MISS ALICE was marshaling the younger ones: Wallace and Molly, along with the older teens—Aria, Eli, Lennox, Billy, and Suzie—for their daily walk on the outer part of the isle. From my vantage point, I could see their trailing knot. And as I continued watching them from the kitchen window, the worn wood handle of the mop gave me a familiar weight in my hands. The rhythmic swish and slop of the mop against the weathered wooden planks was a weird sound, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of secrets that seemed to gust through every corner of this house. The soap bubbles popped and fizzled on the floor, creating a noise of small sounds that filled the silence of the empty kitchen.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Mamori walk in. Her slight figure was dwarfed by the high arched doorways of the kitchen, but her presence was like a warm presence, filling up the space with a soft-spoken yet unassailable stability.
"Need some help with that?"
I looked at her, her face brimming with a warm smile. I gave her a timid look as I continued my task.
"I'm fine," I said, before she even had the chance to ask. Her brows furrowed in a playful pout, and her ebony eyes twinkled. "I've got it. Thanks."
She didn't argue; she only smiled her ever-gentle smile, the one that reminded me of when we were in Perthlochry. She sank down onto the stool next to me, the creak of the old wood echoing my own sigh of relief. Mamori's voice was a soft murmur, a comforting drone that wove itself into the fabric of the quiet afternoon. "How are you, by the way?" she asked. "How are you doing?"
I paused, the mop resting against the floor. I could tell her I was not okay and that I was confused. I could tell her, Oh, you know, you've hid something from me that made me trust you less," or, You know, Miss Alice is surely hiding something, just like you. But I decided to shut my mouth and say something else. "I'm doing okay. I had adjusted here somehow." A lie, indeed. I offered her a small smile, a peace offering to the worry lines etching themselves onto her forehead. But I didn't tell her about the things I was starting to uncover—the secrets hidden beneath the surface of Miss Alice's home, like buried treasure or forgotten stuff.
Mamori seemed to accept this; her nod was a quiet acknowledgement. Her gaze lingered on me, as if she could see the secrets swirling in my eyes. But she said nothing, her silence was as comforting as her presence.
As I returned to my task, the smell of the soap and the sound of the mop against the floor kept me grounded. The lulling rhythm of the mop swishing across the weathered oak floors had become repetitive. As the sudsy water left streaks of fleeting cleanliness, I sighed. A soft, hesitant voice broke through the steadfast rhythm of my own thoughts.
"Prim," Mamori began cautiously, her voice a faint whisper against the backdrop of the old house's ambient creaks and groans. "How are you managing... you know... Elliot's passing?"
For a moment, I paused, my fingers tightening around the worn wooden handle of the mop. I watched the bubbles in the bucket pop and dissipate, mirroring how my heart felt—fragile and vanishing. I continued my task, the mop resuming its dance over the wooden planks, as if nothing triggered me.
"I suppose," I began, my voice a mere thread of sound, "I'm coping... in pieces." I dipped the mop into the bucket, the water swirling and swallowing the dirt. "It's like a wound that's starting to scab over, but it hasn't fully healed... yet."
Mamori's thin smile was a ghostly curve on her face—a sad, sympathetic shadow. She shifted, her gaze dropping to the water's murky surface. "Sorry. I mean, I didn't mean to pry..." she murmured, as if the words were stones too heavy for her lips to carry.
LI stilled, the mop handle warming under my grip. "Why?" I asked, a furrow of confusion etching itself onto my forehead. "Why are you apologizing?"
She clasped her hands together, her eyes wary and full of regret. "If I had been there when it happened, Elliot might still be here."
I placed the mop against the counter, letting the droplets of water patter onto the tile like tiny, ticking moments. I looked at Mamori, her eyes shimmering with the weight of her emotions. "Either way, it would've been painful, Mamori," I confessed, my voice a hushed whisper in the echoing kitchen. Yeah, either way.
I then thought of Elliot, of his laugh, his gentle manner, and his love for the things that he did. And then I thought of his pain and his suffering. "I just couldn't bear to see him in pain anymore," I admitted, my voice shaky yet resolute. I reached out, placing a comforting hand on Mamori's arm. "No matter what, I wouldn't wish that pain on him."
In the hold of silence, the air between us became thick and heavy with the weight of the words. Then, like a sudden burst of sunlight through a stormy sky, Augustus emerged from the lit hallway. His presence was like a misplaced piece of a jigsaw puzzle that had now found its home. His warm, inviting smile was like the first sip of hot cocoa on a winter morning—pure and comforting. Beside him was Noelle, her icy gaze fixed on me. Her eyes were deep pools of frosty gaze, radiating an intimidating chill. She was like a blizzard in the heart of summer, so out of place yet impossible to ignore. I had grown accustomed to her hostile demeanor; her intimidation was a part of her as much as her dark hair and piercing gaze.
