The Light Between The Shadows
Echoes of the strangers
The room feels heavy, like the demon from her dreams have crawled to her reality
She forces herself up, goes through the motions of brushing, dressing, and packing her bag — but every mirror she passes seems to ripple with something dark staring back. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t panic — she’s used to this. Fighting shadows is as much a part of her routine as tying her hair.
She forced her way to her college
it was nothing special but nothing happy too
They whisper, taunt her under their breath, never outright cruel but always isolating. Sometimes they pretend to include her in groups, only to laugh at her silences or her sharpness. She knows she’s “different,” and so do they.
Throughout the day, her shadows keep manifesting — during lectures (she feels cold fingers on her shoulder), in the library (pages of her notebook blur with dark scribbles only she can see), in the cafeteria (her food tastes metallic, like ash). She tries to fight silently, so no one notices — but every battle leaves her more exhausted
Seren
*tapping her pen on the table*
Seren
(I wish this could be over, soon so I can finally go home aand cook me some good food the one in cafeteria taste like ash nd dirt)
and suddenly someone tapped her shoulder
unknown: oh I didn't mean to scare you I'm sorry seren just wanted to ask are u done with professor xx class??
Unknown: hihihi u know me so good seren !!
Seren
obviously, here you go June
Seren
*pass her notebook to her*
June
Thank you!! I will obviously treat you something good for this!!!
Seren
it's fine no need for it
When the day ends, she walks home as though carrying a body no one else can see.
The street is loud with life, but in her ears it’s muffled, drowned by the chorus of shadows whispering the same words she heard in class,
“Worthless. Hilarious of her. Alone.”
she remember the scene during lunch hour
She eats alone. The clatter of trays around her is deafening, yet she is an island. Sometimes, laughter erupts behind her, and even if it isn’t about her — she knows it is.
The shadows feed on all of it. Every smirk, every whisper, every sideways glance makes them swell larger in her periphery. They lean over her books, crawl beneath her chair, reach for her wrists under the table. She clenches her fists until her nails cut skin, just to remind herself she’s real.
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