@Qia Ooh, do I forsee a little collab going down between Asterion and Bella....? And I think the text is just fine, I can read it. :p
We shall see. Honestly depends on Savant :)
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A Little Weasel
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6 days ago
Happy New Year guys. Wishing you all the best in 2025 :)
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19 days ago
idk man that sounds pretty depressing. Hope you don't stay in that feeling for too long, cus trust me it sucks.
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20 days ago
It always sucks when someone calls you a bad name online though, right? Oh wait.....
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1 mo ago
This is only my opinion but I think you will have more creative freedom in between act 1 and 2 of seasons 2 since a lot of emotional beats were missing there. E.g. caitlyn and ambessastyranny.
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1 mo ago
I can write as long as the music isn't played too loudly. Although if it's a soft/slow song as it is it doesn't matter. Those are probably less distracting too.
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Bio
Hi, Qia here <3. I'm a gamer and RP fan just looking to have a good time.
Most Recent Posts
We shall see. Honestly depends on Savant :)
Left it open-ended on my end as well. Best that way I think. Edit: BTW if Bella's text is hard to read let me know. Could just be my grandma eyes reading it over xD
Unknown Location, White Pine
Mentions: Asterion (@The Savant) Interactions: Vincent (@Estylwen)
Isabella’s eyelids opened and closed like the wings of a restless butterfly, each blink uncertain and shaky as the world turned in a dizzying swirl around her. Overhead, the flickering light hung, expanding and squeezing with each breath she took while the air around her smelled with the sharpness of blood. Her blood.
Her breath hitched as she adjusted to the dizziness, Isabella’s head tipping forward slightly before she forced herself upright. Slowly, her crimson gaze roamed the room, taking in the shadowy figures at the edges, the glint of rifle barrels trained on her, and the polished shoes of the man who now stood before her. Bound to the chair like a fallen queen, with crimson droplets seeping from her veins and her midnight-black hair cascading around her shoulders in wild disarray, she centred herself by breathing deeply before finally looking up.
“Vincent,” the woman cooed, her voice as smooth as silk despite her predicament, “You certainly have a way of making a girl feel special. I must admit, it has me a bit…. breathless.” A playful grin danced across her lips.
Isabella’s eyes then wandered over the cold metal tubes that drained her life’s essence, her smile growing. “Though I must admit, the décor leaves much to be desired. Perhaps a bouquet of roses would liven things up? Or would that be too on the nose?”
Isabella tilted her head back against the chair, her long, delicate neck exposed, trying to appear casual as if she were simply admiring the ceiling. “So, you want me to play the villain and bring down Kairo, and in exchange... what do I get? A simple promise that we’ll be 'even'? Oh, how incredibly generous of you!” Her voice dripped with playful sarcasm, each word rolling off her tongue like honey, sweet and intoxicating but also laced with a bitter tang.
In an instant, her bright smile evaporated, however, leaving behind a cold gaze.
“Darling,” she purred, her voice dripping with sweet menace, “I didn’t scrabble and scrape my way to the pinnacle of Nocturnia’s shadowy empire just to hand out favours like candy at some parade. Especially not for men who naively think that tying me up and draining me is a clever way to cut a deal. I crave something far richer than a mere pat on the head or a dull paycheck, you see.”
Vincent's crimson eyes stared right back at her, wholly amused in her carefree-ness. It was to her own doom, after all. He merely smiled slightly, leaning back to adjust the cuffs on his sleeve.
”My dear Bella, I would never dream of merely kidnapping and draining you to be enough to win you over.”
His gaze flicked from the cuff to her. ”However, you must realize that I can change your mind in an instant. You should be grateful to me, in fact, for giving you the illusion of choice here. It's not a ‘deal’, we're cutting, my sweet. You are my doll, and you will do as I say.”
He grinned wolfishly. ”So, I want to hear you say, ‘Yes, Mr. Vincent. I'll get right on that.’”
He shrugged, one eye closing in a wink. ”Or you'll see this little game get real real fast.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed just a hint, a flicker of icy amusement dancing within her ruby-red stare. “Your doll? How charmingly presumptuous,” she teased, her tone dripping with allure. Leaning forward as much as her bonds would allow, she locked her gaze onto his. “But tell me, if you genuinely possess the power to sway me in an instant, why engage in this elaborate ruse at all? Why not simply wave your fingers and bend me to your will, as you so desire?”
”...Calling my bluff, are we?” Vincent said, a dark tone entering his voice. ”I was hoping you would.”
He shifted in his seat, procuring a phone. He quickly pressed the FaceTime for a contact. It connected almost instantly, and his voice drawled. ”Get on with it.”
He then turned the phone so Bella could easily see from her compromised position. She would see a dark room and two shadowy figures throwing a hooded man on the ground, into the spotlight. His hands were tightly bound behind his back, and a moan of pain escaped him.
Then the beatings started. Vincent held the phone steady as Bella was forced to listen to every punch, kick, and slap that the men wailed on the prone figure. If she listened carefully, she would notice something. Vincent was watching her eyes for it, waiting for her to recognize, yes, that those cries of pain were oddly familiar.
One of the men finally removed the hood of the victim, and Bella saw who it was.
Mathieu.
A pause, before Vincent's chin jerked. ”I didn't say to stop, did I?”
And the raw, agonizing beatings resumed before Bella's eyes.
Isabella's sly grin wavered when the hood was drawn away from Mathieu, revealing his battered face. A gasp escaped her lips, and for a brief moment, her ruby eyes glimmered with an unexpected emotion: fear.
“Mathieu,” she murmured. The intensity of her gaze flickered back to Vincent, her cold demeanour shattering into fragments, each piece reflecting her desperation. “You’ve proven your point,” she declared, her tone trembling with barely contained rage. “But this ends here... right now.”
In an instant, the careful, cool Isabella vanished, replaced by a fierce older sister ready to go to any lengths to safeguard the last person she held dear. “I’ll bend to your will,” she said, her declaration tasting like ash mixed with blood, “but if you so much as brush your hand against him again, I promise you’ll suffer a reckoning that will haunt your nightmares.”
Either way, Isabella was sure to make the man pay.
Vincent smiled, turned the phone to him, and crooned, ”Okay, that's enough.”
And the sound of beatings stopped.
He disconnected the call, glancing back over at Bella, taking in the sweet expression of her face. ”Of course, my dear. As long as you cooperate, your precious one won't be harmed.”
”Of course,” He gave the phone a little wiggle. ”That will change if you give me a reason to believe you're not being sincere with my requests…”
He gave a closed-lip smile as he pocketed the phone. ”Regardless, LO'm looking forward to a fortuitous business relation with you, Bella.”
Soon, Bella found herself standing on the streets of Nocturnia, her blood returned to her, and Vincent gone without a trace. Though she couldn't help shake the feeling of being watched…
Interactions: Emilia (NPC)
The muted hum of Highfair's nightlife throbbed like a distant heartbeat, muffled by the tinted windows of Isabella’s sleek black car. Inside, the amber glow of the dashboard illuminated her sharp features, casting a ghostly red hue that danced across her face, hinting at her intentions. Emilia, her trusted lieutenant, sat behind the wheel, her expression hard but questioning.
“Everything set?” Isabella asked.
Emilia nodded, her eyes flicking to Isabella’s face, searching for answers. “Word’s already spreading. Kairo’s people will catch wind soon enough. You sure this is the way to go?”
Isabella leaned back, her gaze fixed on the cityscape outside. “We’ll give Vincent just enough to keep him satisfied. But Kairo… he might be an ally, if he plays his cards right.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Emilia pressed.
“Then he’ll burn, just like Vincent wants,” Isabella said simply. “Either way, I’ll make sure this doesn’t end with Mathieu as collateral damage.”
Her breath hitched as she adjusted to the dizziness, Isabella’s head tipping forward slightly before she forced herself upright. Slowly, her crimson gaze roamed the room, taking in the shadowy figures at the edges, the glint of rifle barrels trained on her, and the polished shoes of the man who now stood before her. Bound to the chair like a fallen queen, with crimson droplets seeping from her veins and her midnight-black hair cascading around her shoulders in wild disarray, she centred herself by breathing deeply before finally looking up.
