Chapter 234: Hoppy’s Silent Revenge on His Father’s New Family — Part 2.

The morning sun filtered through the expensive lace curtains, casting bright, cheerful streaks across the master bedroom. But for the merchant, the light brought no warmth.

He lay exactly as he had been the night before—rigid, paralyzed, and staring into the empty air above him. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and completely dry, fixed in a permanent state of shock. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even seem to breathe.

Beside him, his wife began to stretch gracefully as she sat up, the fine silk of her nightgown rustling softly. The morning light was golden and warm, casting a deceptive glow of peace over the room. She murmured sleepily, her voice thick with the comfort of a restful night.

"Darling? Wake up, you’re going to be late for the opening."

She reached over to shake his shoulder, but as soon as her skin touched his, she recoiled. He was cold, not dead, but chilled to the marrow by a lingering frost that shouldn’t exist in a heated room.

"Dear? What’s wrong? Look at me!"

She cried, her voice rising into a panic. She hovered over him, waving her hand in front of his face, but he didn’t react to her.

By mid-morning, the consequences of his paralysis began to bleed into the street. The merchant’s store remained shuttered, the heavy iron locks fastened tight against the growing day. The "Open" sign never flipped.

Outside, a crowd of regular customers and hungry travelers began to gather, their collective murmurs rising into a restless, impatient hum.

"Where is he?" one man grumbled, snapping his pocket watch shut with an irritated click. "He’s never missed a morning. The man would sell his own soul for a copper; why is the door still locked?"

A woman passed by, peering through the dark glass of the shop window as she suggested:

"Maybe he’s ill. But it’s unusual. He’s usually so meticulous about his business."

The crowd didn’t know that inside his manor, the merchant was still trapped in his bed, staring at a ceiling he couldn’t see.

While the merchant’s life crumbled in silence, the rest of the city moved on, oblivious. In the Grand Square, beneath the towering golden statue of the First Hero, a massive crowd had formed.

They weren’t there for a speech or a royal decree. They were drawn by a voice—pure, melodic, and strangely haunting.

Standing on the wood plinth at the base of the statue was Holly. She looked like a doll in her fine silk dress, her copper hair shining under the midday sun. She was singing a song she had practiced for weeks—the one her mother had insisted would prove her talent to the elite of the capital and to the people.

The crowd stood mesmerized. Her voice was beautiful, hitting every note with practiced precision. It was the sound of a "perfect" child from a "perfect" family.

The crowd stood breathless, captivated by the pure, crystalline notes echoing off the Grand Square.

A woman clutched her hands to her chest as she whispered,

"She’s like a little angel. I feel like all my worries are just... melting away. How can a child sing with such emotion?"

A nearby merchant wiped a stray tear from his cheek, his voice thick with emotion, he said softly.

"It’s more than just talent... It’s purity. In a city as imperfect as this, hearing something so perfect makes you believe there’s still good in the world. Her family must be saints to raise a girl like that."

As the final, soaring note faded into the air, the square erupted. People scrambled to toss silver coins and copper bits into the velvet lined basket at Holly’s feet. Holly beamed, curtsying with the grace of a princess, her smile radiant and practiced.

Then, a figure moved through the crowd. It was small, draped in a tattered, crafted cloak that seemed a few sizes too large—exactly the size Hoppy used to be. The figure reached the front and extended a hand, dropping a single coin into the basket.

The coin was coated in a thick, translucent green slime.

Holly’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second as the sticky substance smeared against the velvet.

"Gross!"

She thought, her inner voice sharp and venomous.

"Some filthy street rat is ruining my basket. Look at that rag she’s wearing. Ugh!"

Outwardly, Holly kept her "angelic" mask on. She gave a small, graceful nod.

"Thank you, traveler. May the Light bless your kindness."

But the figure didn’t move. She stayed there, standing perfectly still, her hood casting a deep shadow over her face. Holly’s brow furrowed, her practiced mask of saintly patience beginning to crack at the edges. The girl was starting to draw unwanted attention, her unsettling presence ruining the flow of the donations.

"Is there something else you need, little one?"

Holly asked, her voice a forced chime of sweetness. But in the venomous depths of her mind, the dialogue was far different:

"Get lost already! You’re creeping everyone out. My donations are getting interrupted because of you, you d*mb bitch!"

The figure slowly tilted her head back, and the hood fell away with a heavy, wet slide.

Holly’s heart didn’t just skip a beat; it felt as though it had turned to solid ice. Beneath the shadows of the cowl was no stranger. It was a face she knew with clarity—the same face she had tormented, the one whose hair she had snatched and pulled with such violence that the scalp had been left raw and exposed.

It was Hoppy... her half sister. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

Her eyes went wide, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she stared at the nightmare standing before her. Holly’s mind shrieked, though her mouth remained a silent, trembling.

"No... No... no way, you’re supposed to be gone. You are supposed to—"

But it wasn’t the sister she remembered. The skin was a mottled, bruised grey, peeling away in strips to reveal dark, necrotic muscle beneath. One eye was clouded over with a milky film, while the other glowed with a terrifying, Spirit Sight. Slime and sewer water dripped from her matted orange hair, staining Holly’s pristine silk dress.

Holly’s breath hitched. Her lungs felt like they were filling with the same cloying rot that filled the air. Holly’s corpse jaw clicking with a sickening, wet sound as she whispered:

"Holly... Do I... sound like an angel... too?"