The attic of the Saint Lucy Orphanage was a rarely visited place.
In the past, it was used to store old clothes, used notebooks, secondhand school supplies, donated toys, and Christmas and Easter decorations.
There were also tools used in renovations and various objects that the sisters had brought from their own homes.
It gained another purpose after the arrival of the children, when it was opened for the first time.
For some, it was like a safe hiding place from the sisters' fury when the boys misbehaved.
It could also be the perfect place to play house.
Or perhaps simply to pretend it was a reinforced shelter against monsters, where their job was to set up ingenious defenses.
Margaret did not become one of the caretakers by choice.
The world in her time was deeply troubled, and when the first people infected by the spell appeared, no one was prepared for what was to come.
Humans have always been good at conflict. Man is a creature of war, who fights for land, wealth, ideologies, and people, but he has always had one unparalleled weakness.
Disease.
Bacteria, fungi, viruses, parasites. Practically invisible enemies that consume them from within.
Swords do not strike them, armor does not protect against their insidious tactics, and medicine has always been in an intense race to exterminate the threat they represent.
The spell was the worst of them all, even while being the gentlest.
There was no pain, no noticeable changes in the body, nor any clear method of infection.
A young person tired after an afternoon at school, a worker exhausted after hours at the office.
The only thing they had in common was sleep.
No one fears sleep; it is simply an essential part of the cycle of our lives.
A few hours would pass, and the infected would fall asleep as night arrived, unaware that most would never wake again.
Modern society has already grown accustomed to the insanity of this current cycle of youths growing up and becoming champions, but it witnessed the terror of the first night with its own eyes.
Her younger brother, Edward, had already been hospitalized for five days.
The coma he was in could not be explained by any tests performed, and his condition showed no signs of improvement or deterioration.
What doctors managed to determine was that the young man's metabolism had slowed to an unimaginable level.
It was practically a hibernation, only devoid of any logical sense.
He was not the only one showing these signs. More and more people rushed with their relatives and friends. Hospitals were filling at an alarming rate.
Society was being consumed by fear and paranoia.
At the time, the government tried to keep things under control, but officials and figures of power themselves were also victims of the silent pandemic.
It did not take long for the first aspirants to fail their challenges.
She felt the air change before she saw the tragedy.
Very few times could Margaret claim to feel the air grow heavy, cold, and consumed by a negative feeling. It was not something physical, but it was just as real.
Sitting on a long bench outside the room where her brother was sleeping, sending messages to a coworker, her attention was stolen by a surprised scream from inside.
It was her mother's voice, exclaiming in shock.
Already retired, she spent most of her days there, keeping the youngest company.
"Darling?! Call the doctor, my God! He's moving."
Margaret jumped to her feet as if struck by electricity and threw the door open with enough force to slam it against the wall.
Her eyes were not deceiving her.
The young man's eyelids trembled, as if he were slowly regaining consciousness. Her heart leapt with joy, filled with relief after nights of worry.
She remembers doing as she was asked. She ran to find Doctor Yuri, who was overwhelmed with work.
When they returned running, however, they heard a second scream. Not one of surprise, but of terror.
The image of the young man transformed into something different and unrecognizable, on top of the middle-aged woman, tearing a piece from her neck, haunted her for many decades.
Even in old age, her sleep remained fragile, pursued by traumas too numerous to count.
Margaret remembers freezing, unable to flee or to move closer to help.
If it had not been for the doctor stepping in front of her to try to restrain the creature, it was very possible she would have been next.
Her eyes opened slowly. The room was dark, but she had long since memorized every piece of furniture and every small detail.
A single tear slipped from her eyes, her gaze indifferent. She had had another nightmare.
Nightmares.
A word that nowadays carries so much meaning.
Compared to what little Giovanni must be experiencing, perhaps it would be better to call it an unpleasant dream.
It was still the middle of the night, but she felt no sleepiness.
Deciding she would not be able to fall asleep again, she sat up on the mattress, put on a pair of soft shoes, and headed out into the dark, cold corridors.
Her thoughts were still far away, lost in the distant past.
Her life in the months after the initial terror was like a blur in her memory.
Society fell apart, and from its ashes various groups arose. Some sought racial supremacy, a world where the awakened would define the future, served by ordinary humans.
Others simply wanted to restore a semblance of peace to society and fought relentlessly for power and control over regions.
She found herself a slave, a refugee, and finally an employee of the Legacy clans, who, with the help of the government, managed to create a new order in the age of nightmares.
Margaret was no longer the person she once had been. Her heart had grown bitter; her memory was nothing but scars and pain, while the happy moments of childhood seemed like another life.
Her temperament, her tendency toward violence, insensitivity, and selfishness. Perhaps spending so much time surrounded by evil had made her someone equally bad.
Even so, she was chosen to become one of the caretakers in one of the many orphanages being founded.
Between ordinary accidents, massacres, and crimes committed by awakened who lost control, there are many reasons for adults to die, leaving children without support behind.
How did they expect a woman like her to meet the need for care and love of so many traumatized youths? The task was a burden far too heavy for her tired soul.
She had to relearn how to love. She forced herself to teach lessons she did not even believe in, and in her desperation to remain standing, she sought strength in something she had abandoned: the religion in which she was raised.
Her family, especially her mother, was a woman of God who dedicated her days to faith.
Like many others, Margaret was one of the many who discarded their beliefs, focused solely on surviving.
