Isidora was deeply in distress.

  As he had started doing routinely, the old man, Benjamin, stood in front of the painting, his gaze lingering on the portrait of her. His frail yet deliberate posture cast a long shadow on the wall, the dim light of the room flickering faintly around him.

  “I’m ashamed to say this, but Isidora, my dear child… we don’t have enough food for you anymore,”

  His tone was a strange mix of solemnity and calmness. Naturally, the girl in the painting did not answer back. The face in the portrait remained as tranquil and emotionless as ever, her painted expression betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside her.

  Inside the confines of the painting, however, Isidora’s mind was perplexed.

  ‘This lunatic… now he’s just shamelessly confessing? Not even pretending to hide it anymore?’’

  ‘Shameless! Shameless! Booo!’

  She thought with annoyance. Nevertheless, the sudden confession also meant the situation had changed, and she was pretty sure she was the one who triggered this.

  The incident at the staircase, Benjamin must have suspected her long before, and that night had only deepened his doubts.

  “But don’t worry, my dear child. To compensate for this, a special gift will be prepared for you. You will soon be liberated, as the Monarch wills it.”

  His voice rang out again, cutting off her spiraling thoughts.

  ‘?’

  No surprise, he spoke as cryptically as usual. This time, there were even certain keywords that caught her attention. The mature mind raced to connect the dots, but the vague phrasing made it impossible to form any clear conclusions.

  For now, even if Isidora tried delving deeper into his cryptic message, she knew it would be fruitless. So the mature mind lightly tossed the thought into the depths of her mind.

  ‘Wow, just hearing about it is enough to smell the coming trouble already.’

  “I’m sure you will be delighted, Isidora…”

  The old man’s trembling hand reached forward, his fingertips lightly tracing the painted figure within the portrait. The gesture made Isidora’s imaginary stomach churn with disgust, but she held herself together and kept her focus sharp.

  “The arrangements have been made, and soon, you will finally come into reality as a whole!”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Though his words remained steeped in ambiguity, she grasped enough to understand his underlying intent.

  ‘Finally come into reality? A physical body? Does he intend to bring me into reality by giving me a physical body? To bring me out of the painting? A complete revival?’

  The idea sent a ripple of shock through her. Isidora had longed for freedom from this painted prison, and his words had an impact on her, they lingered in her mind, offering her new possibilities and hope.

  Benjamin stood in silence for a while as he gazed at the portrait with tenderness. But through Isidora’s eyes, it didn’t seem really gentle or affectionate. To her, it was as though he were analyzing, trying to discern if any change occurred with the painting.

  After a long period of time, his brows knitted slightly. Seemingly dissatisfied with whatever he’d concluded, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving the attic in silence.

  The room fell back into its usual stillness, the faint tranquility of the attic wrapping itself around her once more.

  Isidora finally allowed herself to exhale, though the tension in her mind refused to dissipate.

  She needed to rethink her approach. The old man’s words not only had left her with more questions than answers, but also a growing sense of urgency.

  ‘Judging from his words, the energy he’s been providing me will be cut off temporarily. That’s good, right? At least he won’t sacrifice anyone else for me anymore, at least for now.’

  She mused softly in her mind. But even that small comfort did little to ease her troubled thoughts. His promise still reverberated in her ears.

  Would she remain still and wait for him to act? Judging by his demeanor, he seemed determined to bring her into the physical world, whether she cooperated or not. If she did nothing, it was likely he would still follow through with his promise.

  ‘Izzy?’

  Could she trust him?

  ‘Letting him “help” me... doesn’t that feel like walking into a trap?’

  The mature mind was caught in a paradox: trapped in the painting with no clear escape, yet wary of the “freedom” promised by a man who had.

  But, objectively speaking, the deal was better than she had expected. The old man hadn’t shown any direct animosity toward her.

  His cruel actions seemed motivated by devotion rather than malice. What was the problem, then? The mature mind hesitated, she was momentarily unsure how to process this information.

  That old man clearly had a few screws loose, but at the end of the day, his act of sacrifice ultimately drove her reawakening.

  To be honest, the death of those children had nothing to do with her. She was just an outsider, helplessly pulled into this whole ordeal without the ability to resist.

