exhaustion and weakness. She leaned on her companion, grateful for the quiet strength being so gently and generously shared with her.

"Azena has been here almost constantly since Marie arrived," said Cushna as we stood watching them.

I didn’t respond. I would have preferred that he hadn’t spoken a feeling my friend quickly understood, leaving me undisturbed to witness a lesson in care and compassion. The scene before me, filled with angelic tenderness and selfless devotion, needed no explanation. My heart was overwhelmed by the sacredness of the moment, making me feel closer to God than ever before.

My soul trembled under the weight of this holy experience. I felt an instinctive hesitation to step further into this space, as though entering a temple where the incense of pure worship was rising. I might have left the spot altogether, overcome by its sanctity, if Cushna hadn’t intervened.

But as I stood there, I gained a deeper understanding of the spiritual connection between two extremes—heaven and hell—drawn together and united by the power of love. In this vision, I found a profound assurance: no soul, no matter how far fallen, can ultimately resist the pull of divine love that seeks to lift and save. The words of Jesus, “until He finds them,” came to me with a meaning I had never grasped before.

There were no visible signs of the vast spiritual struggle taking place, but I could sense it clearly. My soul felt the presence of opposing forces—shadows from both heaven and hell—waging an intense battle over the outcome of this moment.

Even nature seemed to be watching, holding its breath. The wind paused as if to witness the struggle. The flowers quivered, caught between hope and fear. The trees stood still and unyielding, and even the grass seemed to stop growing, as if afraid that the slightest movement might shift the balance in favour of destruction.

Despite this eerie silence, I felt no fear or doubt about the outcome. I couldn’t explain why, except that Cushna’s calm confidence seemed to flow into me. I understood, in that moment, that truth and love are eternal forces—immortal and undefeatable. Death, pain, and hell, on the other hand, are temporary and mortal. Once they are overcome, they can never rise again.

The omnipotent presence of what is right surrounded and filled me. Its mystical power surged through my being, commanding me, like the Prophet of Sinai had once commanded the Israelites, to stand still and witness the salvation of our God.

Still unaware of our presence, the two women continued their uninterrupted conversation until they reached a spot in the garden where a distant view came into sight. The sight seemed to stir something within Marie, bringing a spark of life and interest to her demeanour, in stark contrast to her earlier calmness. The change wasn’t unwelcome to me, as it broke the spell that had held me captivated for so long.

I felt eager to draw closer to her and uncover the story behind the deep concern my companion, Cushna, seemed to hold for her.

Curious about what had triggered such a shift in her manner, I turned to Cushna for an explanation.

“From that point, they can see a magnificent view of the countryside,” he explained, “stretching all the way to the area around the hall we left earlier. For Marie, this brings back a faint memory of the home where she first rested after leaving her place of torment. The recollection of that short period—of waking and then being brought here—is something Azena uses to nurture her hope and encourage her to reconnect with those scenes. They will likely stay there for a while, using the view as a source of inspiration.

"However," he added, "we might be able to help her just as much in a different way, so I think now is a good time to let them know we’re here.”

With that, Cushna projected a small but brilliant flash of light that instantly caught their attention.

Marie’s face lit up with delight as she recognized who was calling her. Letting go of Azena, she ran eagerly toward us and greeted Cushna with all the warmth and affection of a daughter. In those first moments of reunion, my presence was entirely overlooked, as it was unnecessary to their happiness. Since formal introductions are not required in this life, I naturally turned to join Azena, leaving Cushna to explain matters and call me over when he wished.

I was surprised at how easy and natural it was to converse with Azena from the moment we met. By unspoken agreement, we began walking toward the spot where she and Marie had been standing when Cushna called out to them. As we walked, I asked her, “Does this place feel dull or gloomy to you compared to your own home?”

“Dull?” she exclaimed, her face glowing with the brightness of her smile. “No, no—anything but that! Heaven is more about the state of the soul than a specific place and simply being able to help lift the clouds from poor Marie’s life is enough to make any place feel like heaven.”