“Vincent,” the woman cooed, her voice as smooth as silk despite her predicament, “You certainly have a way of making a girl feel special. I must admit, it has me a bit…. breathless.” A playful grin danced across her lips.
Isabella’s eyes then wandered over the cold metal tubes that drained her life’s essence, her smile growing. “Though I must admit, the décor leaves much to be desired. Perhaps a bouquet of roses would liven things up? Or would that be too on the nose?”
Isabella tilted her head back against the chair, her long, delicate neck exposed, trying to appear casual as if she were simply admiring the ceiling. “So, you want me to play the villain and bring down Kairo, and in exchange... what do I get? A simple promise that we’ll be 'even'? Oh, how incredibly generous of you!” Her voice dripped with playful sarcasm, each word rolling off her tongue like honey, sweet and intoxicating but also laced with a bitter tang.
In an instant, her bright smile evaporated, however, leaving behind a cold gaze.
“Darling,” she purred, her voice dripping with sweet menace, “I didn’t scrabble and scrape my way to the pinnacle of Nocturnia’s shadowy empire just to hand out favours like candy at some parade. Especially not for men who naively think that tying me up and draining me is a clever way to cut a deal. I crave something far richer than a mere pat on the head or a dull paycheck, you see.”
Vincent's crimson eyes stared right back at her, wholly amused in her carefree-ness. It was to her own doom, after all. He merely smiled slightly, leaning back to adjust the cuffs on his sleeve.
”My dear Bella, I would never dream of merely kidnapping and draining you to be enough to win you over.”
His gaze flicked from the cuff to her. ”However, you must realize that I can change your mind in an instant. You should be grateful to me, in fact, for giving you the illusion of choice here. It's not a ‘deal’, we're cutting, my sweet. You are my doll, and you will do as I say.”
He grinned wolfishly. ”So, I want to hear you say, ‘Yes, Mr. Vincent. I'll get right on that.’”
He shrugged, one eye closing in a wink. ”Or you'll see this little game get real real fast.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed just a hint, a flicker of icy amusement dancing within her ruby-red stare. “Your doll? How charmingly presumptuous,” she teased, her tone dripping with allure. Leaning forward as much as her bonds would allow, she locked her gaze onto his. “But tell me, if you genuinely possess the power to sway me in an instant, why engage in this elaborate ruse at all? Why not simply wave your fingers and bend me to your will, as you so desire?”
”...Calling my bluff, are we?” Vincent said, a dark tone entering his voice. ”I was hoping you would.”
He shifted in his seat, procuring a phone. He quickly pressed the FaceTime for a contact. It connected almost instantly, and his voice drawled. ”Get on with it.”
He then turned the phone so Bella could easily see from her compromised position. She would see a dark room and two shadowy figures throwing a hooded man on the ground, into the spotlight. His hands were tightly bound behind his back, and a moan of pain escaped him.
Then the beatings started. Vincent held the phone steady as Bella was forced to listen to every punch, kick, and slap that the men wailed on the prone figure. If she listened carefully, she would notice something. Vincent was watching her eyes for it, waiting for her to recognize, yes, that those cries of pain were oddly familiar.
One of the men finally removed the hood of the victim, and Bella saw who it was.
Mathieu.
A pause, before Vincent's chin jerked. ”I didn't say to stop, did I?”
And the raw, agonizing beatings resumed before Bella's eyes.
Isabella's sly grin wavered when the hood was drawn away from Mathieu, revealing his battered face. A gasp escaped her lips, and for a brief moment, her ruby eyes glimmered with an unexpected emotion: fear.
“Mathieu,” she murmured. The intensity of her gaze flickered back to Vincent, her cold demeanour shattering into fragments, each piece reflecting her desperation. “You’ve proven your point,” she declared, her tone trembling with barely contained rage. “But this ends here... right now.”
In an instant, the careful, cool Isabella vanished, replaced by a fierce older sister ready to go to any lengths to safeguard the last person she held dear. “I’ll bend to your will,” she said, her declaration tasting like ash mixed with blood, “but if you so much as brush your hand against him again, I promise you’ll suffer a reckoning that will haunt your nightmares.”
Either way, Isabella was sure to make the man pay.
Vincent smiled, turned the phone to him, and crooned, ”Okay, that's enough.”
And the sound of beatings stopped.
He disconnected the call, glancing back over at Bella, taking in the sweet expression of her face. ”Of course, my dear. As long as you cooperate, your precious one won't be harmed.”
”Of course,” He gave the phone a little wiggle. ”That will change if you give me a reason to believe you're not being sincere with my requests…”
He gave a closed-lip smile as he pocketed the phone. ”Regardless, LO'm looking forward to a fortuitous business relation with you, Bella.”
Soon, Bella found herself standing on the streets of Nocturnia, her blood returned to her, and Vincent gone without a trace. Though she couldn't help shake the feeling of being watched…
The Red Rose Lounge Parking Area, Highfair
Interactions: Emilia (NPC)
The muted hum of Highfair's nightlife throbbed like a distant heartbeat, muffled by the tinted windows of Isabella’s sleek black car. Inside, the amber glow of the dashboard illuminated her sharp features, casting a ghostly red hue that danced across her face, hinting at her intentions. Emilia, her trusted lieutenant, sat behind the wheel, her expression hard but questioning.
“Everything set?” Isabella asked.
Emilia nodded, her eyes flicking to Isabella’s face, searching for answers. “Word’s already spreading. Kairo’s people will catch wind soon enough. You sure this is the way to go?”
Isabella leaned back, her gaze fixed on the cityscape outside. “We’ll give Vincent just enough to keep him satisfied. But Kairo… he might be an ally, if he plays his cards right.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Emilia pressed.
“Then he’ll burn, just like Vincent wants,” Isabella said simply. “Either way, I’ll make sure this doesn’t end with Mathieu as collateral damage.”
A
In her mind, she floated in a strange limbo, a place caught between the gentle embrace of sleep and the bright light of wakefulness. It was like wandering through a thick fog, where the air felt heavy, and everything around her seemed to distort and twist. Voices drifted to her like whispers carried on the wind, soft and unclear, as if they were echoing from the depths of a distant cave. Though she couldn’t grasp the meaning of the words, the sounds painted a picture of mixed emotions—low and sharp tones, with the occasional rise of irritation or amusement.
Her limbs felt like lead, each one encased in an invisible weight. The sensation was akin to being submerged in water, where movement required a Herculean effort for such an unyielding body. The steady ache in her chest lingered, dull yet persistent and pressing against her heart each time she breathed. And though she yearned to stretch or turn her head, even the slightest motion summoned a tidal wave of dizziness that crashed upon her, leaving her feeling as if she were firmly anchored to the ground, unable to drift away.
The voices grew louder momentarily, one rising above the others—a rigid, authoritative cadence that felt like a command from on high. Solen? This name shot into her mind uninvited, igniting a tiny light in the dark corners of her thoughts. She fought to concentrate, to untangle the jumble of sounds surrounding her, but just as quickly, they began to fade.
A metallic taste clung to her tongue, sharp and bitter, reminiscent of copper. VV's urgent voice, the warm flow of crimson liquid trickling from her nose, and the heavy weight of another body below her as the world fell into darkness. It was all she could remember.
Her fingers twitched then, the faintest motion, but enough to confirm she still had control over her body. With a focused mind, she tried to latch onto that tiny flicker of movement, attempting to pry her eyes open. The first attempt was futile, however, her eyelids were too heavy to lift. She tried again, slower this time, and light began to filter through the haze. The world was blurry at first, shapes and colours twirling together in a ballet. Her head pounded in protest, but she forced herself to push past it, blinking until her vision cleared.
The gray walls of the barracks came into view first, a low hum filling the air, punctuated by the occasional click or whir of unseen machinery. She was lying on a thin mattress, its surface rough against her skin, and as her gaze shifted slowly to take in the rest of her surroundings, the red glow of laser bars caught her eyes.