"Lessons time, Mamori," Augustus announced, shattering our conversation like a piece of glass. Mamori returned his smile, her eyes glowing with anticipation. But before she turned to follow him, her gaze met mine. I watched them both as Augustus walked away with her.
As they descended the grandiose staircase, their figures dwindled until they were nothing more than shadows merging with the darkness. The thing is that, Mamori is off to Augustus' training area, a cavernous room extended near the left wing of the orphanage. It is where gifted like them hone their skills. Once, I saw Billy practicing there. Aria also went there with Augustus. Then Molly. Probably everyone at this point—you know, except for me. It was where they learned to wield their powers, a haven where they were more than just forgotten children.
I was alone again, swallowed by the silence of the room. My then thoughts wandered to Elliot. Each memory was a vivid painting, so real that I could almost touch it. I could almost hear his voice, a melody that calmed the chaos within me.
Suddenly, a soft fur brushed against my legs, pulling me back from the depths of my reverie. Looking down, I saw Ophelia purring softly. Her emerald eyes glowed in the dim light. Her purr was a lullaby, a soothing rhythm that eased the storm within me. A smile then danced on my lips as I kneeled down to pet her. Her fur was a sea of softness, each strand resembled an avowal to the comfort she provided. My fingers traced the patterns on her fur, every stroke a silent thank you for her companionship.
Deciding to finish my work, I picked up the mop from the wooden floorboards. Its handle was worn, and the wood was smooth from years of use. With Ophelia trailing behind me, I walked towards the cleaning supplies box. The box, an old wooden crate, was a palette of colors and fragrances. The smell of soap, the vibrant colors of the cleaning liquids, and the rustle of cleaning rags—each element is a testament to the daily chores that kept our house alive.
As I wrung the last droplet from the mop, I carefully nestled it into the age-worn wooden box where it belonged. The shadows danced along the cracked surface as the light filtered in through the lace-curtained window. A sudden shiver raced up my spine, causing me to pause and scan the room. It was as though a whisper of a chill had ghosted through the air, touching everything yet leaving no trace. The hair on the back of my neck prickled with unease. I looked around the cozy, comforting space that had always been a sanctuary. The familiar mismatched furniture, the rough-hewn coffee table scarred with use, the faded rug underfoot—everything was as it always had been.
Ophelia mewled a soft purr from her comfortable perch on the worn-out armchair. The sight of her eyes, half-shuttered in contentment, eased the unease that had momentarily gripped me.
Shrugging off the strange sensation, I headed towards my room, the old wooden floorboards creaking under my weight. The moment I crossed the threshold, an ethereal glow caught my eye. The small, delicate necklace that hung around my neck had begun to radiate a faint luminescence. Its normally clear gem is now pulsed with a spectral light, casting eerie shadows on the worn-out wallpaper.
A sense of anxious anticipation filled me. It was as if the air itself held its breath, waiting for something. I was like, What is going on? My heart pounded a rhythm of apprehension in my chest, even as I tried to convince myself that it was probably nothing more than my imagination. I glanced out the window, expecting to see the comforting glow of the force field that enveloped Miss Alice's home like a protective bubble. Instead, I was met with an unsettling sight. The once-iridescent barrier was disintegrating, its shimmering tendrils dissipating into the cool air, leaving nothing but the open sky in its wake.
I rushed down the stairs, the worn wooden steps protesting under my hurried footsteps. The necklace now blazed with an intensity that matched the fear clutching at my heart. Each pulse of light mirrored my quickening heartbeat; its rhythm was no longer simply a beat but a call to action.
I pushed open the door and stepped outside, the cool breeze tugging at my hair. My eyes were drawn to the spectacle before me. The force field, once a shimmering bubble, is now a fading memory, its remnants disappearing like smoke in the wind. I then wandered my sight, looking for any explanation.
"Miss Alice?" I called out. Are they done with their walk?
The sight left me astounded, and my mind raced to understand why this was happening. The necklace around my neck pulsed brighter for some reason. The world around me seemed to hold its breath, waiting and watching. Something was coming, something was changing, and I know. I know something was off.
The world seemed to pause as I stopped in my tracks. My eyes caught a figure of a man standing a few meters away from the doorway of Miss Alice's home, where I was rooted in place—an intimidating figure dressed entirely in black. In his hand was a small equipment. He raised and shoot it above, causing the remaining parts of the force field to shimmer away. The sight of him sent a shiver coursing down my spine. He was as out of place in the soft pastel hues of Miss Alice's house as a raven in a field of daisies. His unblinking eyes, void of any warmth or emotion, were focused on me, making my heart pound loudly against my rib cage. This isn't Miss Alice.