Her words left me speechless, and I couldn’t help but agree. It wasn’t hard to imagine that heaven would always feel close when accompanied by someone like her. I could understand the value of the quiet companionship she had offered Marie when we first saw them. The sound of her laughter seemed like it could banish any hint of sadness, and the brightness of her eyes was enough to scatter even the darkest clouds of sorrow.

With what little I understood of the way life worked in this world, I could easily see why Azena’s presence and ministry to Marie were so perfectly suited to the situation. It was another example of the flawless harmony in every aspect of this existence. What could be more fitting than entrusting the care of this wounded and broken soul—even if her suffering was the result of her own mistakes—to a nurse as tender and patient as Azena? She was like a vision a painter might summon from the gallery of dreams to embody the very essence of charity.

If heaven did nothing else for all eternity but unite hearts like theirs in the kind of loving bond I had witnessed, then surely, that alone would be enough to make it heaven.

“I’m eager to see the view Cushna mentioned at the bottom of the grounds,” I remarked after a moment.

“Yes, you must see it,” she replied. “It’s just like that dear old Doctor Grandpa to have found this place for Marie.”

“I don’t think he looks much like a grandfather,” I said, “though he certainly seems every inch a doctor.” Still, there was something about him—despite his youthful appearance—that convinced me this dual title was both accurate and fitting. From the moment I first met him, he had been something of a mystery, and I welcomed the chance to learn more about his intriguing character.

“No,” she agreed, “he doesn’t really look old enough, does he? But that’s not because he lacks years—it’s due to the eternal youth we all enjoy here.

When he entered this life, he was both a grandpa and a doctor, and even though he’s now so youthful in appearance and manner, we still call him by both titles. Otherwise, we’d only be acknowledging half of who he is, even now.”

“Has he been here a long time?”

“Yes! He lived during the early days of Egypt—before the pyramids were even built, I believe.”

“And does he still remember his life on Earth?”

“I don’t think he’s forgotten a single event from either his life on Earth or his time here—he just needs a moment to recall it,” she replied. “One of the reasons we still think of him as a grandpa is because of how much he enjoys gathering us together and sharing stories from his experiences. He tells them for both our instruction and amusement.

“I think he’s the most selfless person I’ve ever met. He never thinks about himself; he lives solely to make everyone around him happier. He’s always planning new surprises and ways to bring joy.

When he introduces these little pleasures, he does it with such a humble, almost apologetic tone, as if he’s worried, he’s done something wrong and is asking for forgiveness.

“And when he sees how much happiness his efforts bring, he’s overjoyed. He feels the happiness of others as his own—first, in sharing their joy, and second, in knowing he’s the one who made it happen.

“Let me tell you how Marie came to be here. He met her on the other side of the mists. Did he tell you about that?”

“Yes,” I said. “He told me where and how he first met her.”

“But he hasn’t told you how long and difficult his efforts were to get her to listen to him, or about the battles he fought with evil spirits who took pleasure in her suffering and tried to sabotage all his attempts to help her. You don’t know about the many times he failed to convince her to leave that dreadful place, even briefly, to show her that no one but herself was blocking her path to peace. The rightful penalty for her sins had already been paid, but she didn’t believe it.

No one but Cushna knows the full extent of what he endured, and no one ever will, because he keeps those struggles buried deep within himself, never willingly recalling or dwelling on them.

“I’ve heard bits of this from Marie, but her memory of that dark time is thankfully clouded over. Still, she’s told me enough to understand that it was an intense and painful struggle. The effort he put into saving her will, one day, be one of the brightest jewels in his crown of reward. When he finally succeeded, he was granted permission to take her to his own home, where he could care for her as she slept through the deep exhaustion that followed her suffering. While she slept, he could hardly be persuaded to leave her side, fearing she might feel his absence and be lonely, even in her dreams.

“Such devotion brought its reward. It lifted much of the heavy burden she carried, won her trust first, then her love, and eventually allowed him to be the instrument of her salvation.