A’s breath was as light as a feather, barely making a sound, as she gazed at the sight of VV sitting at the base of her barrier. All around her, the others engaged in conversation, but to A, their words were just a blur of sounds.
“VV…what…happened?” A said, her voice scratchy like sandpaper, hoping it was enough to draw her partner’s attention.
Her limbs felt like lead, each one encased in an invisible weight. The sensation was akin to being submerged in water, where movement required a Herculean effort for such an unyielding body. The steady ache in her chest lingered, dull yet persistent and pressing against her heart each time she breathed. And though she yearned to stretch or turn her head, even the slightest motion summoned a tidal wave of dizziness that crashed upon her, leaving her feeling as if she were firmly anchored to the ground, unable to drift away.
The voices grew louder momentarily, one rising above the others—a rigid, authoritative cadence that felt like a command from on high. Solen? This name shot into her mind uninvited, igniting a tiny light in the dark corners of her thoughts. She fought to concentrate, to untangle the jumble of sounds surrounding her, but just as quickly, they began to fade.
A metallic taste clung to her tongue, sharp and bitter, reminiscent of copper. VV's urgent voice, the warm flow of crimson liquid trickling from her nose, and the heavy weight of another body below her as the world fell into darkness. It was all she could remember.
Her fingers twitched then, the faintest motion, but enough to confirm she still had control over her body. With a focused mind, she tried to latch onto that tiny flicker of movement, attempting to pry her eyes open. The first attempt was futile, however, her eyelids were too heavy to lift. She tried again, slower this time, and light began to filter through the haze. The world was blurry at first, shapes and colours twirling together in a ballet. Her head pounded in protest, but she forced herself to push past it, blinking until her vision cleared.
The gray walls of the barracks came into view first, a low hum filling the air, punctuated by the occasional click or whir of unseen machinery. She was lying on a thin mattress, its surface rough against her skin, and as her gaze shifted slowly to take in the rest of her surroundings, the red glow of laser bars caught her eyes.
A’s breath was as light as a feather, barely making a sound, as she gazed at the sight of VV sitting at the base of her barrier. All around her, the others engaged in conversation, but to A, their words were just a blur of sounds.
“VV…what…happened?” A said, her voice scratchy like sandpaper, hoping it was enough to draw her partner’s attention.
The dining room buzzed with a lucid intensity, as if a thousand fireflies were trapped within the light surrounding her. The chandelier hung above like a radiant sun, its warm yellow bulbs casting a golden glow that ran across the polished wooden table. Each reflection sparkled, twinkling like constellations, while Harper kept her eyes locked on her plate, as if it held the secrets of the universe. Yet, despite her attempt to escape, the room continued to hum around her with vivid details; every groove in the table's wood grain seemed to tell a story, and each tiny imperfection shouted for her attention like a child seeking validation.
Pay attention to me. Pay attention to me.
The table. The plate. The light above.
Pay attention to me.
The food before her was no different, a mosaic of textures and colours so vibrant they seemed almost alive. The roasted peppers gleamed like jewels, and the chicken’s golden brown crust sat untouched against the bed of greens. Even the tiny drops of water on her glass caught her eye, each droplet clinging to the surface like precious pearls frozen in a moment of time.
It was a feast for the eyes, an avalanche of colours and shapes that made it hard for Harper to focus.
She felt a tight knot twist in her chest, the vibrant chaos overwhelming her senses and urging her to close her eyes and escape into darkness. However, Harper had figured out quickly that shutting her eyes wouldn’t make the vivid scene vanish; instead, it would only etch those details deeper into her mind, making every colour, every shape, and every glimmer more unforgettable.
She would remember it all, whether she wanted to or not.
Across from her, Sierra sat with the kind of casual composure that somehow made her presence larger than life. The light from above lit her figure, turning strands of her hair into burnished copper ribbons that swayed with her every movement. Harper’s gaze flickered to her face—just briefly—before snapping back down. Her sister’s features were as defined as ever, the angular sharpness of her jawline and cheekbones softened only by the lazy slant of her lips. She was confident without trying to be, her brow furrowed slightly as if in constant thought, and there was something about her that reminded Harper of stone walls—unyielding and only weathered by time.
The chair next to Harper, on the other hand, stood lonely and bare, a clear sign of her aunt and uncle's absence this evening. They had mentioned a military dinner, emphasizing its importance with words such as “necessary” and “crucial”, yet their eyes had carried a hint of sadness. This wasn’t a new routine, after all. If anything, it felt like a familiar tune played on repeat, leaving Harper with a sense of emptiness that had accompanied her when Sierra and she had first arrived. In those moments, Sierra, only eighteen, filled the void as best she could—cooking, cleaning, and organizing both their lives with a determined efficiency that often left Harper feeling more like a burden than a sister.
And tonight, as the light buzzed too brightly and the room stretched too large, that void felt deeper than ever.
“You barely touched breakfast yesterday,” Sierra had even said earlier that morning, her tone pointed but lacking its usual bite. “And lunch wasn’t any better. I’m really worried about you….”
Harper had not answered before, just as she remained mute now. Food simply didn’t feel the same anymore—it wasn’t comfort, nor was it nourishment. It was just... another demand. Another chore on her to-do list. Another expectation she couldn’t meet.
Here in the present, everything was the same.
Sierra’s fork clinked against her plate as she took another bite of the dinner she’d prepared—a meal that smelled rich and inviting but sat like lead in Harper’s stomach just from the thought of tasting it. Then, leaning forward slightly, she nudged Harper’s plate toward her with a faint screech of ceramic against the wooden table.
“Please just take a bite,” Sierra insisted, a deep layer of care wrapped within her directive, a gentle shove.“I spent all afternoon making this.”
Harper didn’t move, despite feeling Sierra’s gaze on her—expectant.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled.
Sierra sighed, though the sound came out more like a huff. “Harper, you’ve barely touched anything all day. You need to eat something.” Her fork clinked against her own plate as she speared a roasted pepper. “It’s just dinner. It won’t kill you.”
The light overhead continued to blaze like a brilliant star. Harper could now feel the tiny beads of sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, while her heart thudded faster like a drum urging her to respond. It felt as if the world had tilted on its axis, burdened by the heavy expectations of Sierra and everyone around her.
“It’s not that simple,” Harper murmured, regardless of knowing that Sierra’s understanding would remain just out of reach. Beautiful in theory, but practically impossible.
“Not that simple?” Sierra repeated with a mix of disbelief and impatience. “It’s food…. You pick up the fork, take a bite, chew, and swallow. A very simple sequence of actions that you’ve done for how long now? 15 years? How is it complicated?”
Harper’s hands curled tightly into fists on the table, her nails digging painfully into her palms, leaving tiny messages of torment. Tears burned in her eyes blurring her vision, though she kept her gaze fixed on the table knowing that if she lifted her eyes and met Sierra's disappointed stare, it would shatter her resolve like glass underfoot. “It just…is,” she murmured weakly.
Sierra exhaled through her nose, saying nothing at first. Every second that passed seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence hanging between them like an uninvited guest who refused to leave.
“You can’t keep acting this way. You’re taking advantage of their kindness. Do you really want to be anywhere else? Like—” Sierra stopped short, her words hanging heavy in the air. “Like that orphanage we visited years ago.”
Something deep down inside Harper felt like it was shattering at those words as she looked up.
No, this wasn’t what she wanted. She never meant to make life harder for anyone at all. Yet, as time kept on by as if nothing had happened, it became harder and harder for Harper to hold on to the pieces of who she was. It felt like she was fading away, little by little, right before her eyes.
Her vision sharpened painfully against her wishes, like the world had decided she needed to see everything—every crack, every flaw, every line etched into the distinct colours around her. Because maybe then, she could make sense of it. Maybe then, she could fix it.
What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she stop it?
Suddenly, Sierra’s face was like a picture in a gallery, too bright and too detailed. Each little feature jumped out at Harper as if she were looking through a magnifying glass. She noticed the tiny furrow between her sister’s eyebrows that seemed to grow deeper and the way Sierra pressed her lips into a thin, tight line, quivering slightly at the edges. It was as if each breath Sierra took was a struggle like she was trying hard to keep something inside.
