A small girl named anaa with beautiful brown eyes and hair as white as snow,and an innocent heart lived peacefully in a quiet village with her loving family. Her days were filled with happiness, warmth, and laughter. Surrounded by love, in a village as beautiful as a dream, she knew nothing but joy.

But one day, everything changed.

Anaa was playing, carefree and smiling—when her whole life turned into a nightmare. Her world turned to ash.

anaa had been playing in the garden with her little brother and sister, their laughter echoing through the quiet village. Their mother was in the kitchen, cooking food, the scent drifting softly on the breeze. Then, in an instant, everything changed. Suddenly, chaos exploded around them. Flames erupted, screams rang out, and armed men stormed into the village. The air turned black with smoke. Star’s mother screamed for them to run. Her father grabbed her hand and started running, holding her tightly as her little legs stumbled beside his desperate strides.

Then it happened.

A burning arrow pierced through the air and struck her mother. Her scream—sharp and raw—was the last sound anaa heard before her mother and sister were engulfed in flames. Right before her eyes… the ones she loved were burning, fading into ashes. Before they could think something, an arrow pierced the air—and struck her brother. He collapsed beside her, lifeless Her father stopped, falling to his knees, tears streaming down his face as he held anaa, in her arms and started running to the forest both of them trembling.

"Papa... Mama... Maa!" anaa sobbed, clutching his chest, unable to understand why the world had suddenly turned into a nightmare.

Her father tried to stay strong. He wiped her tears even as his own fell. “You are my brave child,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You have to live... live for them.”

But the soldiers were coming. Fast.

An arrow struck him next—straight through his back. He coughed, blood staining his lips. Still, he rose, his body trembling, and carried anaa into the forest.

They reached a river, the water dark and cold.

With one last ounce of strength, he took off the locket he always wore—the one passed down from generations—and placed it gently around anaa’s neck. “You’re my little princess,” he whispered. “Never forget that. I love you… more than anything in this world.”

anaa clung to him, screaming, "No, don't leave me, Papa!"

But he kissed her forehead and, with a trembling breath, pushed her into the river. “Live, my anaa. Live... for Mama, for your brother, for your sister… and for yourself.”

The current pulled her away as she cried out, reaching toward the fading figure of her father standing wounded on the shore. That was the last time she saw him.

Drifting through water and grief, anaa’s tiny heart shattered.

She had lost everything… her family, her home, her world.

That day, her peaceful village was swallowed by fire. A great war had erupted across the land—fueled by the desperate hunt for a legendary power. Villages were reduced to ashes. Innocent people were slaughtered, enslaved, or simply vanished into the smoke.

Years passed since that terrible night, and now we see little Anaa, no longer a toddler, but a fragile child of seven.

She woke up in a filthy, broken shack—walls crumbling, air thick with dust, and the bitter smell of ash and rot. Her bones ached from sleeping on the cold, hard floor. Just as her heavy eyes opened, a cruel voice thundered through the darkness.

"You little wench! You worthless rat! Still sleeping? Get up, now! Who’s going to do the work? Huh? You think you’re some kind of princess?"

The woman’s words hit Anaa like whips. She flinched and slowly stood, her legs trembling under her bruised, malnourished frame. Her small hands were rough from endless chores, her body covered in cuts and dirt. But she said nothing. Just like every day, she obeyed—and went to work.

---

The Memory She Never Forgot…

Anaa's mind often drifted back to when she was only five .

She remembered being in her father’s arms, crying as her village burned. Her mother and sister died before her eyes, and her father—wounded and desperate—ran with her through the forest, only to fall moments later, struck by an arrow.

Then… darkness.

She had floated down a wide river for hours, maybe days, unconscious and barely alive.

She was found by a man—at first, he seemed kind. He gave her food, water, and warm clothes. Anaa thought, Maybe he will help me… maybe I am safe.

But the safety was a lie.

The moment she let her guard down, she was betrayed. When she woke up next, she was no longer by the river.

She was in a crowded, filthy slave market.

Caged. Terrified. Alone.

The man had sold her.

A rich, ugly old man strolled up to her cage, his lips curling into a satisfied grin. His eyes were cold and full of desire as he pointed at Anaa.

“She’s beautiful and still young,” he said. “Perfect for my 19th wife.”

Anaa couldn’t understand. Wife? What did that mean? She was just a child! But no one cared. She cried, screamed, begged for someone—anyone—to help.