“It’s very moving to hear Marie talk about the moment she woke up and Cushna gently but firmly explained that she needed to come to her own home, where she would be better off for a while. She was terrified that if he left her, she might be pulled back into the torment she had escaped. She begged, tearfully and for a long time, to stay with him, but that couldn’t happen.

“So Cushna did the next best thing. Knowing she would need to stay in this area for a time, he searched the entire district until he found this house, which has the view he told you about. Marie constantly admires this beautiful valley, and from here she can see, on the distant hillside bathed in radiant light, Cushna’s home—what she calls her ‘other home.’ She loves standing here, talking about him and watching for his arrival. He often comes straight across the valley to visit her.”

The stunning view stretched out before me, the topic of our conversation, and the closeness of two of the main participants in such a powerful story left me speechless.

I could only reflect on how every new event in my journey seemed to highlight the guiding principle of this world: the law of love.

“When Cushna called us,” Azena continued after a brief pause, “we were looking at his home, which Marie considers the centrepiece of the scenery, and she was wondering—”

“How long I planned to keep her waiting,” a familiar voice interrupted. We turned to see Cushna had approached us unnoticed. How much of our conversation he had overheard was unclear, but his next words made it evident he knew exactly what we had been talking about.

“Azena,” he said, pretending to scold, “I’m beginning to think you might be a bit of a storyteller, and I might just have to discipline you.”

“You’re a wonderful, dear old grandpa who deserves a kiss for eavesdropping—there, and there,” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and planting a kiss on each cheek.

“Oh, these children!” he said, shaking his head at her with mock seriousness. Then, turning to me, he added, “I think you’d better go and keep Marie company while I deal with this mischievous child.”

“You wouldn’t even know how to start if you tried, you dear old darling!” Azena called out, laughing, as I walked away.

I was eager to hear Marie’s story directly from her, but as I approached her and noticed her expression darken with the shadow of some approaching pain—so different from the brightness she had shown while greeting Cushna—I felt a strong desire to avoid hearing it if that meant restoring her earlier happiness. However, I was guided once again by that mysterious force that always seems to lead us through moments of uncertainty and difficulty, steering us in the right direction even when it goes against our immediate wishes or understanding. Despite the heaviness of the situation, I instinctively knew that moving forward was the right choice, leaving whatever I couldn’t yet understand to be clarified later by Cushna.

I had already experienced so many instances where blessings emerged from the most unlikely and difficult circumstances that I felt certain everything worked together for a greater good. This encouraged me to keep an open mind, prepared for any surprises that this new life might reveal. As Marie walked toward me, I could see the effort she made to fight the ominous feeling that surrounded her, trying unsuccessfully to greet me with a smile that faded as soon as it formed. I knew my own face likely mirrored her emotions all too well, making our meeting feel heavy with the sense of an impending tragedy.

Cushna had already explained the purpose of my visit, so with only a few formalities, Marie began to share her experiences with me.

“I am an American, the only child of a wealthy Southern family, adored by my parents, and spoiled, proud, and headstrong from a young age. If I wanted something, all I had to do was ask, and it was mine. Both through experience and upbringing, I was taught that money was all-powerful, and since we had an endless supply of it.

I grew up believing I was entitled to have my way and that no desire I had could ever be denied. Naturally, this made me demanding, sometimes even overbearing—but I wasn’t intentionally cruel or wicked, at least not by society’s standards. I believed that having money gave me the right to enjoy all the pleasures it could bring, and if my happiness caused pain to someone else, that was their misfortune, not my fault. They had no right to expect me to sacrifice my desires for their sake. That was my philosophy, and I lived by it.

“We were a church-going family. My father generously supported all the church’s programs, and we were meticulous about attending services. When I reached the appropriate age, my name was officially added to the church membership roll. Occasionally, when I wanted to avoid an unpleasant engagement or needed an excuse, I’d take on a Sunday school class or make a charitable visit. I didn’t do this often, of course, but since I viewed such acts as a favour or indulgence on my part, no one expected me to be consistent in fulfilling those duties.”