Harper wished she could wipe the image from her mind. For her thoughts to let go of the idea that something deeper hid beneath Sierra’s irritation. For her not to notice the sadness that clung to Sierra's lips, twisting them into a frown, or the subtle redness around her eyes that hinted at sleep being just as evasive for her.
The world around her blurred, the colours fading into each other like a watercolour painting left out in the rain. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could somehow escape what she had just witnessed, to magically reset her thoughts or wipe away the images that danced behind her eyelids.
Her hand jerked forward, a clumsy, unthinking motion.
With a deafening crash, the ceramic plate shattered on the ground, jolting Harper from her spiralling thoughts.
She didn’t intend for it to happen—she wasn’t even sure how it had. Now, shards of white and blue littered the floor below her, while bits of chicken, brightly coloured peppers, and leafy greens were strewn about as if the meal had exploded into an uninvited art piece.
The world seemed to hold its breath for a single moment, the crash ringing in Harper’s ears like a final, damning verdict.
“I didn’t—” Harper stammered, but her voice faltered. She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she battled with her feelings. “I really didn’t mean to.”
Sierra slid out of her chair without a word, her movements awkward and stiff. As she crouched down, her gaze fixated on the crime scene spread before her, eyes darting back and forth. It was as if she was weighing her thoughts on a scale, trying to decide how to respond to yet another mess Harper had created. Her fingers gently lifted a stray piece of chicken from the ground before she carefully returned it to the remnants of the shattered plate. All the while, Harper sat still as a statue, her fists trembling in her lap, eyes wide as she observed her sister.
“What more do you want from me, hm?” Harper heard Sierra murmur quietly, as if the words were meant for the untouched meal scattered across the floor. Their gazes finally connected, brown eyes meeting hazel. “What the hell do you want from me? This isn’t even our home. We don’t belong here.”
She rose abruptly, her chest rising and falling like a bellows, every breath seemingly a labour of love wrapped in exasperation.
“Fine, you wanna starve yourself until there’s nothing left? Go right ahead! What the fuck do I care!”
Harper flinched, but Sierra wasn’t finished.
“Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I like cleaning up your messes, over and over again, while you sit there and—” She broke off, her voice catching. In an instant, she seemed to deflate, the anger fading as her eyes flickered away, as if the mere sight of Harper was a flame too painful to bear.
“I didn’t mean to,” Harper whispered again, her voice so soft it barely carried across the table. The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, trailing hot and fast down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean for any of this…”
“Yeah, well, intent doesn’t really matter, does it?” Sierra retorted, though her words had lost some of their bite. She turned her back, tousling her chestnut hair that shimmered under the chandelier like spun gold. “The plate’s still broken. The food’s still on the floor. And you’re still sitting there like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”
Sierra sighed deeply, her shoulders wilting with her last bit of energy seemingly spent. Crouching once more, she carefully gathered the shattered pieces of the plate, the silence broken only by the almost mournful sound of ceramic clinking against the wooden floor
“You know, Dad wouldn’t have put up with this,” Sierra said quietly, her voice barely audible. “He would’ve made you eat, whether you wanted to or not. He wouldn’t have…” She paused, her fingers hovering over a jagged piece, her eyes darting to Harper's downcast face. “But he’s not here, is he? So I guess it’s just me.”
Harper lowered her head, letting her long hair fall like a curtain around her face. She felt the urge to say something, to offer a soothing word that could lift the heavy fog of silence that surrounded them, but the words were trapped inside her, like birds caught in a cage made of guilt and shame. Each time she opened her mouth to speak, her emotions pressed against her lips, silencing her thoughts.
Meanwhile, Sierra showed no signs of softness as she hurled the jagged shards of the shattered plate into the trash. Standing upright for a brief moment, she wiped her hands on her jeans, keeping her back turned to Harper. The wall of hurt and disappointment between them felt almost tangible as if it were an unbridgeable canyon that Harper couldn’t look past, even if she tried to keep her gaze away.
“Just...clean this up,” she said, her voice a thin thread of exhaustion. “And figure out what you’re going to do next time.”
Sierra hesitated at the door for just a second, her hand on the knob. Then, without another glance, she disappeared, leaving Harper with nothing but a silence heavier than any shouting match could ever be. The young girl sat there, as still as a statue, her gaze locked on the scattered remnants of what used to be. The broken bits and food scraps sparkled in the light, teasing her like a cruel joke.
You can’t fix this. You can’t fix you.
She wanted to call after Sierra, to tell her she was sorry, that she didn’t mean for any of this. That she didn’t understand what was happening to her.
But no words came.
And as the light buzzed above, too bright and too cruel, Harper sat alone. Completely and utterly alone.
Pay attention to me. Pay attention to me.
The table. The plate. The light above.
Pay attention to me.
The food before her was no different, a mosaic of textures and colours so vibrant they seemed almost alive. The roasted peppers gleamed like jewels, and the chicken’s golden brown crust sat untouched against the bed of greens. Even the tiny drops of water on her glass caught her eye, each droplet clinging to the surface like precious pearls frozen in a moment of time.
It was a feast for the eyes, an avalanche of colours and shapes that made it hard for Harper to focus.
She felt a tight knot twist in her chest, the vibrant chaos overwhelming her senses and urging her to close her eyes and escape into darkness. However, Harper had figured out quickly that shutting her eyes wouldn’t make the vivid scene vanish; instead, it would only etch those details deeper into her mind, making every colour, every shape, and every glimmer more unforgettable.
She would remember it all, whether she wanted to or not.
Across from her, Sierra sat with the kind of casual composure that somehow made her presence larger than life. The light from above lit her figure, turning strands of her hair into burnished copper ribbons that swayed with her every movement. Harper’s gaze flickered to her face—just briefly—before snapping back down. Her sister’s features were as defined as ever, the angular sharpness of her jawline and cheekbones softened only by the lazy slant of her lips. She was confident without trying to be, her brow furrowed slightly as if in constant thought, and there was something about her that reminded Harper of stone walls—unyielding and only weathered by time.
The chair next to Harper, on the other hand, stood lonely and bare, a clear sign of her aunt and uncle's absence this evening. They had mentioned a military dinner, emphasizing its importance with words such as “necessary” and “crucial”, yet their eyes had carried a hint of sadness. This wasn’t a new routine, after all. If anything, it felt like a familiar tune played on repeat, leaving Harper with a sense of emptiness that had accompanied her when Sierra and she had first arrived. In those moments, Sierra, only eighteen, filled the void as best she could—cooking, cleaning, and organizing both their lives with a determined efficiency that often left Harper feeling more like a burden than a sister.
And tonight, as the light buzzed too brightly and the room stretched too large, that void felt deeper than ever.
“You barely touched breakfast yesterday,” Sierra had even said earlier that morning, her tone pointed but lacking its usual bite. “And lunch wasn’t any better. I’m really worried about you….”
Harper had not answered before, just as she remained mute now. Food simply didn’t feel the same anymore—it wasn’t comfort, nor was it nourishment. It was just... another demand. Another chore on her to-do list. Another expectation she couldn’t meet.
Here in the present, everything was the same.
Sierra’s fork clinked against her plate as she took another bite of the dinner she’d prepared—a meal that smelled rich and inviting but sat like lead in Harper’s stomach just from the thought of tasting it. Then, leaning forward slightly, she nudged Harper’s plate toward her with a faint screech of ceramic against the wooden table.
“Please just take a bite,” Sierra insisted, a deep layer of care wrapped within her directive, a gentle shove.“I spent all afternoon making this.”
Harper didn’t move, despite feeling Sierra’s gaze on her—expectant.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled.
Sierra sighed, though the sound came out more like a huff. “Harper, you’ve barely touched anything all day. You need to eat something.” Her fork clinked against her own plate as she speared a roasted pepper. “It’s just dinner. It won’t kill you.”
