Being forbidden

Prologue

The mansion was always full of people, but Wenalin never felt like she belonged in it. The marble halls echoed with footsteps, the polished glass windows reflected perfection, and the grand chandeliers sparkled as if mocking her quiet, invisible presence.

She was the youngest child of the Selveno family, a name known for wealth, power, and influence. To the outside world, her life must have looked like a dream. To Wenalin, it was nothing more than a cage made of gold.

Her parents were too busy with business meetings, charity events, and high-class gatherings to remember she existed. Her five older siblings treated her presence as a forbidden mistake—something best ignored, something not worth mentioning. When the family sat around the dining table, her chair often stayed empty, not because she wasn’t invited, but because she had long since stopped trying.

Her world was her room. A locked door separated her from the people who were supposed to care for her. Four walls, a glowing screen, and the hum of her computer were the only constants in her life.

Games became her reality, her comfort, her escape. In those vast digital worlds, she wasn’t the forgotten daughter or the family’s shadow. She was whoever she wanted to be—strong, fearless, unshackled. With each click, each adventure, she built a life that felt more real than the one outside her door.

Night after night, she sat at her desk, her face lit only by the soft glow of the monitor. While the rest of the mansion slept, Wenalin ventured into pixelated landscapes, slaying monsters, building kingdoms, and chasing freedom she never had in the real world.

To everyone else, she was a recluse. To herself, she was simply… surviving.

And so, in her room high above the city, Wenalin played on, her fingers moving across the keyboard like she was clinging to something no one else could understand.

Because in that artificial light, in that endless game, she finally felt alive.

...----------------...

Chapter 1 – Another Day in the Cage

Wenalin’s POV

The first thing I see when I open my eyes isn’t sunlight, or the view of the city skyline through my window. No, it’s the familiar faint glow of my computer screen. I must have fallen asleep with the game still running again. Typical. The sound of faint background music loops softly, like it’s been waiting for me to return.

I roll over, groaning, my body heavy from hours of sitting last night. My back cracks as I stretch, and I laugh quietly to myself. Wow, congratulations Wenalin, you survived another day of sitting like a shrimp.

My alarm goes off, not because I need to go to school—thankfully that ended when I turned I mean when I have heart attack but because I still force myself to have some kind of routine. Not that anyone in this house cares whether I wake up or not.

I sit up and glance at the time. 10:43 a.m. Everyone’s probably already out living their “important” lives. Father’s either on a flight to another country, or buried under mountains of contracts. Mother is likely at some charity luncheon, pretending she’s the kind of person who saves orphans and not the kind of person who forgets her own daughter’s existence. My five older siblings? Please. They orbit around their own worlds, where I don’t even exist.

I drag myself to the mirror and sigh. My hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions like I fought with a thunderstorm and lost. My eyes are tired, but not from lack of sleep—more from staring at screens too much. I splash cold water on my face and brush my teeth, forcing myself into some state of humanity.

Breakfast? Or… well, brunch at this point. I sneak downstairs to the kitchen, though “sneak” isn’t the right word since no one actually pays attention to me anyway. The long dining table is spotless, untouched, like no one has eaten here in years. That’s because everyone prefers eating out or in their own spaces. Sometimes I wonder why we even own this place if no one wants to live like a family in it.

I grab a piece of toast and an apple, then retreat back to my room before anyone has a chance to see me. Not that they would say anything, but the silence between me and my family is always louder than words.

Back in the safety of my four walls, I sit down at my desk and boot up my game again. The welcome screen flashes, the familiar logo shining like a beacon. The characters I’ve created, the avatars I’ve spent countless hours leveling up, are waiting for me. Unlike my real life, this world remembers me.

“Good morning,” I mutter to my pixelated companions, even though they can’t hear me. Or maybe it’s just me pretending someone’s listening.

Hours slip by without me noticing. I raid dungeons, collect loot, and grind levels. The in-game chat scrolls with messages from strangers who feel closer to me than my own flesh and blood. I don’t know them, not really, but at least they talk to me. At least they notice me.

