[indent][color=Gray][i]Her world was an expanse of unrelenting darkness, a void where even the faintest glimmer of light dared not venture. Suspended in this nothingness, she stood motionless, her hands outstretched before her, seeking the warmth of visibility but finding none. Her eyes, wide open in a futile defiance, perceived nothing but the enveloping black. A silent scream began to echo within her, a crescendo of panic that filled the vast emptiness cradling her isolated existence.[/i]

[i]Breathing shallowly, her whispers seemed loud in the silence that stretched on without end. The stillness was absolute, a canvas awaiting a stroke of sound. And then, it came—a whisper, soft and fleeting, like the touch of a ghost against her skin.[/i]

[i][color=#006c00]"Har-r-per." [/color][/i]

[i]A lullaby woven from memories of safety and warmth. It was unmistakably her mother's voice, yet it bore the weight of distance, a haunting reverberation from a place unseen.[/i]

[i][color=#c2e0b7]"Harper, where… are…. you?" [/color][/i][i]Another voice joined, this one heavy with concern, her father's voice reaching out from the depths of the shadows, a beacon of worry tinged with a longing that spoke of unspoken fears.[/i]

[i]A single tear, born of uncertainty and fear, traced a path down her cheek as she reached blindly into the abyss, her fingers grasping at the thick air. A shiver travelled down her spine, a silent omen of the dread that was beginning to take hold. She turned slowly, her movements hesitant, as she sought the sources of the voices that seemed to call to her from beyond the veil.[/i]

[color=#fb0207][i]"Help… me," [/i][/color][i]came a fragile plea, quivering with the vulnerability of a soul laid bare. It was Sierra's voice, a tremulous whisper that seemed to trail from a place just out of reach.[/i]

[i]They were all out of reach. Unseen. [/i]

[i]With a sudden jerk, she turned, hoping to pierce the darkness that clung to her like a second skin. The voices wove a complex web around her, a symphony of sound that beckoned her deeper into the enigma of the unknown. She took a step, then another, each footfall sinking into a ground that grew increasingly yielding, threatening to swallow her whole.[/i]

[i]The chill of water caressed her ankles now, a jarring intrusion in the blindness that had become her reality. She looked down instinctively, her gaze desperate to penetrate the darkness, but it revealed nothing but the night itself. The water, a silent and insidious predator, continued its steady ascent, now claiming her knees, then her waist, as the voices around her swelled into a chorus of despair.[/i]

[i][color=#006c00]"Harper, don't… leave…. us," [/color][/i][i]her mother's voice broke.[/i]

[i][color=#c2e0b7]"We… need… you," [/color][/i][i]her father's voice wove into the lament, each syllable a pulse of raw pain.[/i]

[i]The water now cradled her chest, an icy embrace that advanced without mercy. She struggled for air, her lungs straining against the relentless tide. She gasped, and choked, the water's bitter chill invading her being, a flood of despair.[/i]

[color=#fb0207][i]"Help...me,"[/i][/color][i] Sierra's voice was now a fading spectre, a distant echo being swallowed by the all-consuming void.[/i]

[i]Her attempt to cry out was a silent struggle, her voice lost to the waters that now enveloped her completely, pulling her down into the abyss. She was descending, drowning in the depths of her own fear, the darkness constricting around her like a shroud. As her consciousness began to wane, the plea for help was the last tether to a world slipping away.[/i]

[i][color=#8a9a5b]Help me. [/color][/i]

Harper's body catapulted into consciousness, her senses on high alert as she gasped for breath. Her lungs clamoured for air, each inhalation a battle against the invisible remnants of her nightmare that seemed to cling to her very soul. A sheen of sweat blanketed her skin, the visceral terror that had gripped her in the throes of the dream ever so slowly ebbing away. Her eyes, wide with the echo of that fear, darted frantically across the room, which emerged gradually from the shadows, bathed in the silver light of the moon that crept through the window's parting.

The clock on her bedside table blinked a bright, unyielding red—3:07 AM. The night was still in its infancy, and yet, Harper felt as though she had been thrust prematurely into the waking world, robbed of the solace that sleep was meant to provide.

[color=#8a9a5b]"It was just a nightmare,"[/color] she whispered to herself, the words a feeble shield against the pounding of her heart. The dream had been a tapestry of darkness and despair, woven with threads of pain and fear so tangible that they seemed to transcend the boundary between dream and reality. The sensation of drowning, of being pulled inexorably into an abyss, clung to her with a persistence that was almost tangible. 

Just like before. 

But she wasn’t there anymore.

Right? 

With trembling hands, Harper drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, seeking comfort in the cocoon of her own embrace. She rocked gently, a silent lullaby to soothe the remnants of dread that enveloped her like a shroud. The room was silent, save for the cadence of her laboured breathing, which gradually slowed as she focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest—a metronome guiding her back to the calm shores of reality. Her true reality. She hoped. 