The light overhead continued to blaze like a brilliant star. Harper could now feel the tiny beads of sweat gathering at the nape of her neck, while her heart thudded faster like a drum urging her to respond. It felt as if the world had tilted on its axis, burdened by the heavy expectations of Sierra and everyone around her.
“It’s not that simple,” Harper murmured, regardless of knowing that Sierra’s understanding would remain just out of reach. Beautiful in theory, but practically impossible.
“Not that simple?” Sierra repeated with a mix of disbelief and impatience. “It’s food…. You pick up the fork, take a bite, chew, and swallow. A very simple sequence of actions that you’ve done for how long now? 15 years? How is it complicated?”
Harper’s hands curled tightly into fists on the table, her nails digging painfully into her palms, leaving tiny messages of torment. Tears burned in her eyes blurring her vision, though she kept her gaze fixed on the table knowing that if she lifted her eyes and met Sierra's disappointed stare, it would shatter her resolve like glass underfoot. “It just…is,” she murmured weakly.
Sierra exhaled through her nose, saying nothing at first. Every second that passed seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence hanging between them like an uninvited guest who refused to leave.
“You can’t keep acting this way. You’re taking advantage of their kindness. Do you really want to be anywhere else? Like—” Sierra stopped short, her words hanging heavy in the air. “Like that orphanage we visited years ago.”
Something deep down inside Harper felt like it was shattering at those words as she looked up.
No, this wasn’t what she wanted. She never meant to make life harder for anyone at all. Yet, as time kept on by as if nothing had happened, it became harder and harder for Harper to hold on to the pieces of who she was. It felt like she was fading away, little by little, right before her eyes.
Her vision sharpened painfully against her wishes, like the world had decided she needed to see everything—every crack, every flaw, every line etched into the distinct colours around her. Because maybe then, she could make sense of it. Maybe then, she could fix it.
What was happening to her? Why couldn’t she stop it?
Suddenly, Sierra’s face was like a picture in a gallery, too bright and too detailed. Each little feature jumped out at Harper as if she were looking through a magnifying glass. She noticed the tiny furrow between her sister’s eyebrows that seemed to grow deeper and the way Sierra pressed her lips into a thin, tight line, quivering slightly at the edges. It was as if each breath Sierra took was a struggle like she was trying hard to keep something inside.
Harper wished she could wipe the image from her mind. For her thoughts to let go of the idea that something deeper hid beneath Sierra’s irritation. For her not to notice the sadness that clung to Sierra's lips, twisting them into a frown, or the subtle redness around her eyes that hinted at sleep being just as evasive for her.
The world around her blurred, the colours fading into each other like a watercolour painting left out in the rain. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could somehow escape what she had just witnessed, to magically reset her thoughts or wipe away the images that danced behind her eyelids.
Her hand jerked forward, a clumsy, unthinking motion.
With a deafening crash, the ceramic plate shattered on the ground, jolting Harper from her spiralling thoughts.
She didn’t intend for it to happen—she wasn’t even sure how it had. Now, shards of white and blue littered the floor below her, while bits of chicken, brightly coloured peppers, and leafy greens were strewn about as if the meal had exploded into an uninvited art piece.
The world seemed to hold its breath for a single moment, the crash ringing in Harper’s ears like a final, damning verdict.
“I didn’t—” Harper stammered, but her voice faltered. She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she battled with her feelings. “I really didn’t mean to.”
Sierra slid out of her chair without a word, her movements awkward and stiff. As she crouched down, her gaze fixated on the crime scene spread before her, eyes darting back and forth. It was as if she was weighing her thoughts on a scale, trying to decide how to respond to yet another mess Harper had created. Her fingers gently lifted a stray piece of chicken from the ground before she carefully returned it to the remnants of the shattered plate. All the while, Harper sat still as a statue, her fists trembling in her lap, eyes wide as she observed her sister.
“What more do you want from me, hm?” Harper heard Sierra murmur quietly, as if the words were meant for the untouched meal scattered across the floor. Their gazes finally connected, brown eyes meeting hazel. “What the hell do you want from me? This isn’t even our home. We don’t belong here.”
She rose abruptly, her chest rising and falling like a bellows, every breath seemingly a labour of love wrapped in exasperation.
“Fine, you wanna starve yourself until there’s nothing left? Go right ahead! What the fuck do I care!”
Harper flinched, but Sierra wasn’t finished.
“Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I like cleaning up your messes, over and over again, while you sit there and—” She broke off, her voice catching. In an instant, she seemed to deflate, the anger fading as her eyes flickered away, as if the mere sight of Harper was a flame too painful to bear.
“I didn’t mean to,” Harper whispered again, her voice so soft it barely carried across the table. The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over, trailing hot and fast down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean for any of this…”
“Yeah, well, intent doesn’t really matter, does it?” Sierra retorted, though her words had lost some of their bite. She turned her back, tousling her chestnut hair that shimmered under the chandelier like spun gold. “The plate’s still broken. The food’s still on the floor. And you’re still sitting there like you’re the only one who’s hurting.”
Sierra sighed deeply, her shoulders wilting with her last bit of energy seemingly spent. Crouching once more, she carefully gathered the shattered pieces of the plate, the silence broken only by the almost mournful sound of ceramic clinking against the wooden floor
“You know, Dad wouldn’t have put up with this,” Sierra said quietly, her voice barely audible. “He would’ve made you eat, whether you wanted to or not. He wouldn’t have…” She paused, her fingers hovering over a jagged piece, her eyes darting to Harper's downcast face. “But he’s not here, is he? So I guess it’s just me.”
Harper lowered her head, letting her long hair fall like a curtain around her face. She felt the urge to say something, to offer a soothing word that could lift the heavy fog of silence that surrounded them, but the words were trapped inside her, like birds caught in a cage made of guilt and shame. Each time she opened her mouth to speak, her emotions pressed against her lips, silencing her thoughts.
Meanwhile, Sierra showed no signs of softness as she hurled the jagged shards of the shattered plate into the trash. Standing upright for a brief moment, she wiped her hands on her jeans, keeping her back turned to Harper. The wall of hurt and disappointment between them felt almost tangible as if it were an unbridgeable canyon that Harper couldn’t look past, even if she tried to keep her gaze away.
“Just...clean this up,” she said, her voice a thin thread of exhaustion. “And figure out what you’re going to do next time.”
Sierra hesitated at the door for just a second, her hand on the knob. Then, without another glance, she disappeared, leaving Harper with nothing but a silence heavier than any shouting match could ever be. The young girl sat there, as still as a statue, her gaze locked on the scattered remnants of what used to be. The broken bits and food scraps sparkled in the light, teasing her like a cruel joke.
You can’t fix this. You can’t fix you.
She wanted to call after Sierra, to tell her she was sorry, that she didn’t mean for any of this. That she didn’t understand what was happening to her.
But no words came.
And as the light buzzed above, too bright and too cruel, Harper sat alone. Completely and utterly alone.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Location: The Foundation Institute - Atlantic Ocean
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Human #5.063: Sentio ergo sum
Interaction(s): N/A
Previously: The Gilded Cage
The last morsel glided down her throat, though Harper hardly remembered raising the fork to her lips. It was as if her hands had acted of their own accord, betraying her resolve in a sequence of movements so automatic they felt mechanical. The bitter irony of it twisted in her gut.
A simple sequence of actions. That’s all it really had been.
All the same, the heavy burden of what she’d done sank into her stomach like lead, its presence pressing relentlessly against her ribs. Each gulp of air she took felt like a struggle, her anxiety a snake wrapping around its prey, her lungs, turning the simple act of inhaling into an exhausting contest she feared she would inevitably lose. And yet, Harper knew she couldn’t afford to show any of this outwardly, her blindfold merely a concealment for her face and no other part.
It couldn’t disguise the tense muscles in her back or the stiffness of her posture as she forced herself to sit upright. It couldn’t hide the tremor in her fingers as they curled into her lap or the clenching of her jaw as though she was bracing for impact.
Her body, now fully baptized, seemed to have no qualms in continuing to betray her.
The meal was finished. Harper had swallowed every bite. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to forget, its flavours clung to her palate like a sticky spiderweb. The meal had been rich-too rich, a deluge of flavour that provoked an avalanche of guilt that trickled through her veins like poison.