But the deal was done.

He bought her. Like an object.

“You should be happy,” the old man sneered. “I chose you.”

They locked her in a cage and began the long journey to his estate. For two days, she remained trapped, barely fed, her spirit slowly crumbling with every passing hour.

Anaa lost all hope. She believed she would die before ever seeing a kind face again.

---

The Voice That Saved Her

But on the second night of the journey, something unexpected happened.

Their carriage was attacked—thieves. Blades clashed, horses neighed wildly, and the air filled with screams. The guards scrambled, and for a moment, the door to her cage swung open.

Anaa had a chance to escape.

But fear gripped her heart. Her little legs refused to move.

Then, she heard it.

A voice.

Soft. Familiar. Loving.

“Anaa… my little princess. You are brave. You can do it. Come to Mommy.”

She gasped.

“Mama…?”

The voice called again, leading her into the forest.

And there—under a vast, starry sky—stood her mother. Glowing like a spirit, dressed in white, surrounded by the warmth of moonlight and mist.

Anaa ran to her, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I missed you, Mommy! I want to be with you and Eli… and Bell… and Daddy! I want to come with you…”

Her mother knelt down and held her close.

“We’re in a happy place now, my love,” her voice was like wind through the trees. “We’ve always been with you. Watching. Loving you.”

Then her mother pointed to the locket that hung around Anaa’s neck—her only memory of home.

“This locket is not an ordinary one. One day, it will help you find the truth. But you must not show it to anyone, Anaa. Promise me.”

“I promise…” Anaa whispered.

Her mother kissed her forehead. “Be strong. My little Anaa. Mommy loves you.”

And then, she vanished into the fog.

Anaa cried out for her, but there was only silence.

She curled up in the grass, still sobbing, and eventually… sleep took her

The Beginning of Survival

When Anaa woke up, the forest was gone. Somehow, she had wandered close to a town. Her stomach growled with hunger, and her throat burned with thirst. She went from door to door, begging.

“Please… I’m hungry… please…”

But they slammed doors in her face. Some even threw stones.

“You filthy beggar! Go away!”

Just as she was about to collapse, a rough-looking woman stopped her.

“I’ll give you food,” the woman said coldly, “but you’ll have to work for it.”

Anaa nodded quickly, too weak to speak.

And so… we see her now.

In the present.

Sweeping floors. Washing clothes. Carrying water.

No longer a daughter. No longer a princess.

Just… a forgotten child trying to survive.

“The Darkness Below”

Anaa lived each day not as a child, but as a shadow of one—broken, silent, and nearly invisible. Her body moved, worked, obeyed... but her soul was somewhere far away, still stuck in that burning village, still crying for a family she would never see again.

She was merely surviving.

Until one day—everything became worse.

While scrubbing dishes in the cramped, smoky kitchen, her weak hands slipped. The sound of fine porcelain crashing against stone echoed like thunder. The expensive plate shattered into a dozen pieces.

Time froze.

Then came the scream.

“You worthless creature!” the landlord. bellowed. A tall, harsh woman with sharp eyes and cruel hands. “Do you even know how much that plate cost?”

Anaa dropped to her knees, stammering. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”

But apologies meant nothing here.

The woman’s hand came down like a whip, slapping Anaa across the face. Then again. And again. Until the little girl’s lip bled and her vision blurred with tears.

“You’ll pay for this!” the woman snarled.

She dragged Anaa by the arm through the house, down creaking stairs, into the cold, damp basement.

“This is your punishment,” she spat. “No food. No water. Two days. And if anyone dares to help you—they’ll be punished too.”

With that, the door slammed shut. A rusty lock clicked. Darkness swallowed Anaa whole.

---

Alone in the Basement

There was no light.

Just cold stone, thick silence, and the gnawing pain of hunger.

Anaa huddled in a corner, her tiny body shaking. Her bruises throbbed, but worse than the pain was the fear. And the loneliness. She didn’t cry. She had cried too many times. Her tears had stopped meaning anything.

She stayed there for a whole day.

No one came.

No one cared.

---

The Girl with the Braided Hair

On the second day, Anaa was barely conscious—her lips dry, her stomach twisted in pain. She heard a soft creak. The basement door opened, just a crack.

She squinted through the dark.

A face appeared.

A girl. Young. Maybe fifteen. She had warm brown eyes, a long braid over her shoulder, and a cautious look on her face.

Her name was Charlet.