The familiar contours of her room took shape in the dim light—the stack of books on her nightstand, the soft drape of the curtains, the gentle outline of her desk in the corner. Each detail was a lifeline, pulling her further from the edge of panic, anchoring her in the here and now.

Yet still, she knew she needed to escape. To find solace in the open expanse of the night once again. What else was she to do? 

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of her father's sketchbook that lay on the bedside table. The leather cover was worn, the edges frayed from years of use, but to Harper, it was a lifeline. She hadn't found the will to add to her own sketches since the morning of the trial, the images too raw, the emotions too near the surface. But her father's sketchbook was different; it was a connection to a past that felt both distant and comforting, a reminder of times when life was simpler, less fraught with the shadows that now seemed to follow her.

Clutching the sketchbook to her chest, Harper rose from her bed, her movements deliberate and silent. She reached for the well-worn black hoodie draped over her desk chair, its fabric soft from countless washes, and pulled it over her head. The familiar scent of laundry detergent clung to it, a small comfort in the sea of her disquiet. With a deep breath, she approached the door to her bedroom. Her hand rested on the knob for a moment, gathering resolve, before she pushed it open. The hinges gave a faint whisper, a secret shared between the door and its frame, as she slipped through the gap.

The main area of the dormitory was shrouded in shadows, the quiet of early morning hanging heavy in the air. Harper paused, letting the silence envelop her, a brief respite from the echoes of her own thoughts. She felt the plush carpet beneath her feet as she began to move, each step deliberate and soft, a silent dance that carried her away from the room that had become a prison of memories in the last two days.  

As Harper emerged from the confines of the dormitory, the night wrapped around her like a comforting shawl. The air was crisp, with a gentle chill that kissed her cheeks and played with the loose strands of her hair. 

The parts that remained. The pieces of herself that hadn't been forcibly taken from her. 

She slowly made her way to the beach that lay a stone's throw from the school. The moon hung low, a silver orb casting a shimmering path across the water's surface. The rhythmic sound of the waves rolling onto the shore was soothing, each ebb and flow a peaceful sound to her ears. 

She wandered along the edge of the water, her footsteps leaving fleeting impressions in the wet sand, until she found a secluded nook, sheltered by the craggy embrace of an ancient rock. There, she nestled into the sand, its cool grains conforming to her form, and she opened the sketchbook—a portal to a world crafted by her father's hand.

The pages were a gallery of his soul, each drawing a silent narrative captured in lines and shadows. Harper traced the contours of the sketches, her touch a bridge across time and space, connecting her to the man whose essence lived on through these strokes of charcoal and ink. The images were a mosaic of memories, each one a snapshot of life's fleeting joys—before the trials that had upended her world, before the nightmares that now haunted her sleep.

Yet, this night, the solace that her father's art usually provided seemed just beyond her grasp. The comfort she sought was muffled by the din of grief and fear that weighed upon her heart, a heavy shroud that threatened to pull her under, much like the relentless tide in her dreams.

Time seemed to stand still as Harper sat there, her gaze lost in the vastness of the ocean now. The constellations above were stories written in the stars, tales of heroes and monsters, of love and loss. She sought their wisdom, their eternal calm, as the tumult within her continued to wage its silent war.

[color=#8a9a5b][i]Help me. [/i][/color]

[hr] 

Harper’s return to the dormitory was like stepping back into a world that was both intimately familiar and strangely alien. The silence enveloped her, a tangible presence that seemed to press against her skin. She moved through the room, her steps careful and measured, avoiding the mirror by the door as if it were an omen. Its surface, a reflective pool of truths she wasn’t ready to face, remained unchallenged in the corner of her vision.

Her attention was drawn inexorably to the dresser, where her lifeline to the outside world—a smartphone—lay dormant. Its screen, a rectangle of faint light in the shadowed room, beckoned. Harper approached, her hand outstretched, the coolness of the wood beneath her fingers grounding her. She picked up the phone, its weight familiar and reassuring in her palm.

With a practiced motion, she unlocked the phone. The screen came to life, casting a soft glow that painted her features brightly against the darkness. Her thumb hovered, a hesitant bird over the list of contacts, each name a chapter of her life. But there was only one name that mattered now, the one marked with a dire warning:[b] For Emergencies Only. I mean it, Rat![/b]

Her heart thudded in her chest, a drumbeat of hesitation, but the urgency of the moment propelled her forward. She pressed the call button, her breath catching as the phone began to ring. Once, twice, the sound seemed to fill the room, a countdown to a conversation she both dreaded and needed. But not like this. 

Then, connection. 

A voice began to emerge, a prelude to admonishment, but Harper cut through it with the urgency of her plea.