“There was only one girl I could truly call my friend—Sadie Norton. We were fairly equal in social status, but since I was slightly older, I naturally assumed the lead. Sadie wasn’t the type to take charge or challenge my position, so there was no conflict, and this allowed our friendship to grow very close. A friendly rivalry existed between our families, and while it occasionally reflected on us, it never diminished the sisterly bond we had formed—in fact, it only strengthened over time. We were inseparable, and no party, festival, or church event was considered complete without both of us there. We were often consulted on new church plans, and any philanthropic effort sought our involvement.

"By the time we were in our late teens, nearly every eligible young man in the town and surrounding area was trying to win us over. This opened up a new source of entertainment for us. We weren’t thinking about marriage at all, but we loved meddling in others’ plans and took great delight in breaking up potential matches. For a year or two, we were thrilled by how many engagements we managed to disrupt.

"Then, one day, a fine young man came to town with excellent credentials that impressed my father and others. Naturally, all the girls set their sights on him. Sadie and I decided to have some fun as well. We agreed to take turns charming him, keeping him away from anyone else while teasing him for our amusement. But he didn’t see it as a joke. He took it all very seriously, and within a month, he formally proposed to me.

"I have to admit, I felt more serious about him than I expected and might have accepted his proposal if it hadn’t meant ending the romantic game Sadie and I had planned to enjoy. So, I laughed it off. When he tried to gain my mother’s support, I stood firm, told him I wasn’t the marrying type, and dismissed him quite abruptly. He left looking heartbroken—but I just laughed.”

“My experience with men wasn’t extensive, but I believed his sulking would pass by morning. Every man goes through an ‘April season’ in his life when he falls in love, and I thought that how a woman treated him during that time had a big influence on shaping his character.

With this in mind, I decided to give Charlie a bit of training—to shape him into the kind of hero I’d trust with my heart, but only as far as I thought it wise. I made a mistake.

"The next morning came, but Charlie didn’t. I was annoyed. I figured he was trying to play hard to get, but I was determined to match him. A week passed, and I didn’t see him—not even a hint of his presence. Sadie hadn’t seen him either; I had warned her in case he attempted to flirt with her to get a reaction from me. Then a month went by without a sign of him. Circumstances had also kept me from seeing much of Sadie during this time.

"When we finally met again, it was at her birthday party. The first thing she told me was that Charlie had proposed. My face lit up—I thought we were about to have some fun teasing him. But then she added that she had accepted him.

"The blood drained from my face, and for a moment, I was frozen, completely speechless.

Then rage and jealousy surged through me like a storm. My heart burned with disappointment, and my brain couldn’t handle the shock. My emotions overwhelmed me, and the next thing I knew, I collapsed and remembered nothing more.”

“The day they got married, I was fighting for my life, swinging between life and death, suffering from brain fever. During my delirium, their names were constantly on my lips—pleading, begging, or cursing them, depending on the frenzy that consumed me. But when I recovered my sanity, I made up my mind never to mention their names again.

"The immense power of wealth was used in every imaginable way to distract me from my sorrow. I played my role so convincingly from the early days of my recovery that everyone around me began to believe things weren’t as serious as they had initially feared. They had no idea that my outward composure was just a mask, and that deep inside, I was plotting and scheming how to exact my revenge—revenge I was determined to achieve or die trying.

"I saw Sadie as a traitor. She had taken advantage of the temporary distance between us to execute her selfish plans and succeed to my utter ruin. In my eyes, she had deceived Charlie just as cruelly as she had hurt me. She could never be the wife to him that I would have been. He wasn’t as much to blame—he had simply fallen victim to her manipulative schemes. But she would pay for her betrayal. I swore to find them, no matter how far I had to go, and return her treachery fourfold. I would take Charlie away from her, even if it meant my own death in the moment of victory.