  At the very least, to him, Isidora was still his "dear child." Whether she was truly his real daughter or not didn’t matter as much as the fact that he believed it.

  If anything, he was even going so far as to perform these rituals to keep her alive, or whatever state of existence this was.

  What was there to be hesitant about? Why did she resist?

  She felt like she had forgotten something. But as one always said, if one forgot something, then it probably was not an important matter, no big deal.

  ‘Right, that old lunatic’s giving us a good deal. No reason to turn him down.’

  The mature mind sighed inwardly, her decision forming at last. She was tired of struggling in this confinement, tired of the paranoia and endlessly second-guessing. If this was an easy way out, who wouldn’t take it?

  ‘I…Izzy!’

  The sudden buzz in her head made the mature mind pause. Normally, she would have ignored it since the younger mind always babbled nonsense. However, something in its tone was different this time; it was bewilderment. That alone piqued her curiosity.

  ‘What is it?’

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  ‘Grampa didn’t say it!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The mature mind furrowed her brows, instinctively irritated by the young mind’s continued insistence on calling him "Grampa".

  The term never failed to grind on her nerves. Still, she decided not to pursue that matter for now.

  ‘Izzy! He never said he’d give us a new body!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  She pondered for a moment, narrowing her awareness, focusing directly on the young mind’s thoughts. And as expected, her young mind was still clear; no, to be more specific, it was still full of playful, positive emotion.

  Unlike her, the young mind’s thought process was instinctual. It saw the world differently; it was more abstract and less grounded by logic.

  That’s why the young mind could often perceive things the mature mind overlooked. And since it decided to voice out and advise her on something, then there must be something that required her attention.

  ‘Hmm? Hold on…’

  A sense of uneasiness crawled upon her. The mature mind dived into their shared memories, replaying the earlier conversation, but specifically from the young mind's point of view.

  It didn’t take long for her to stumble upon the source of the anomaly.

  “You will finally come into reality as a whole.”

  That was all?

  ‘He really didn’t promise us a real body, did he?’

  ‘Real body? Did he ever mention that?’

  ‘Strange’

  The mature mind stirred as she changed back to her own point of view. She rewound the conversation again, word for word, carefully examining each phrase in case she had misheard, and there it was.

  ‘…You’re right. He never said that.’

  The mature mind admitted reluctantly, her heart sank.

  Had she just assumed his meaning based on the choice of words he provided, and filled in the blanks herself?

  She had immediately equated "coming into reality" with being given a physical body, with him crafting a new vessel for Isidora. But now, looking back, she realized there was no definitive proof that’s what he meant.

  That wasn’t like her. The mature mind was very careful and always cautious with interpretation. Yet she had jumped to the conclusion without questioning it. What’s going on?

  There was a chance that’s because there were so many unusual encrypted phrases that had thrown her off. The abnormality of the entire situation had momentarily caused a lapse of her usual sharpness.

  Did the mature mind really mess up?

  Although the implications of her error were troubling, if "coming into reality" didn’t mean a new body, then what did it mean? Was there some other plan at work, far worse than she had anticipated?

  If her assumption had been wrong, then what exactly was the old man planning for her?

  ‘Sometimes, you’re unexpectedly sharp.’

  ‘Hehe, I’m an actual genius, after all!’

  The mature mind let out a mental sigh. As much as her young mind’s antics irritated her at times, she couldn’t deny its occasional brilliance. And this revelation only made her situation more complicated.

  Not only did she have to avoid being spotted by the old man, like usual, but now she also needed to accelerate her initial plan, exploring the mansion and finding a way to escape.

  ‘But how can we go down to the lower floor?’

  The staircase was a significant problem. If her assumption was right, it was equipped with detectors, something akin to motion sensors. The oil lamps were the key, one slight movement into their light would set them off. That was how the mouse had been caught so easily.

  Although there was a chance it was heat detectors rather than motion sensors. She didn’t dare test her theory further on inanimate objects, though. The risk was just too great. Triggering the alarm again would undoubtedly alert the old man, and she couldn’t afford that.