Her luck had to run out eventually. She just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon or in this way.
The first tiny jolt of worry danced in her stomach. Harper adjusted her posture, her fingers clinging tight to the table's edge desperately trying to find her balance.
And then it all changed in an instant.
Her sight erupted into existence, breaking through the veil of darkness that had barred her from the world in the past few days. The room ignited with colours and shapes that rushed at her all at once. Every tiny imperfection in the table, every drop of condensation on a nearby glass, and every slight movement of her peers blurred together in a cascade of overwhelming stimuli.
But it wasn’t just her vision. Everything else sharpened to an excruciating degree. Harper became acutely aware of the thick and sticky air that made her skin itch uncomfortably with every bead of perspiration that formed. She noticed the faint grit beneath her fingertips, a residue left from the table’s uneven surface that now felt like sandpaper against her skin. The damp fabric of her uniform clung to her back, trapping heat and amplifying the suffocating warmth of the room. Even the rhythm of her own heartbeat, steady but too loud, seemed to echo in her ears like a drumbeat that wouldn’t let her think.
Her gaze dropped to her plate, the remains of her meal- the horsemeat- looming before her like some sort of macabre artwork, each piece of scrap warped and strange under the intense glow of her heightened vision. Her stomach churned violently, the earlier guilt and unease coalescing into something far more tangible and threatening.
Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of sickness crashed over her. With no time to think, Harper jerked back from the table, causing her chair to screech like a distressed animal against the floor. Her unsteady legs turned as wobbly as jelly, struggling to hold her weight while her hands flailed about in search of something to grip and steady herself.
But just like a dam bursting, the floodgates of her stomach had already broken open.
Her body heaved violently, and the contents of her stomach erupted onto the spotless floor, the burning taste of bile clawing its way up her throat. The world around her narrowed to a tunnel of vivid colours and overwhelming sensations, each one a scalpel driving deeper into her already fragile composure.
The dining hall suddenly froze, as if time had stopped, what little occurrences of chatter snuffed out by the harsh sounds of her retching. She could feel the weight of countless stares, some real, some perhaps spun from her own anxious mind, while an unbearable warmth of judgment wrapped around her, squeezing tighter with every pulse of her embarrassment—an embrace she wished to shake off but couldn’t.
The smell of vomit clashed violently with the leftover scent of her meal, resulting in a stomach-churning mix that made Harper feel as if she were stuck spinning on a dizzying carousel. Her throat was a fire pit, raw and scorched, making every swallow a painful reminder of her current distress. She wanted nothing more than to shrink into herself, to disappear into the floor beneath her feet, but her heightened vision painted every detail with brutal clarity: the shocked faces of a few of her peers, the spilled remnants of her humiliation pooling on the polished tiles, and the shimmer of her own crushed reflection staring back at her from the table's surface.
Her blindfold had slipped askew in her frantic movements, revealing her eyes to the harsh brightness that flooded the space. For a fleeting moment, they shimmered with an unnatural clarity, their hazel depths tinged with an eerie metallic hue that seemed to catch and reflect the light. She quickly adjusted the blindfold, her hands fumbling with the fabric as she forced it back into place.
Get up. Now, she thought to herself, the mantra meant to push her past the paralysis of shame. Her knees, however, buckled slightly as she tried to rise, the motion sending another jolt of nausea through her body, keeping her firmly rooted to the spot. Her hands trembled as they returned to the table, gripping it with a white-knuckled intensity as if it were the only solid thing in the world.
Someone coughed. It was followed by a snicker. Harper's ears felt like they were on fire, igniting a cocktail of shame and frustration that bubbled just under the skin of her cheeks. But she didn’t look up. She couldn’t bear to meet their gazes, as if the sun’s rays would burn her if she dared to look up.
But she forced herself to do it anyway, rising from her spot, which is when her gaze landed on something unexpected: an untouched plate, sitting before one of the students in tan. The girl herself was small, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with mousy brown hair tied back into a loose, uneven ponytail. Her shoulders hunched inward as if she were trying to fold herself into the chair, her presence shrinking with every passing second. She stared blankly at her plate, her pale, round face betraying nothing save for the tight press of her lips and the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, as though she were holding back tears.
Harper’s eyes, unbearably clear, lingered on the plate in front of the girl. The ceramic was pristine, its edges smudged faintly by careless handling, but the meatballs at its center were untouched—three perfect spheres glistening with an oily sheen under the harsh overhead lights. A drizzle of golden salmoriglio sauce pooled around them like a painter’s careless brushstroke, the tangy aroma clinging to the air. The plate radiated uneaten defiance, a silent refusal that mirrored something Harper recognized all too well.
For a moment, she hesitated, still concerned about the eyes on her, waiting for her next move. But the girl’s small, trembling frame pushed aside her own shame.
Harper wasn’t sure why she cared—but all that mattered was that she did.
That’s when she finally straightened her spine, her fingers finding the napkin near her plate. She used it to dab at her lips, catching any remaining traces of bile before clearing her throat and managing a dry, shaky laugh.
“Huh…guess horse meat is something you learn to love. Who would’ve thought?”
That earned a smattering of nervous chuckles that died as quickly as they started. Harper ignored them, lowering herself back into her seat and folding the napkin neatly before placing it on the table. She didn’t flinch either as the colours around her faded into shades of gray, each vibrant detail blurring into obscurity. And by the time her sight disappeared entirely, Harper’s expression remained as resolute as ever, masking the strange hollowness that crept back into her chest.
Because once again, she was left with only the darkness, completely and utterly alone.
A simple sequence of actions. That’s all it really had been.
All the same, the heavy burden of what she’d done sank into her stomach like lead, its presence pressing relentlessly against her ribs. Each gulp of air she took felt like a struggle, her anxiety a snake wrapping around its prey, her lungs, turning the simple act of inhaling into an exhausting contest she feared she would inevitably lose. And yet, Harper knew she couldn’t afford to show any of this outwardly, her blindfold merely a concealment for her face and no other part.
It couldn’t disguise the tense muscles in her back or the stiffness of her posture as she forced herself to sit upright. It couldn’t hide the tremor in her fingers as they curled into her lap or the clenching of her jaw as though she was bracing for impact.
Her body, now fully baptized, seemed to have no qualms in continuing to betray her.
The meal was finished. Harper had swallowed every bite. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to forget, its flavours clung to her palate like a sticky spiderweb. The meal had been rich-too rich, a deluge of flavour that provoked an avalanche of guilt that trickled through her veins like poison.
Her luck had to run out eventually. She just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon or in this way.
The first tiny jolt of worry danced in her stomach. Harper adjusted her posture, her fingers clinging tight to the table's edge desperately trying to find her balance.
And then it all changed in an instant.
Her sight erupted into existence, breaking through the veil of darkness that had barred her from the world in the past few days. The room ignited with colours and shapes that rushed at her all at once. Every tiny imperfection in the table, every drop of condensation on a nearby glass, and every slight movement of her peers blurred together in a cascade of overwhelming stimuli.
But it wasn’t just her vision. Everything else sharpened to an excruciating degree. Harper became acutely aware of the thick and sticky air that made her skin itch uncomfortably with every bead of perspiration that formed. She noticed the faint grit beneath her fingertips, a residue left from the table’s uneven surface that now felt like sandpaper against her skin. The damp fabric of her uniform clung to her back, trapping heat and amplifying the suffocating warmth of the room. Even the rhythm of her own heartbeat, steady but too loud, seemed to echo in her ears like a drumbeat that wouldn’t let her think.
Her gaze dropped to her plate, the remains of her meal- the horsemeat- looming before her like some sort of macabre artwork, each piece of scrap warped and strange under the intense glow of her heightened vision. Her stomach churned violently, the earlier guilt and unease coalescing into something far more tangible and threatening.
Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of sickness crashed over her. With no time to think, Harper jerked back from the table, causing her chair to screech like a distressed animal against the floor. Her unsteady legs turned as wobbly as jelly, struggling to hold her weight while her hands flailed about in search of something to grip and steady herself.