"For five long years, I carried out secret but fruitless attempts to locate them, yet I never wavered in my determination or forgot my vow. I hid my jealousy so perfectly that those around me started to believe I was truly happy again. How little people understand the man behind the actor they applaud. The stage and the home often have a gulf between them, as wide and impassable as the divide between Dives and Lazarus. We poor, unsuspecting mortals laugh at the rehearsed lines but fail to notice the life-blood spilling from the heart behind them.

"I was blind and deaf to everything but my singular purpose. They thought I was content, while in truth, nothing in this world or the next could make me happy except for the man I had lost—the man who had been stolen from me by the cruel betrayal of someone I thought was my friend.”

"I found out where he was by accident—a small paragraph in an old newspaper I was cutting up for a pattern. I saw his name, learned everything I needed to know, and immediately started planning how to reach him. From that moment, life seemed to take on a hopeful tone, but my excitement almost ruined everything. I wish to God it had.

"Once I found him, it wasn’t hard to arrange a way to see him. An old college friend of mine lived in the same area, so planning a visit to her only took a few days. But the next step was more difficult—everything hinged on our first meeting.

"One impulsive or wrong move, and it would all fall apart. But even here, fortune—or, as I now know it, misfortune—was on my side.

I met him by chance, and he was alone. He recognized me and spoke before I even realized he was there. I saw his agitation and knew immediately that his old feelings for me weren’t dead. With almost superhuman effort, I kept a calm and indifferent demeanour, even as I asked about his wife. His response told me everything—I could see he had realized his mistake and wasn’t happy. That realization filled me with wild joy. He was mine—I knew it. All I had to do was act cautiously, keep my intentions hidden, and wait for the right moment.

"We met several more times in similar ways, but he never came to see me or invited me to his home. Then one day, he asked me to meet him in secret. At first, I refused. He begged, appealing to memories of our past. Finally, I agreed. In that moment, I was lost—but I had already decided it was a price I was willing to pay if it meant winning him. Within a month, he had left his wife and children, and we were running away together, heading east.

"I was happy. I had paid Sadie back for her betrayal with a betrayal of my own. I knew I could never be Charlie’s wife, but that didn’t matter.

He was mine, and I was his. I had settled the score with my rival. Being together and alone was all I had wanted, and my vengeful prayer had been granted.

"But in my rebellion, God let me gather all the pieces for a heaven of my own making. And when it was finished, He told me to enter. And then, I realized the heaven I had built was, in fact, God’s flawless and perfect hell."

"After achieving what I had longed for, the tension I had been living under for so long finally broke, and I quickly fell apart. I had never fully recovered from the initial blow, but my thirst for revenge had kept me going, drawing heavily on my physical and emotional reserves. Once I got what I wanted and no longer had to keep up the act, the toll it had taken on my body became apparent. It was clear I didn’t have much time left. Within two years, I was bedridden, unable to move, and we had to face the grim reality that I was dying.

"During this time, my father found me. Furious at the disgrace I had brought to our family name, he vowed that if he ever encountered Charlie, he would shoot him like a dog. I begged him not to, but he wouldn’t relent. He told me that Charlie had abandoned me just as he had abandoned his wife, that he had left the town, and no one knew where he had gone. Hearing this brought back all the old jealous rage. It consumed me, leading to another bout of brain fever, followed by delirium, and then everything went blank.

"When I regained consciousness, I was surrounded by darkness—an oppressive, terrifying darkness. I could almost feel the blackness pressing against me, and I was lying on a cold, hard floor that seemed as icy as death. I called out for Charlie, my father, my nurse—anyone—but the only response was the echo of my own voice, which seemed to mock me and take pleasure in my fear.

"Where was I? Could it be possible that I had lost my mind or been locked away to keep me from going after Charlie?

I tried to get up and figure out where I was, but in the trembling grip of fear, I fell back down, too weak to stand. All my senses seemed to collapse into one: the ability to feel. That feeling grew sharper and more intense, as if my entire being was now focused solely on experiencing the horror of my own slow petrification—voiceless, sightless, and unable to sleep."