  In addition to the problem of the detectors, she also had to account for the old man’s startling speed. That night, he had appeared within 10-15 seconds from the first time the lamps flickered. That gave her an impossibly small window to descend the stairs, reach the lower floor, and execute any plan effectively.

  And by today, with his suspicions heightened, he would only grow more vigilant. She was certain he was aware of her to some extent, even if he hadn’t acted directly yet.

  ‘But Izzy, must we have to take the stairs?’

  ‘?’

  The mature mind froze, the question jolted her out of her rigid line of thinking.

  Her thoughts began to race. She realized that she had fallen into her old habit, defaulting to her usual perspective and limiting herself to the obvious paths.

  ‘Could I just bypass the staircase entirely? Jump straight down to the lower floor?’

  Will it work? She thought to herself. It was a bold idea, but the risks were enormous. The oil lamps may act as motion sensors for the entire space, not just the staircase. If that were the case, her attempt to bypass the stairs would still trigger the alarm.

  If that old lunatic found her roaming the mansion again, he would likely take drastic measures. She couldn’t risk losing this small amount of freedom she still had, being relocated to some other location or locked away would make escape almost impossible.

  Isidora’s gaze swept across the attic, carefully analyzing her surroundings.

  The roof caught her attention first. It looked old, weatherworn from the seasons, but still solid and durable. She could imagine attempting to pierce a hole in it, but even if it were possible, it would be a terrible idea. The morning sunlight would stream through the damage, its position exposing her attempt immediately.

  And that was assuming she could even pierce the roof in the first place.

  ‘Waiting for him to go out is also an option’

  It was a valid idea, but painfully time-sensitive and unreliable. The cold season had disrupted the old man’s routine, making his departures increasingly infrequent and unpredictable. He used to leave with some regularity, but now his trips outside were very brief, if they happened at all.

  And, there was still the risk of the alarm being triggered while he was absent. She imagined that the old man would likely have a way to notice them in case he was outside.

  ‘As for the window…’

  The window was always locked, as expected. That old man only opened it briefly in the mornings to let in fresh, cold air before securing it again. However, the glass itself looked fragile and breakable, making it a tempting potential path out.

  The only issue, of course, was the aftermath. Breaking the window would leave undeniable evidence. It wasn’t as though she could repair it with Psychokinesis and get away with it.

  Besides, who knew? The mansion might very well have some sort of system in place, an alarm that would trigger if any physical damage occurred.

  The mature mind sighed inwardly, frustration building as she mentally reviewed her options once more.

  The staircase was dangerous, riddled with detectors. The roof was impractical. The window was fragile and accessible, but the aftermath was too obvious. And waiting for the old man to leave was unpredictable and offered no guarantees.

  There weren’t any good plans. Yet, what could she do?

  Until more information could be obtained, she would have to choose some from these limited options, or perhaps remain vigilant and find another way entirely.

  ‘But what was that "Izzy" nickname?’

  She asked herself, uneasily recalling the young mind’s casual use of it. The name stirred something unpleasant deep within her.

  ‘Isn’t it our name?’

  No, but why? The mature mind grimaced. Isn’t it too feminine?

  Though she was painfully aware that there was no chance of reverting to her former self, the nickname still took a huge toll on her pride. It felt like an offense to her.

  For a moment, she considered addressing it and confronting the young mind about this "Izzy" nonsense. But then, she hesitated, realizing how pointless it would be. The mature mind knew the young mind all too well.

  Nothing good would come out if she asked her anything, because any response would likely be absurd and utterly exasperating. There was no winning this.

  ‘But it makes you cuter!’

  ‘Dammit! Don’t answer that!’

  The mature mind shouted in her mind. She had forgotten that this one was literally her mind. So it’s not like she could hide her thoughts from her other half.

  ‘There was no privacy here!’

  ‘Ahaha!’

  ‘You! Don’t laugh!’

  They suddenly found themself bickering. As petty and ridiculous as it might seem, it was also a way to allow them to vent their frustrations, let out the tension that had been building for days.

  The mature mind hated to admit it, but in this suffocating situation, even a squabble with herself was not too bad, she thought.

  That night, a storm approached the mansion without warning, and Isidora found herself an incredible opportunity.