But just like a dam bursting, the floodgates of her stomach had already broken open.
Her body heaved violently, and the contents of her stomach erupted onto the spotless floor, the burning taste of bile clawing its way up her throat. The world around her narrowed to a tunnel of vivid colours and overwhelming sensations, each one a scalpel driving deeper into her already fragile composure.
The dining hall suddenly froze, as if time had stopped, what little occurrences of chatter snuffed out by the harsh sounds of her retching. She could feel the weight of countless stares, some real, some perhaps spun from her own anxious mind, while an unbearable warmth of judgment wrapped around her, squeezing tighter with every pulse of her embarrassment—an embrace she wished to shake off but couldn’t.
The smell of vomit clashed violently with the leftover scent of her meal, resulting in a stomach-churning mix that made Harper feel as if she were stuck spinning on a dizzying carousel. Her throat was a fire pit, raw and scorched, making every swallow a painful reminder of her current distress. She wanted nothing more than to shrink into herself, to disappear into the floor beneath her feet, but her heightened vision painted every detail with brutal clarity: the shocked faces of a few of her peers, the spilled remnants of her humiliation pooling on the polished tiles, and the shimmer of her own crushed reflection staring back at her from the table's surface.
Her blindfold had slipped askew in her frantic movements, revealing her eyes to the harsh brightness that flooded the space. For a fleeting moment, they shimmered with an unnatural clarity, their hazel depths tinged with an eerie metallic hue that seemed to catch and reflect the light. She quickly adjusted the blindfold, her hands fumbling with the fabric as she forced it back into place.
Get up. Now, she thought to herself, the mantra meant to push her past the paralysis of shame. Her knees, however, buckled slightly as she tried to rise, the motion sending another jolt of nausea through her body, keeping her firmly rooted to the spot. Her hands trembled as they returned to the table, gripping it with a white-knuckled intensity as if it were the only solid thing in the world.
Someone coughed. It was followed by a snicker. Harper's ears felt like they were on fire, igniting a cocktail of shame and frustration that bubbled just under the skin of her cheeks. But she didn’t look up. She couldn’t bear to meet their gazes, as if the sun’s rays would burn her if she dared to look up.
But she forced herself to do it anyway, rising from her spot, which is when her gaze landed on something unexpected: an untouched plate, sitting before one of the students in tan. The girl herself was small, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with mousy brown hair tied back into a loose, uneven ponytail. Her shoulders hunched inward as if she were trying to fold herself into the chair, her presence shrinking with every passing second. She stared blankly at her plate, her pale, round face betraying nothing save for the tight press of her lips and the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth, as though she were holding back tears.
Harper’s eyes, unbearably clear, lingered on the plate in front of the girl. The ceramic was pristine, its edges smudged faintly by careless handling, but the meatballs at its center were untouched—three perfect spheres glistening with an oily sheen under the harsh overhead lights. A drizzle of golden salmoriglio sauce pooled around them like a painter’s careless brushstroke, the tangy aroma clinging to the air. The plate radiated uneaten defiance, a silent refusal that mirrored something Harper recognized all too well.
For a moment, she hesitated, still concerned about the eyes on her, waiting for her next move. But the girl’s small, trembling frame pushed aside her own shame.
Harper wasn’t sure why she cared—but all that mattered was that she did.
That’s when she finally straightened her spine, her fingers finding the napkin near her plate. She used it to dab at her lips, catching any remaining traces of bile before clearing her throat and managing a dry, shaky laugh.
“Huh…guess horse meat is something you learn to love. Who would’ve thought?”
That earned a smattering of nervous chuckles that died as quickly as they started. Harper ignored them, lowering herself back into her seat and folding the napkin neatly before placing it on the table. She didn’t flinch either as the colours around her faded into shades of gray, each vibrant detail blurring into obscurity. And by the time her sight disappeared entirely, Harper’s expression remained as resolute as ever, masking the strange hollowness that crept back into her chest.
Because once again, she was left with only the darkness, completely and utterly alone.
Aiming to have a response up by Friday since I have to send you that link to the collab later today :P
Interactions: Luciana/Loni @FernStone
Elena’s arms throbbed with fatigue, yet she held onto Luciana as if her life depended on it. The tiny girl curled against her, trembling slightly, while her warm, tear-streaked face snuggled into Elena’s neck, seeking comfort and safety. Each heart-wrenching whimper of “Mama” pierced through Elena's heart, stitching guilt into her very core. Luciana's pudgy little fingers reached out in a plea for Loni, even as Elena pulled her closer, whispering empty words of comfort into the soft curls that smelled of baby shampoo.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. Everything will be okay,” the young woman wanted to claim, but the truth gnawed at her thoughts like a hungry wolf; the lurking monster was just outside the flickering boundaries of the salt circle, waiting patiently for it to drop. Because surely it wouldn’t last forever, especially given Loni’s injuries.
Loni's shaky nod and meek smile provided just a bit of comfort. Yet, Elena could not overlook the bated rhythm of her trembling hands or the lifelessness slowly creeping into her eyes. It was evident that Loni was clinging to hope, but the effort was beginning to wear her thin. The dim room, bathed in feeble light, spotlighted the crimson stain blossoming on her shoulder, mocking her already-tattered jumper.
“Thanks- Can y’keep holdin’ her for me?” the mother whispered.
Elena nodded wordlessly in reply, even as Luciana wriggled again, her tiny hands trembling as she reached toward her mother. The heartbreak in her voice splintered Elena’s already frayed nerves. Her cries were quieter now—no longer frantic, but soaked with exhaustion and confusion, the kind that left a sting behind Elena’s eyes.
Suddenly, the loud crash of a chair jolted Elena back to the here and now. She spun around quickly, her eyes darting to the unstable figure stumbling towards them, blood trickling like a morbid stream down his temple. His gaze, vacant and haunting, fixed on her with an intensity that felt like icy fingers tracing her spine, sending a wave of dread through her core. The way he moved was unnatural, his body jerking and rigid, as if marionette strings were being pulled by a malevolent hand, manipulating him like a puppet lost in the throes of horror.
The barrier flickered away for an instant, and in that moment Elena's heart felt like it had stopped beating. Instinctively, she pivoted her body to serve as a shield for Luciana, her arms wrapping around the child like a protective cocoon, ready to bear any danger that might come their way. But his potential touch never came. Instead, Loni sprang into action, an acrid, chemical scent hitting Elena's nostrils as a follow-up.
The man reeled backward, his face twisting in horror as though the very air had ignited an invisible fire within, his mouth gaping open in a silent scream, a grotesque mime of suffering. Then, like a puppet untethered from its strings, his body contorted in a twisted ballet, retreating into the murky depths of the shadows, where he seemed to evaporate into darkness.
Elena stared after him as Loni explained her reaction, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She gulped, her throat feeling as heavy as a boulder as Loni’s grateful words were then given. What could anyone truly be grateful for in a moment like this, however? Was it for clutching Luciana? Just drawing breath? Or merely for standing still like a statue while Loni fought the tide of red spilling from her injuries?
A hot spark of shame flickered inside Elena, urging her to shift Luciana in her embrace, taking on the full weight of her small form as if it were a mantle of responsibility.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Elena promised, though her voice felt too small, too thin. It wasn’t a grand vow—just a quiet truth. She wasn’t like Loni or her twin; she couldn’t fight this thing with claws or barriers, but she could hold Luciana. She could move when everything in her told her to freeze. That's what she could do for the worried mother and herself.
Her eyes swept the room as her mind raced for a possible next step. Loni’s shield wouldn’t hold forever—not with her bleeding, not with the way the barrier flickered every few breaths. There had to be something they could do, some way out.
Her mother’s words whispered in her mind again, steady as ever: Trust your gut.
Elena’s gut told her that waiting here meant death.