"I desperately prayed for the fever and delirium to return, hoping they would overpower the icy terror slowly creeping over me in such a torturous way. But my prayers were in vain. I was trapped—imprisoned in a realm of unrelenting despair, beyond help, rest, or compassion. I became a helpless plaything for the merciless forces inherent in such a state. Slowly, I felt myself being transformed into a block of frozen, yet still living, flesh. My heightened sense of feeling made every moment of this infernal transformation more unbearable.

Why was this happening? Where was I? Who were my tormentors? How much longer would I endure this? Would morning ever come? And if it did, would it bring relief or wake me from this nightmare?

These questions and countless others swirled in my mind, endlessly taunting me and adding to my suffering. I would have given anything to escape into madness just for some rest, but even that small relief was denied to me. Eventually, my feet, hands, head, eyes, tongue, heart, and brain all seemed frozen. Then, as if to heighten the torment, a fiery rage ignited within me, boiling in my blood. It lashed through my veins like a maddened torrent, intensifying the exquisite suffering I was forced to endure while lying helpless and still.

"I have no memory of how that period ended. Perhaps I suffered until the agony exhausted itself, or maybe the intensity of the pain acted like an anaesthetic, plunging me into a sleep born of anguish. I don’t know. I only know that at some point, I sank into oblivion. How long I stayed in that state, or what it was like, I cannot say.

"When my memory returned, I found myself in the same suffocating darkness, surrounded by an eerie silence that filled me with dread.

But the sharp pain was gone—or, more accurately, I had been granted a temporary reprieve while my torment shifted to a new form, one perhaps even more agonizing. I still had no idea where I was or the true nature of the profound change that had occurred in my life. But I did realize that I had grown stronger, felt no physical pain, and had regained the ability to move if I chose to.

"I also quickly recognized how vastly my situation had improved compared to the horrors I had endured before falling into unconsciousness. Yet I longed desperately for some form of light—natural or artificial—so I could see my surroundings, understand what had happened, and assess the challenges I now faced."

"The length of time I spent in that suspense, surrounded only by the eerie, shifting shadows of the underground darkness, felt like centuries, though I now know it couldn’t have been that long. Eventually—after what seemed like an eternity—my wish was partially granted. I saw a light.

It was distant and faint, so small that it was of no practical help. But the moment I noticed it, I felt myself being pulled toward it, as if by some unseen, irresistible force.

"At first, I felt a barely perceptible gliding motion, which gradually picked up speed until I was lifted from my feet, hurtling through space like I was being carried on the wings of a hurricane. On and on I rushed, mile after mile, with my speed constantly increasing, toward that mysterious, magnetic light. Though it grew larger as I drew closer, it still seemed endlessly far away.

"The fear and suspense of that journey were overwhelming. While it wasn’t the same pain I had experienced during my earlier punishment, the dread of unknown consequences—things I couldn’t prevent or control—was almost equally terrifying. Then, without warning, the force propelling me forward and suddenly stopped. I tumbled down, shaken but unharmed, landing at the threshold of that light. And there, standing at its center, was the one person I had longed for with all my heart—Charlie. I had found him. We were together again.

"I felt deep inside that the force which had carried me here—despite my reluctance, born out of ignorance—was somehow connected to Charlie’s intense desire to see me. Overcome with joy at our reunion, I broke down and cried, blaming myself for the bitter thoughts I had harboured against the unknown benefactor who had intervened to rescue me from my prison and bring me here, despite all the obstacles.

"But as my joy grew, so too did a gnawing doubt. Another thought crept into my mind, threatening to shatter my newfound happiness. What if this was all just an illusion? What if it was only a cruel dream, and I would soon wake to find my father as unyielding as ever and Charlie gone, lost to me once again? The mere possibility of such a terrible outcome was unbearable. I couldn’t let even the shadow of that fear linger. I knew I had to take action immediately to resolve the doubt."