The necklace resting against my chest began to glow brightly. The warm radiance was in stark contrast with the chilling fear that was rapidly spreading throughout my body. It also started becoming warmer and warmer in my chest. The usually comforting stone on the necklace pulsated with an energy that felt uncomfortably intense, as if echoing my rising anxiety. I took a slow, shaky step backward, my eyes never leaving the man. His face was eerily blank, devoid of eyebrows, as if all identifying features had been scrubbed off. His skin was a strange, unhealthy pallor, more akin to a ghost than a man. It was as though he was a living, breathing shadow, a dark silhouette against the backdrop of Miss Alice's home.
But as I retreated, he inched, maintaining the distance between us. He raised a hand, pale and cold as a winter moon, and I felt an invisible force tugging at me. It was as if my shadow was under his control, and my body was following my shadow's movement. The pull was unyielding, and I found myself unable to move, my feet stubbornly fixed to the ground like a statue. A sharp, searing pain then engulfed my body. I gasped, clutching at the glowing necklace as if it could provide a lifeline. My vision blurred, and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, an instinctual reaction to escape the pain.
When I dared to open my eyes, I was no longer standing on Miss Alice's doorstep. Instead, I was transported back to the most horrific moment of my life. The room was familiar—the old worn-out couch, the faded wallpaper, the smell of cigarettes, and regret. Elliot, was there, his usually stern face twisted in fear and pain. His hands clawed at the air, trying to find something, anything.
A different man in black was there, his hand wrapped around Elliot's throat, his expression as impassive as the man on Miss Alice's field. I watched, helpless and horrified, as the life was choked out of Elliot, his struggles growing weaker until they finally ceased. The echo of his gasping breaths filled the room, a haunting soundtrack to the horrifying tableau.
When I blinked, I was back on Miss Alice's doorstep, the man in black still approaching, my body still frozen in place. The pain had subsided, but the terror was still there, amplified by the ghostly replay of Elliot's death. I was trapped in a terrifying loop, my past and present colliding in a dreadful dance orchestrated by the man in black.
Sweat then slowly trickled down my forehead as unease tightened its grip around my heart. A gnawing anxiety had started to consume me, forcing me to wheeze in pain. The haunting image of Elliot's dying face was flashing like a faulty neon sign in my mind's eye. His eyes, clouded over by the finality of death, seemed to reflect the horrors of our world, causing my breath to hitch. A chilling sensation ran down my spine, and I felt as though the ground would swallow me whole.
The shadows shivered, and the man in black stepped, his intimidating figure looming over me. But just as his harsh grip was about to encase me, someone rushed forward from the garden.
"Prim!"
The man momentarily stopped. I looked around and saw Bryce running towards me. Suddenly, maybe because of the force field dissipating and the noise outside the house, four more figures emerged—Augustus, Noelle, Sebastian, and Mamori. Their faces were masks of disbelief. Mamori, her voice sharp and clear, rang out in the still air. "Prim!" Her shout echoing in the eeriness caused the man in black to momentarily divert his attention. A brief respite, but enough to loosen the phantom grip he had over me.
Chaos erupted. The man in black lunged forward, his hand outstretched towards the rest. But Augustus was quicker. He stepped in front of us, his hand raised in an authoritative motion, a silent command that was as powerful as a shouted order. It was a surreal sight, as if an invisible force radiated from his palm, causing the man in black to stagger back. It was as though the very energy inside the man was disintegrating, evaporating like water on a hot skillet.
"How on earth were you able to locate us!" Augustus yelled, contorting the essence of life within the man. The man didn't respond though. He didn't flinch, nor did he wince. He was still emotionless. Despite Augustus' efforts, the man in black was not to be deterred so easily. He fought back, struggling against the unseen force.
As I watched, my heart pounding, I saw Sebastian shift from the form I recognized—a lean figure with sharp eyes that always seemed to be assessing the room—to something wholly different. His body contorted, shrinking and expanding all at once. His skin shimmered, feathers sprouting from it like a blossom. His face elongated, his eyes becoming larger and more piercing, and in less than a heartbeat, where a humanoid had once stood, there was now an owl. Sebastian then took flight, his wings slicing through the air as he dove towards the man. His attack was silent, a shadow against the air. The man in black swung wildly, trying to swat Sebastian away, but he was nimble, evading every move with an ease that left me in shock. It was like watching a dance, swift and deadly, beautiful in its execution.
At the same time while the man was distracted, Augustus took the opportunity to strike, his energy crackling in the air, visible to the naked eye as arcs of silver and blue. He was battling like a storm, his power of energy manipulation creating a spectacle of light and sound. Every time his fist collided with the man in black, there was a burst of energy, like a star being born. The power of it was staggering, bright, violent, and utterly mesmerizing.
"Go and alert Miss Alice!" Augustus said to Noelle in a very authoritative voice. "Tell her that we're being located!"