[color=#8a9a5b]"I need to see you,"[/color] Harper interjected, her voice a raw whisper of vulnerability. The words hung in the air, a plea and a command all at once, carrying with them the weight of unspoken fears and the hope for understanding.

Silence stretched on the line, a pause that felt like an eternity. Harper’s breath was a hostage in her lungs, her entire being poised on the edge of anticipation, yearning for a sign that she was not alone.

The response, when it came, was not words, but a sigh—a heavy, laden exhalation that spoke volumes before the line abruptly went dead.[/color][/indent] 

[COLOR=GRAY][CENTER][COLOR=8A9A5B][sup]_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/COLOR][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/4rna72AVp8v4lvRP5g3W6f?si=f821f01662a94783][img]https://i.imgur.com/defFT2x.jpeg[/img][/url][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=8A9A5B][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Strigidae House[/I] - [I]Pacific Royal Campus[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Take On Me #3.005:[/b][/COLOR][I]Submerged[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][COLOR=8A9A5B][SUP][sub]___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sub][/SUP][/COLOR][indent][sub][color=8A9A5B][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR][I]I'm at a payphone, trying to call home, all of my change I spent on you  [/I][/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=8A9A5B][b]Previously: [/b][/COLOR][COLOR=GRAY][I]Livin' on a Wing[/I][/color][/right][/SUP][/indent]

[indent]There was no way she could do this. 

Harper remained motionless, cocooned in her bed, as the first rays of dawn crept through the gaps in the curtains, casting a soft, diffused light across the room. The world outside was waking up; the distant sounds of doors opening and closing, the muffled footsteps of early risers, and the faint voices of her dorm mates starting their day were sounds of normalcy that she now felt disconnected from.

The ceiling above offered no comfort, just a blank canvas where the shadows of her thoughts played out in endless loops. Today marked the beginning of a new term, a return to routines and expectations, to lectures and exams, but for Harper, it was a threshold she felt paralyzed to cross. The very idea of stepping out into the hallways, of mingling with her peers, sent a wave of dread crashing over her, leaving her breathless.

She sat up slowly, her movements languid, as if moving through water. Her fingers, trembling slightly, traced the contours of the scars that marred her face—delicate lines that told a story she wasn't ready to share. The healers had woven their magic, mending what they could, but some wounds were beyond the reach of special abilities. They lingered on her skin, a map of her ordeal, a reminder of the trial that had stripped her of her fragile invincibility.

Harper's reflection was a stranger to her now, the dishevelled hair framing her face like the chaotic thoughts that tangled her mind. Each unevenly cut lock fell without grace, a great contrast to the meticulous, sleek style she had once crafted with such care and that had helped form her reputation since attending P.R.C.U. The difference was not just noticeable—it was a chasm, a departure from the Harper who had walked the halls with an air of untouchable grace. 

Now, she felt as wild and unruly on the outside as the animal the trials had almost freed on the inside. 

She exhaled deeply, the sound heavy with the weight of realization. Her knees came up to meet her chest, and her arms wrapped around them, forming a barrier between her and the world. Confidence had been her signature, the armour that she wore with pride, but the trials had left it battered and tarnished. Now, she felt as if she were standing on a battlefield, defenceless, her shield in ruins at her feet.

The relentless ticking of the clock was a cruel reminder of time's indifference to her failing pride. 7:45 AM—the numbers glared at her, each tick a nudge, a push toward a reality she wasn't prepared to face. The world outside her door beckoned, a river of students already flowing toward the day's promises and responsibilities. But Harper remained still, a stone in the current, her anxiety an anchor that held her fast.

Her friends, her dear Haven with eyes that had seen too much, they would be waiting, expecting her to emerge, ready to face the day. They had shared their own trials, each carrying their own scars, visible or not. 

But the thought of stepping out, of meeting the gazes of those who knew nothing of her pain, was a wall she couldn't scale. Judgment, pity, revulsion—these were the ghosts that haunted her, the ghosts that whispered doubts and fears.

[color=#8a9a5b]"I can't do this,"[/color] she admitted to the walls, to the ceiling, to the silent witnesses of her unravelling. The resolve to change, to metamorphose into the person she aspired to be, flickered within her—a lone spark in the oppressive gloom of her doubts. But the path to transformation was shrouded in mist, the steps to reclaiming the scattered fragments of her identity obscured and daunting.

How could she gather the pieces of herself, the shards of confidence and self-assuredness that had once defined her? They seemed like relics of a bygone era, remnants of a persona that had been shattered by the recent trials and tribulations. The chasm between who she was in this moment and who she needed to become felt insurmountable.

It was then that a previously insignificant memory surfaced, unbidden but clear—a teammate, a friend who had once revealed her own struggle with self-image to them all. Not by choice…but. 

Harper found she could relate to it, to her, now especially.

With her relentless pursuit of perfection that could never be attained. 

[/indent][/color]