"I stepped into the circle of light surrounding him. He had changed so much since we had last parted. His jet-black hair was streaked with silver, deep lines marked his once-smooth face, the brightness in his eyes had dimmed, and his strong frame was now bent with weariness. At that moment, he was thinking of me, and I could feel that he had endured an ordeal nearly as terrible as the one I had suffered. As I reached his side, he murmured my name, and his hand moved slightly as if reaching out to take mine—but lost in deep thought, perhaps unaware of how close I was, he never lifted his eyes to meet my longing gaze. I stood there, absorbing the sight of him, my heart overflowing with happiness.

"His voice and manner told me he still loved me as much as ever. That realization filled me with joy, but it also made me hesitant to act, afraid that my plan might not end as I hoped.

"He had never gone back to Sadie. Instead, after being forced away from me, he had found this secluded place—a place that should have stirred my curiosity but instead only reassured me. Here, he had worked out a way to rescue me, and now he was anxiously waiting to see if his efforts had succeeded. But he was so lost in thought, so deeply absorbed in his own world, that he had no idea his hopes had already been fulfilled.

"I lifted my head and saw that the distant, unfocused look still lingered in his eyes. But there was something else—something strange, almost unnatural, glowing within them. A sudden terror gripped me. I leapt up in horror and shook him, afraid that the shock of our reunion had been too much for him, that his mind had broken under the strain. He only shivered slightly, as if the air had suddenly turned cold.

"Then, a new fear struck me. Was I the one who had lost my mind? Could it be that my strange journey had been nothing more than the hallucination of a madwoman?

"‘Oh, God!’ I cried. ‘Reveal this mystery to me, or it will destroy me!’

"Desperation filled me as I turned back to him.

"‘Charlie, Charlie! Don’t you recognize me?’ I begged. ‘Say just one word—tell me that you know me. I have been sick, but my love for you has never wavered. If you think I have done wrong, then forgive me! Let me take care of you, help you heal. We can still be happy; I know we can. Please, just say you know me, and I will ask for nothing else. Just one word, Charlie—please, just one word!’"

"As soon as I spoke, he suddenly pulled himself together, picked up a book, and began reading—without a single word, glance, or sign that he even knew I was there. I stepped back in shock, completely stunned. He wasn’t insane—but how could I explain this strange behaviour? Why wouldn’t he acknowledge me? If he didn’t want me there, wouldn’t he tell me? If he was afraid of being discovered, wouldn’t he take steps to hide me? If he still loved me, wouldn’t he embrace me and welcome me back?

"I couldn’t make sense of his reaction, except for the awful possibility that I was nothing more than the victim of a dream. But God knew my suffering was real. Whether anything else was real, I would find out soon enough—I would watch and wait.

"After a while, I tried to provoke some response by reproaching him for his coldness, hoping it would make him react.

But he only smiled faintly, set his book down with a tired expression, and turned toward someone I couldn’t see.

"‘Will you tell your mamma that I wish to speak to her?’ he said.

"What did he mean? Who was this ‘mamma’ he was asking for? What was any other woman to him when I was right here? Had he gone back to Sadie after all? Was he calling her in so she could witness my humiliation?

"My old jealousy flared up instantly, and a wave of furious anticipation washed over me. I could feel another presence enter the room, but I couldn’t see or hear who it was, which only made my fear and confusion worse. Was I invisible and inaudible to her? It seemed so. I could hear every word Charlie said, see every movement he made, and yet, the conversation had nothing to do with me. It was as if I didn’t even exist."

"Could they really be acting out a plan to drive me insane? Who was this woman? Oh, God! If only I could have been as blind and deaf to Charlie’s behaviour as she was to me.

It wasn’t Sadie, but I heard him call her by a name he would never have given to me. That’s when I understood his betrayal. His behaviour, his coldness—it all made sense. He was mocking me. Whether she knew I was there or not, he did. He had made sure I was there to witness his happiness with someone else, someone who had taken my place just as I had taken him from Sadie. He wanted to see me suffer, to laugh at how much it hurt me.