Augustus groaned as the man in black gestured. His power was something I'd never seen before—he could control the penumbra. And not just his own, but others as well. I watched, my heart in my throat, as the shadow beneath Augustus rippled, twisted, and then rose, wrapping around him like a living thing. It was so strange, so unnatural, that it made my skin crawl. Augustus struggled, his movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated, as if he were a puppet on strings. The man in black was controlling him, manipulating him with his own shadow. Then Sebastian. It was terrifying. A cold shiver ran down my spine, fearing turning my blood into ice.
Maybe, just maybe, the man followed Miss Alice and the rest in their walks and waited for the opportunity to strike.
I felt a scream clawing its way up my throat, a raw, primal sound that echoed the terror coursing through my veins. But I swallowed it down, pressing my hand to my mouth to keep it in. But it was so hard—so incredibly hard—to just watch and do nothing while my friends were in danger.
My eyes were glued to the scene, taking in every detail, every shift in the shadows, and every flicker of energy. The air was charged with tension, thick and heavy, making it hard to breathe, and I didn't know what to do or how to help. I was paralyzed, caught in the grip of fear and helplessness. But I couldn't just stand there; I couldn't just watch. I had to do something. I had to help. But what could I do against a man who could control shadows? I don't have any power.
As I watched the scene unfold, Augustus gained the upper hand, contorting the very life essence inside the man. After more than ten minutes of struggle, the man collapsed, his coat covering his body like a blanket. For some reason, something told me to go closer—to investigate. Which I did. I observed the man and noticed that, just like all the men in black I encountered, he too had no eyebrows. He had a pale skin, an emotionless facade, and a terrifying sense emanating from him. I bent down to investigate more, only to find a piece of paper tucked inside his pocket. Written in it were numbers. 0-2-3. What does that mean?
In the middle of the paper was the logo of a swan, whose neck arched delicately like a vine. I continued observing his face, and slowly, the trauma of losing Elliot was triggered, my mental state teetering on the edge of a precipice. The world around me seemed to blur, and the sounds around me were distorted, as if I were submerged underwater. The faces of my friends and the man in black appeared to warp and shift, their voices sounding far away. I was slipping, sinking into a pit of despair and terror.
Then, the echoes of my past began to resonate louder than the sound of my own heartbeat. The voices, my tormentors, started whispering their tales again. They were like specters in my mind, invisible yet palpable, pulling me back into the abyss I thought I had escaped. The sight of Augustus locked in combat a few minutes ago with the man in black was a trigger. A ghostly trigger sent a jolt of fear through my veins, awakening the demons that had been dormant for so long. I shot up from the ground, my heart pounding like a drum against my ribcage. The world around me swirled into a chaotic whirlpool as I took off, my feet barely touching the pathway. I couldn't control, nor was I in the right headspace. All I know was I need to escape. To go away. To breathe.
As I ran, I could hear the distant calls of Mamori and Bryce; their voices were strained with concern. But their words were muffled, drowned out by the ringing in my ears and the deafening sound of my own panic.
Ophelia followed me and I even barely noticed it. The terror that must've been evident in mine, propelled by the raw, primal instinct to run, told me to escape. It was a response ingrained in me from the trauma—a response born from Elliot's death.
The academy had long disappeared from my sight when I found myself standing at the edge of the woods. I still ran away further out into the woods. The towering trees loomed over me, their gnarled branches reaching out like skeletal hands. The sky had turned a somber gray, a foreboding blanket that seemed to mourn with me. I stepped into the woods, the crunch of dried leaves beneath my boots echoing in the eerie silence.
My breath hitched in my throat as I stumbled deeper into the forest, the shadows growing denser with each passing second. The world seemed to tip and sway around me. I came to a halt, my back pressed against the rough bark of an ancient tree. My knees buckled, and I slid down, my body curling up against the cold, damp earth.
Tears began to stream down my cheeks as I sobbed uncontrollably. The image of Elliot's smile, so warm and genuine, flashed in my mind. His laughter echoed in my ears, a haunting melody that played out in a cruel, endless loop. The pain was unbearable, and as if sensing my pain, the rain began to fall. It started gently, a soft patter against the leaves overhead. But soon, it grew into a torrent, a deluge that washed over me, soaking me to the bone. The cold, relentless raindrops mingled with my tears, blurring my vision, but I hardly noticed. I hugged myself tighter, the chill seeping into my skin. Ophelia had found shelter under a nearby bush, her plaintive meows barely audible over the rain.
I could do nothing but sit there, lost in my despair, lost in the woods, lost in my own torment. The voices in my head continued their vile symphony, growing louder with each passing second. But amidst the chaos, Elliot's smile remained in my head.
I clung to that image of him—his beautiful smile—that I could no longer see. I thought that I had somehow overcome the grief of his death, but it turns out that I am far from being healed