She looked at Luciana’s tear-streaked face pressed into her jacket, then at Loni, and finally at what was occurring outside the circle.Elena’s eyes darted to the coarse salt strewn haphazardly across the cold floor before shifting toward the bakery counter, where a torn bag of sugar lay awkwardly tipped over, its sweet contents spilling out like little white pebbles. A flicker of memory blinked into her mind—a vivid image of her mother stirring together salt and sugar into a makeshift potion, a rough remedy that served to stem the flow of blood in dire situations. It wasn’t a definitive cure, but it could provide them with fleeting moments of hope and the gift of time itself.
Yet, a heavy weight settled in her chest. She would have to leave the circle.
Elena's heart raced as she hesitated, the warmth of Luciana nestled snugly in her arms, her small fingers firmly gripping the soft fabric of Elena’s coat like a stubborn vine clinging to a trellis. The idea of placing her down, even for the briefest heartbeat, felt like a terrible idea. However, she realized that remaining still was a luxury no one could afford; if she didn’t act, if she didn’t reach out to help Loni, the protective barrier would crumble—leaving them all exposed to the thing lurking just beyond it.
“Loni,” Elena called out. “I can help with your shoulder. My mom taught me a trick to slow the bleeding. But I need…” Her gaze fell longingly on the sugar, which seemed to shimmer just out of her grasp, a glint of promise amidst desperation. “I need that sugar. I’ll be fast. I swear.”
Her heart drummed an urgent rhythm against her ribs as she knelt down, careful as glass, to lay Luciana tenderly on the ground. The little girl whimpered softly, her small hands reaching instinctively for Elena as though sensing the shift in safety.
“I’ll be back in a heartbeat,” Elena murmured, her voice laden with emotion. “Stay here with Mama, alright? You’re so brave.”
She then rose and turned toward the counter, every fragment of her being focused on the task ahead.
Stepping outside the protective circle felt akin to plunging into frigid waters, the cold biting into her skin, sending shivers racing up her spine like an army of tiny icy fingers. “Just keep going,” she urged herself, pushing her way toward the counter in three quick strides, her boots slipping slightly on the sugar-speckled tiles. Her hands shot forward, starting to scoop the sugar into her quivering palm, the grains digging into her skin like tiny needles.
Now came the hardest part—getting back to the circle before the monster noticed.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. Everything will be okay,” the young woman wanted to claim, but the truth gnawed at her thoughts like a hungry wolf; the lurking monster was just outside the flickering boundaries of the salt circle, waiting patiently for it to drop. Because surely it wouldn’t last forever, especially given Loni’s injuries.
Loni's shaky nod and meek smile provided just a bit of comfort. Yet, Elena could not overlook the bated rhythm of her trembling hands or the lifelessness slowly creeping into her eyes. It was evident that Loni was clinging to hope, but the effort was beginning to wear her thin. The dim room, bathed in feeble light, spotlighted the crimson stain blossoming on her shoulder, mocking her already-tattered jumper.
“Thanks- Can y’keep holdin’ her for me?” the mother whispered.
Elena nodded wordlessly in reply, even as Luciana wriggled again, her tiny hands trembling as she reached toward her mother. The heartbreak in her voice splintered Elena’s already frayed nerves. Her cries were quieter now—no longer frantic, but soaked with exhaustion and confusion, the kind that left a sting behind Elena’s eyes.
Suddenly, the loud crash of a chair jolted Elena back to the here and now. She spun around quickly, her eyes darting to the unstable figure stumbling towards them, blood trickling like a morbid stream down his temple. His gaze, vacant and haunting, fixed on her with an intensity that felt like icy fingers tracing her spine, sending a wave of dread through her core. The way he moved was unnatural, his body jerking and rigid, as if marionette strings were being pulled by a malevolent hand, manipulating him like a puppet lost in the throes of horror.
The barrier flickered away for an instant, and in that moment Elena's heart felt like it had stopped beating. Instinctively, she pivoted her body to serve as a shield for Luciana, her arms wrapping around the child like a protective cocoon, ready to bear any danger that might come their way. But his potential touch never came. Instead, Loni sprang into action, an acrid, chemical scent hitting Elena's nostrils as a follow-up.
The man reeled backward, his face twisting in horror as though the very air had ignited an invisible fire within, his mouth gaping open in a silent scream, a grotesque mime of suffering. Then, like a puppet untethered from its strings, his body contorted in a twisted ballet, retreating into the murky depths of the shadows, where he seemed to evaporate into darkness.
Elena stared after him as Loni explained her reaction, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She gulped, her throat feeling as heavy as a boulder as Loni’s grateful words were then given. What could anyone truly be grateful for in a moment like this, however? Was it for clutching Luciana? Just drawing breath? Or merely for standing still like a statue while Loni fought the tide of red spilling from her injuries?
A hot spark of shame flickered inside Elena, urging her to shift Luciana in her embrace, taking on the full weight of her small form as if it were a mantle of responsibility.
“I’ll keep her safe,” Elena promised, though her voice felt too small, too thin. It wasn’t a grand vow—just a quiet truth. She wasn’t like Loni or her twin; she couldn’t fight this thing with claws or barriers, but she could hold Luciana. She could move when everything in her told her to freeze. That's what she could do for the worried mother and herself.
Her eyes swept the room as her mind raced for a possible next step. Loni’s shield wouldn’t hold forever—not with her bleeding, not with the way the barrier flickered every few breaths. There had to be something they could do, some way out.
Her mother’s words whispered in her mind again, steady as ever: Trust your gut.
Elena’s gut told her that waiting here meant death.
She looked at Luciana’s tear-streaked face pressed into her jacket, then at Loni, and finally at what was occurring outside the circle.Elena’s eyes darted to the coarse salt strewn haphazardly across the cold floor before shifting toward the bakery counter, where a torn bag of sugar lay awkwardly tipped over, its sweet contents spilling out like little white pebbles. A flicker of memory blinked into her mind—a vivid image of her mother stirring together salt and sugar into a makeshift potion, a rough remedy that served to stem the flow of blood in dire situations. It wasn’t a definitive cure, but it could provide them with fleeting moments of hope and the gift of time itself.
Yet, a heavy weight settled in her chest. She would have to leave the circle.
Elena's heart raced as she hesitated, the warmth of Luciana nestled snugly in her arms, her small fingers firmly gripping the soft fabric of Elena’s coat like a stubborn vine clinging to a trellis. The idea of placing her down, even for the briefest heartbeat, felt like a terrible idea. However, she realized that remaining still was a luxury no one could afford; if she didn’t act, if she didn’t reach out to help Loni, the protective barrier would crumble—leaving them all exposed to the thing lurking just beyond it.
“Loni,” Elena called out. “I can help with your shoulder. My mom taught me a trick to slow the bleeding. But I need…” Her gaze fell longingly on the sugar, which seemed to shimmer just out of her grasp, a glint of promise amidst desperation. “I need that sugar. I’ll be fast. I swear.”
Her heart drummed an urgent rhythm against her ribs as she knelt down, careful as glass, to lay Luciana tenderly on the ground. The little girl whimpered softly, her small hands reaching instinctively for Elena as though sensing the shift in safety.
“I’ll be back in a heartbeat,” Elena murmured, her voice laden with emotion. “Stay here with Mama, alright? You’re so brave.”
She then rose and turned toward the counter, every fragment of her being focused on the task ahead.
Stepping outside the protective circle felt akin to plunging into frigid waters, the cold biting into her skin, sending shivers racing up her spine like an army of tiny icy fingers. “Just keep going,” she urged herself, pushing her way toward the counter in three quick strides, her boots slipping slightly on the sugar-speckled tiles. Her hands shot forward, starting to scoop the sugar into her quivering palm, the grains digging into her skin like tiny needles.
Now came the hardest part—getting back to the circle before the monster noticed.
@Qia Sounds good, no rush. I'm looking forward to it. And if you want to collab the scene out, just let me know.
ohh we can do that as well :) Probably some back and forth here anyway. I'll send you the link once I have my reply/part done.
Aiming to have something up by Wednesday :)
@Qia [Temporary] truce/tenuous alliance?
Kind of thinking though, narratively speaking, what would motivate Detective factions to fight each other? Like I can more easily picture Mafias trying to jockey for power and ice each other.
Sure we can work that out
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