The bathroom door creaked, revealing the wear of its hinges. She turned on the pale light of the room and faced herself in the cracked mirror.
A few days earlier, she had finally turned sixty, the same age at which her mother passed away. Each day, the similarities became clearer; she only felt that time had been far more merciless with her.
Stress, inhumane conditions, everything had stolen from her the beauty of youth.
She bathed and got herself ready, already prepared for a new day. Her first stop was the chapel, where a wax candle, almost completely melted, was still burning.
Carefully, she lit a new one and replaced the old, ensuring the flame would burn longer.
Her next task was sweeping the floor, dusting the benches and furniture, and cleaning the altar.
For many nights, she told stories to the children.
She taught them about Solomon, about the importance of seeking knowledge, and that education opens doors to every path in life.
She also made his end a lesson, showing that wisdom without humility becomes arrogance, and that in the excess of his greed, he destroyed everything he had built.
She warned them about the evils of deception and envy, describing the life of Jacob. She wanted them to know that those who make their home through trickery never dwell in peace.
And of course, she taught them about Jesus, about how only love can heal this condemned world. Unimaginable power, vast possessions, and supreme authority have already been the weapons of many throughout human history.
She wanted all her children to be able to practice goodness even when exposed to pain and hardship.
Margaret believed that kindness could change the world.
Their names never escaped her memory.
Little Ruth and her passion for flowers and plants, someone who cried when she saw leaves wither.
Mischievous Noah and his habit of telling horror stories to his sisters.
Quiet Levi and his passion for music, always eager to walk through the city, where he could hear the many songs playing on the giant screens.
Ever-angry Leah, who never allowed herself to show weakness and took on the responsibility of helping raise the younger ones.
There were so many of them, and without the help of the other sisters, it would have been impossible to keep that orphanage in one piece.
Time passed, and they grew, changed, and matured. The eldest, Leah, was the first to show signs of infection.
Giovanni was only six years old at the time, and the situation caused an uproar among the older siblings and the adults.
It was no secret that this moment would come. But when everyone finished their goodbyes and allowed her to be taken away, it marked the beginning of the decline of that home.
Those too young to understand were spared the truth. It was Margaret's idea to say that the siblings had gone to meet people interested in adoption.
If they returned, things had "unfortunately" not worked out. If they did not return, they had simply gone to live with a new family.
Two days later, she met Omar for the first time. At the time, he was still merely an awakened, newly hired employee by the government.
He was responsible for notifying the orphanage of the young girl's death.
His attitude was professional, but his eyes seemed haunted by a dark feeling. Margaret never asked directly, but she knew.
It was that young man who had killed the girl she had raised like a daughter.
Sometimes it took only a few months, sometimes a full year, until the next child said goodbye. It became customary to wait by the door, praying that when it opened, she would receive her child instead of the officer.
Her prayers were never answered for a decade.
Margaret prepared coffee in silence, completely alone, for the third day in a row.
Recently, basic tasks have become increasingly difficult to perform. The woman envied the health and strength that the veteran awakened still possessed, even after so many years.
In a few more years, she might no longer be able to fulfill her role. Not that it mattered at that point; that orphanage would probably be closed as soon as Giovanni became independent in the outside world.
Omar became an acquaintance and then a friend of that home. Whether out of empathy or perhaps guilt, he cursed himself with the burden of knowing and growing attached to the children as well.
Margaret, even nurturing an irrational and unconscious resentment toward the man, allowed him to stay.
In the end, it would be better for her sons and daughters to be accompanied and advised by someone they considered an uncle.
She could not even imagine how horrible it must be, when young, to be tied up and surrounded by armed strangers, knowing that in a few minutes you would be taken to an unknown place, where the slightest mistake would mean death.
Her irrational resentment toward Omar remained for a long time. She knew it was not his fault to do the necessary work, but feelings do not always make sense.
Eventually, she developed concern and affection for the man. To this day, she remembers feeling dizzy when she heard that Omar would risk himself in the second nightmare.
What brought ruin to the orphanage was precisely the consistency with which the children were infected and failed their challenges.
Within a few years, people began to treat the place as if it were cursed. Children heard stories about it through adult gossip and begged to be sent elsewhere.
With fewer youths, the number of sisters gradually decreased. Many simply gave up or could not endure living through the same tragedies on a loop.
And now, there she was, completely alone.
All that remained was to wait, again and again and again.
The morning passed slowly.
The sun rose on the horizon like a colossus, and the city streets gained even more life. The filtered air was completely different from the fresh breeze of her childhood, and the artificial nature… uninteresting.
She had tidied up as much as she could of the rooms, but without Giovanni to help her, she needed more breaks than ever. Michel had come to her door every day, asking where the boy was, and each time she said, "He's still traveling."
Sitting in her rocking chair in the refectory, Margaret barely noticed when it was already early afternoon.
"I need to prepare lunch…"
When she stood up to go to the kitchen, she heard a rhythmic sound in the distance.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone was knocking on the door.
Her body froze for a moment.
Who would be on the other side of the door this time?
She walked through the corridors in silence, but her steps were hurried and anxious.
When she made the final turn, she found herself facing the main entrance of the orphanage. Beneath the door, the golden, vivid light of the sun poured into the dark interior. Her hand approached the doorknob, trembling.
She was tired of waiting, and she was tired of farewells, too.
With a click, the door opened.