There were seventeen people in the coffee house.

  Well, sixteen, one was a corpse now.

  Fifteen if the child was considered the parents' accessory.

  Well, anyway, sixteen people who had varied reactions.

  The mother hugged her child closer, holding on as though he were sand slipping out of her fingers.

  The child smiled against his mother's stomach.

  The oldest man with barely any hair walked towards the dead, looking at the eyes that were forcefully closed.

  His mouth agape, he stared at Thea, who tilted her head, as though she didn't understand what had happened.

  But she did.

  But knowledge was never really a sign of empathy.

  Kindness was usually born in the muddy waters of ignorance.

  But not always.

  Artemisia looked at Thea, and smiled, "You know poor guy was begging to be let go," She stood up.

  "But if I let go—everyone dies—"

  A chair fell, and a woman with dyed red hair and honey-like eyes stood up.

  "How dare you! How could you just kill him?" The woman's voice was sharp, jittery, and scared.

  "Then would you rather?"

  The woman looked at Artemisia. Then at her table.

  Then she picked up her chair and sat down. Her head on the table and the sound of tears falling on the ground.

  Then no one spoke.

  What would they say?

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The old man looked at the dead body, then turned away.

  "We should at least hold a burial? He made me a mocha!" Artemisia grinned at everyone.

  Her words hung in the air.

  "Do you know what you are saying?" The mother spoke, looking for some aspect of humanity in Artemisia's eyes.

  "Yeah? Funeral? Right?" Artemisia asked, her smile fixed like a painting.

  "People are not toys, do you have any idea what you have done?" The mother spoke, her teeth rubbing against each other, her tight grip on the table.

  "Saved you people?" Artemisia answered, as usual, with a tilt of ignorance.

  "Is killing someone an act of mercy to you?" The mother spat out like she chewed on a bitter, burnt biscuit.

  "Mama, what does mercy mean?" The boy clung onto his mother's dress.

  The mother looked away from the girl and looked at her child. She sat down on the nearest chair. Almost like falling. She smiled.

  She chuckled.

  She rubbed her eyes and placed a kiss on her beloved child's temple.

  "Mercy is forgiveness," Thea said.

  The child looked at Thea, pouted, and said, "Why is Mama crying?"

  "Is it because of you? I won't forgive you!" He shouted the last words and ran to Thea and started hitting her.

  Thea stood there.

  The child was a mere bug to her, something not even worth swatting away.

  "Aw, what a sweet child! But it is not because of Thea that she is crying, tis me—the reason," Artemisia twirled as she walked to the conversation.

  "Why did you make Mama cry? She won't bake you any cookies!" The child stuck his tongue out at her.

  She laughed.

  The mother flinched.

  She tried to hold her child's hand.

  But.

  Artemisia picked him up and kissed him on his cheeks, "What a cheeky brat!"

  She twirled around, and for a moment looked like a girl in her twenties, and for a moment the world looked good.

  But the mother could not lose herself in the scenery, as she stood to lose the most.

  "Stop it," the woman said. Artemisia glanced at her.

  "Please," the woman's eyes were red, and her mouth tasted of metal from biting her tongue.

  "Boo, so boring, here's your kid!" Artemisia put the child back on the ground. Like she put her toy back into its shelf.

  The child looked back at Artemisia, upset that he was not flying in the air.

  The mother breathed.

  It was as though she were stuck in a vacuum. And the air just couldn't enter.

  But it did.

  Now that her child's stomach growled.

  She smiled. Wiping her face.

  "Mama, I'm hungry," he tapped on his stomach.

  Artemisia's stomach growled, too.

  "Would you bake me cookies too?" Artemisia said with a glint in her eye and relaxed posture.

  "No," the mother answered, her face scrunched.

  "Okay, rude." Artemisia turned towards Thea, "Can you cook?"

  Thea stared at her and stared more till she tucked a strand of hair away from Artemisia's face, "Sure."

  Thea walked away from Artemisia and towards the counter. Her feet stepped on blood and left a dark trail.

  She stepped beside the body, turned to look at it. Her eyes pulled in the picture of the dead body losing its colour, flies sitting on his eyeball, his fingers in a crooked position.

  Likely Artemisia's work.

  She hummed and walked away to the kitchen.

  Then stopped and turned to look at everyone, "Someone should throw the dead body away, it'd smell like shit otherwise."

  Then she walked away like someone with bones that never cracked.

  Not if hit by a hammer, or burnt by fire.

  But that's only because she didn't have bones.

  All that held her up was her love.

  For whom or for what, that is a story that is better found out.

  She looked around the kitchen, there were nineteen alive people here.

  Three girls, who looked strikingly similar to each other, and a little cat that nuzzled its head against Thea's legs.

  "There shouldn't be animals in the kitchen." Thea stared at the three.

  "She's clean, ya know!" the one who was a little braver spoke. All three looked the same with brown eyes and hair.

  The other two didn't dare meet Thea's eyes.

  She looked around and saw a little hole that let people have a clear view of the coffee house.

  And she heard Artemisia's laughter that was sharp like the knives in the kitchen.

  The three were startled at the noise.

  Thea stared and hummed, "Do you three know how to cook?"

  They looked at each other and then looked at her.

  They nodded.

  "Great, then, let's cook for everyone here," Thea smiled, like a kid who got clothes instead of toys for their birthday.