By mid-afternoon, sunlight streams into my room, hitting the posters on my wall—the only decoration I’ve chosen myself. My stomach growls, and I realize I’ve forgotten lunch. Again. I grab instant ramen from the drawer I keep stocked like a squirrel hiding acorns for winter. The kettle boils, steam rising, and within minutes I’m slurping noodles at my desk while my character battles monsters.

It’s pathetic, maybe. But it’s my pathetic.

Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I walked out of this room and disappeared. Would they even notice? Would my parents pause their busy schedules? Would my siblings mention me in their perfect lives? Or would my absence just be another quiet thing no one talks about?

The thought makes my chest ache, so I shove it away and focus on the screen again.

Evening comes, shadows stretching across the corners of my room. I hear the faint sound of cars outside, people returning home from their busy days. I don’t bother going downstairs to check if anyone’s around. I already know the answer.

Dinner is another bowl of instant food. The mansion kitchen could probably serve a feast, but what’s the point if you’re eating alone?

The night stretches on, and once again I find myself lost in the glow of my game. My world. My escape. My cage.

Click. Click. Click.

And just like every other night, I keep playing, because as long as the screen shines, I can pretend I’m somewhere else.

Somewhere better.

...----------------...

The next morning starts the same way it always does—me waking up in my dimly lit room, staring at the ceiling, wondering what day it is. Time doesn’t feel real when your life is just one endless loop of eating, sleeping, and gaming.

I don’t rush to turn on my computer today. Instead, I drag myself to the window and pull the curtains aside. Sunlight instantly floods my room, stinging my eyes. I squint and lean against the glass, watching the world outside.

Down below, two students in neatly pressed uniforms are walking side by side. Their laughter drifts faintly upward, light and unrestrained. They’re probably on their way to school, books hugged to their chests, shoes clicking against the pavement in sync. One of them leans closer to whisper something, and the other bursts out laughing so hard they nearly trip.

And just like that, a dull ache rises in my chest.

I’ve never had that. That easy companionship,goto school, that natural warmth between two people who care enough to share their days with each other. I’ve seen it in dramas, in anime, in games—but watching it happen just outside my window makes it feel more like a cruel reminder.

For a moment, I imagine myself out there, walking beside someone who actually notices I exist. Maybe we’d laugh too, maybe we’d talk about nonsense, or maybe just walk in silence and still feel like it mattered. But the fantasy fades as quickly as it comes.

Because I’m not out there.

I’m in here.

Always in here.

My hand presses against the cold glass. The window feels like a barrier separating me from the life I’ll never touch. And then I see it—the familiar sleek black car pulling into the driveway.

My parents’ car.

I should feel something. Excitement, maybe. Relief. Anger. Anything. But instead, there’s just… emptiness. I watch as the driver gets out to open the door, and my mother steps out first, dressed elegantly as if she’s about to attend another luncheon. Father follows, briefcase in hand, already talking on his phone, his face set in that serious, unreadable expression.

They don’t look up at my window. They don’t glance around to see if I’m there. It’s like the mansion itself is more important than the people inside it.

I sigh and rest my forehead against the glass. “Of course.”

I’m not excited. I don’t even bother going downstairs. Because I already know how this goes. They’ll enter the house, head straight to their respective corners of the world, and I’ll remain the ghost haunting this room.

It’s funny, isn’t it? To live in a house full of people and still feel invisible. I’m alive, technically. Breathing, eating, existing. But sometimes… sometimes it feels like I’ve already disappeared.

I close the curtains again and return to my desk, where my computer screen waits patiently for me, always ready to welcome me back. Unlike them. Unlike anyone else.

As the game loads, I catch my reflection faintly in the monitor. My face looks tired, pale, unremarkable. A person who could vanish tomorrow and maybe no one would even notice.

The thought digs deeper than I’d like, so I shove it away the only way I know how—by diving into another world. Another quest. Another escape.

Because here, behind this locked door, the only proof that I exist is the sound of my fingers on the keyboard.

Click. Click. Click.

And the window stays closed.

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