"It was too much to bear. Knowing he had abandoned me drove me to madness but seeing him act lovingly toward her pushed me over the edge into a vengeful rage. I decided I would kill him in front of her. But before I could move, the light surrounding him vanished, and I was plunged back into a suffocating, impenetrable darkness. The terror returned with my blindness, paralyzing me.

"I could still hear him—and worse, I could hear her. I heard every word they said, every affectionate name she called him, and I was powerless to block it out or stop myself from understanding.

My rage and jealousy tormented me, mocking my helplessness, until I resolved to follow their voices and exact my revenge by killing them both, leaving them dead together. But horror consumed me when I realized I couldn’t move. I was as powerless to act as I was to see. I could only stand there, forced to listen to his betrayal, unable to make a sound or drown out the echoes of their love.

"A thousand times over, I would have chosen the slow petrifaction I had endured before. The torments of hell seemed to intensify endlessly. Was it possible for hell to hold anything worse than this? I prayed for madness, hoping it would bring some relief from the unbearable pain, but my prayer came back to me like molten lead pouring over my head, burning fiery channels into my mind and multiplying my agony a hundredfold. It forced me to realize that my true punishment had only just begun, that it would grow even worse, and that I had no escape.

"I was chained to him—forced to endure this indescribable torment for what felt like an eternity. Every nerve in my body was heightened to an unbearable sensitivity.

Words cannot describe the intensity of my suffering. Even memory cannot fully grasp it. Madness would not come to save me. Death would not hear my pleas. Insensibility was powerless to approach. Pity ignored my cries, and mercy had no power to enter the prison where I was confined."

"What could I do? Nothing but suffer! Why wouldn’t someone wake me from this horrible nightmare? I cried out, but no one answered. I was enduring all the agonies of hell, yet I didn’t even have the small comfort of suffering alongside others. I couldn’t bear it, but I couldn’t escape either. Was there no limit to how much pain a person could endure? No breaking point where I would finally know that my sin had been paid for? I needed help—any kind of help—from anywhere, as long as it would break the endless cycle of my ever-increasing suffering.

"My pain was so sharp and overwhelming that I would have gladly submitted to any power—good or evil—if only it would change my condition, even if just to make the suffering different.

If my torment couldn’t end, I would have settled for even a brief change, anything to give me a moment’s relief. So, I made one final desperate plea, even though my prayers had only ever been answered with more suffering. I screamed, ‘Oh, God or devil! Any being, whether merciful or cruel, hear me and end my suffering! Take me, tear me apart, destroy me—just make it stop! Shatter my mind so that I can never recover, or, with one violent blast of agony, end my ability to feel at all. Hell! Hell! If you have any mercy, take pity on me! Open your gates and let me drown my suffering in your fiery lake. Hell! Hell! I beg you, let me in!’"

As she told her story, I saw the present fade from her mind, and she seemed to relive every moment of her past torment. She transformed before my eyes, becoming the woman, she had once been. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, her eyes widened with a wild, desperate light, and she writhed in agony as if she were experiencing it all over again. As she reached the peak of her emotions, she collapsed at my feet, completely drained.

I had been so caught up in her terrifying story that, for a moment, I forgot where we were. When she fell, I instinctively looked around, half-expecting to see the gates of hell opening before us in response to her cries. It was only when I saw Cushna and Azena rushing toward us that I finally exhaled in relief, realizing that the nightmare was over—for now.

"Hush," he said calmly, as if the sight of her resting brought him deep satisfaction. "Let her sleep; she will soon be better."

"Cushna!" I cried. "Can this really be true?"

"Yes, poor child, it is true—and there is much more that she cannot even bring herself to tell you. She had been suffering the consequences of her jealousy for more than twenty years when I first found her."

"And you saved her," I said. "I can understand now why her greatest joy is watching for your return."

But he was too focused on tending to Marie to respond.