She stepped quietly inside, her hands trembling as she reached into her apron and pulled out a small, rough piece of bread.

“Here,” she whispered, kneeling beside Anaa. “Eat this. Please.”

Anaa looked at the bread, then at her

“A Bite of Kindness”

As soon as Charlet held out the bread, Anaa couldn’t stop herself.

Her eyes widened, and her tiny hands shot forward, grabbing the piece of bread as if it might disappear. She didn’t wait. She took a bite—dry, rough, tasteless—but it was more than food to her. It was hope.

And in that first bite… something inside her broke.

Tears welled up in Anaa’s eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She tried to hold them back, but she couldn’t. All the fear, the pain, the hunger, the loneliness—it poured out through her tears as she chewed the bread and sobbed.

Charlet moved closer, wrapping her arms gently around Anaa’s small, shaking frame.

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly, rocking her like a big sister. “You’re not alone anymore… it’s okay, little one.”

Anaa buried her face in Charlet’s chest, still holding the bread tightly in her hand as she cried.

From that moment on, everything changed.

Charlet became more than just a kind girl. She became Anaa’s protector. Her warmth in the cold. Her family in a world that had forgotten her.

She helped Anaa clean her wounds, shared secret smiles across the work yard, and whispered comforting words whenever Anaa was too tired or scared to keep going. At night, when the world was cruel, Charlet would sneak into the basement just to check if Anaa was okay.

To everyone else, Anaa was just another servant. But to Charlet…

She was her little sister.

And to Anaa…

Charlet was the first person in years who made her feel like she matteres

And just like that, time passed… Anaa was no longer the little girl from years ago—she was now thirteen, a young soul burdened with quiet strength. One day, while doing her chores, she chatted softly with Charlet as they worked together in that old, shadowy place they now called home.

Far away, hidden deep in the woods bordering the town, a lone figure stood among the trees. His eyes burned with a quiet intensity as he whispered to himself, "Finally, I’ve found you, Anaa... I’m coming for you."

That night, Anaa stirred from her sleep with a jolt. A strange voice echoed through the air—sobbing, laughing, whispering . She slipped out of bed, barefoot and curious, the wooden floor creaking beneath her steps as she followed the haunting sound. It was as if the night itself was calling her.

Suddenly, someone grabbed her hand from behind.

Anaa gasped and turned, her heart pounding—only to see Charlet standing there, her face pale with worry.

"What are you doing out at this hour?" Charlet whispered, glancing nervously around.

Anaa, still dazed, replied, “I… I heard something. I thought someone was crying. I just came to clean—”

Before Charlet could respond, the landlady’s shrill voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"You two filthy rats! What are you doing out here?! Get back to your room, now!"

Without a word, Anaa and Charlet rushed back inside. But later that night, as they lay side by side, Charlet turned to her and said softly, “Promise me something, Anaa… If you ever hear a voice again—don’t follow it. No matter what. Never.”

Anaa was confused but nodded. She trusted Charlet more than anyone.

Far above, on the rooftop cloaked in moonlight, the same mysterious figure crouched silently, watching Anaa through the night.

The next morning, as Anaa worked, she overheard hushed whispers among the girls.

"They say this house is cursed... haunted. There's a ghost that screams every night," one girl said.

"And those who see her… vanish. All the missing girls—they were thirteen or older… and beautiful," another whispered.

Anaa’s heart tightened. Could it be? Was the voice I heard a ghost? Is that why Charlet was so afraid?

Days passed in uneasy silence. Then, one evening, Charlet came to Anaa, her face pale and wounded, blood staining her torn dress.

“Meet me at the back of the building tonight at six. Make sure no one sees you. We’re leaving this place,” she said urgently, not giving Anaa a chance to ask questions.

Anaa was stunned but nodded. She trusted Charlet—always had.

That night, Anaa finished her chores, ate her small meal in silence, and returned to her room. She had little to pack—just a few worn clothes and a piece of fabric her mother once stitched. When the house finally fell silent, Anaa slipped out, heart racing, and crept to the back of the building.

But no one was there.

She waited under the stars, cold and afraid. Hours passed. Charlet never came.

Exhausted, Anaa curled up by the wall and drifted into uneasy sleep.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed in the dark.

She woke up with a shiver.

She was alone… but someone was coming.

Someone was coming for her.

She was scared and then suddenly se saw a figure covered in wounds, blood staining she was charlet