The door slid open.
I didn't look up at first—just blinked the tears from my eyes rapidly like it would change what I'd see. Maybe what will follow next is social death of myself, or the onslaught of rapid questions.
Whatever, I'm not ready to face either of the situation.
My ears perked up in alert —
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Heels. Human heels.
I quickly wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve, not that it helped much. My vision was still blurry. My heart thudded like I'd just been caught slacking during office hours. I straightened up on the bench, trying to put on my best I'm-mentally-stable-I-swear face.
Nope. Crying in a classroom? Unprofessional. Get it together, Sneha.
"Miss Snowheart?" came a warm, even voice. Feminine. Familiar. Gentle, but with the kind of steel that could tame chaos.
I glanced up.
Madam Trina?
Um... That's what was what I saw in the timetable of my diary as she took the last class and most probably our homeroom teacher.
Her long dark coat fluttered behind her like she belonged in a runway show themed "Elegant Assassin." Her lips were painted in a muted rose, her bun so tight it gave me sympathy headaches. But her eyes were… kind. Too kind.
Crap. Kind eyes meant concern.
"Yes?" My voice cracked like a rusted hinge. Fantastic.
She walked closer and crouched beside me sitting on the seat Silvia had sat.
Not towering, not scolding. Just… there. Her voice was soft, like she was talking to a scared animal.
"You've been sitting here for quite a while. Is everything alright?"
Say yes, Sneha. Smile and say yes. Like you did every time your boss dumped a new deadline on you at 10 p.m. Say it.
"I…"
She didn't rush me. Just sat, folding her hands in her lap, looking at the classroom like she had all the time in the world.
I tried again. "I'm just… tired."
A lie. But a good one?
Then a shimmer appeared between us. A small golden ring of light with intricate and delicate geometric designs—the size of a dinner plate—materialized in the air. It spun quietly, and from its center, a butterfly drifted out, its purple wings shimmering with translucent patterns like stained dreamy glass.
It looks like photoshopped. Or a version of Pinterest tried by God.
I froze. " Woah...." an exclamation escaped my mouth unconsciously.
" Meet my partner, an emotional resonance butterfly," Trina said calmly. "They respond to distress. Not dangerous—just… attuned."
The butterfly floated near me. Its wings fluttered against my cheek. The sensation was so delicate, so cooling, like a breeze inside my brain. Some of the tension in my chest loosened.
Just a little.
Madam Trina didn't comment. She let it happen. And when the butterfly vanished again, she stood and dusted off her coat.
"Come. Let's walk you home."
"…Home?"
I didn't even know where that was.
But my feet moved anyway. Because apparently, my body did.
We stepped outside, the air crisp and smelling faintly of metal and grass. I rubbed my damp palms on my uniform skirt, nerves prickling under my skin. Trina didn't speak much, just walked beside me like a shadow.
A few steps later—
"HELLOOOO, HOT GIRLS OF THE AFTERNOON!"
I nearly tripped on air as a familiar voice bounced across the path.
Silvia.
Grinning like she'd just won a food fight, skipping toward us in an exaggerated flourish. "Sneha! There you are! I thought you were avoiding me 'cause you owe me snack credits!"
"I—what?"
She gasped. "Don't tell me you left your brain in the classroom and you forgot the cafeteria bet."
"…There was a bet?"
"There's always a bet," she winked. Then blinked. "Wait, are we going somewhere?"
"She's heading home," Madam Trina replied smoothly. "You're welcome to join."
"Oh, absolutely. Can't let Miss Teary-Eyes wander off unsupervised."
! ! ! ! !
"I wasn't crying," I muttered.
How did she know... Wait... Then... She informed madam Trina..?
"You were emoting dramatically. Very different," Silvia said with a smirk as she looped her arm through mine like we'd been besties since preschool.
Despite everything, I let her.
The walk home was bizarre.
Because my feet knew where to go.
Left at the turn with the flower stall. Right past the bakery with the suspiciously pink bread. Over the little wooden bridge with the mossy stones. I didn't even think—I just… moved.
Like my soul remembered.
Why? How do I know this place?
The house came into view. White picket fence, slightly chipped door, hanging plant by the window. My steps slowed. The air felt heavier. I suddenly didn't want to open that door.
Because last time… there was nothing on the other side.
Because last time… I had no one. None.
Left completely alone.
I hesitated at the gate.
My hand trembled.
What if it was empty?
What if this was all a joke, a sick simulation designed to watch me hope and then break again?
But then—click.
The door creaked open from the inside.
A warm voice called out, "You're finally back!"
I froze.
A boy with tousled chestnut hair and bright eyes burst out, half-eaten apple in hand. "See, Mom! Told you no one would kidnap Piggy!"
"PIGGY?!" I gasped, offended and wheezing.
Then came the second voice. Calm. Soft. Loved.
"Sneha?"
My breath left me.
She stepped into the light. Short, poised, wearing a loose apron and holding a dishcloth. The lines of stress from my memory were gone. Her skin glowed with health. Her eyes… her eyes were alive.
"Mom…" I whispered.
My knees buckled.
They rushed forward. My little brother Garry—still chewing—wrapped his arms around my waist like a bear cub. Flora—my mother—reached me a second later.
She touched my face. "Are you alright, honey?"
"I… I don't know," I whispered. "I think I had a bad nightmare…?"
Of course it was a real life nightmare.
And for the first time in forever, I let myself fall into their arms and forget that like a bad dream.
--------------------------------------
Dinner was chaos.
Silvia had somehow made herself home on our couch, flipping through TV channels while Garry argued about elves being cooler than space ninjas ( cartoon heroes) I sat at the table, half in a daze, watching mom move around the kitchen like a goddess of warmth and nourishment.
Madam Trina accepted tea gracefully and sat near the window, observing without judgment.
It was too perfect.
Too normal.
Too alive.
"Hey, Sneha!" Silvia called between mouthfuls of roasted mushrooms. "What elf egg are you getting for graduation? I bet you're a fire-type girl."
"Uh… haven't thought about it?"
"Lame," Garry snorted. "If you don't pick soon, all the cool ones will be gone. You should get a storm claw—those babies shoot lightning from their horns! Phew Phew!! BOOM!!!"
Mom chuckled as she set down a tray. " Garry, you said this today and then you'll change to Rain deer two days later."
Trina leaned forward, finally speaking. "The interschool summoning league begins in six months. If either of you wants to qualify, you'll need a strong bond with your elves."
She looked at Silvia and me, " So it's best to buy your elves early and bond and practice moves. "
She continued seriously, "Sixteen schools. One top scorer per school," she smiled with the look of throwing us a challenge,"The top student from Academy Nine is Ivan Ryers. He's already contracted a soul weapon."
I blinked. That name…
Ivan.
Why does that name feel like a static buzz in my skull?
"Oh please," Silvia said dramatically. "Soul weapon or not, he's just a guy with good body!"
My fork trembled.
"Ahem! Ardio Academy's opening their qualifiers next week," Trina added.
Ardio.
Like a thunderclap, the name exploded behind my eyes.
The room swam. My head pulsed.
Ardio. Ivan. Elves. Interschool league.
A plot.
A novel.
A girl… who was framed.
A brother taken. A mother imprisoned.
A summon poisoned.
A girl who—
"Excuse me!" I blurted, standing so fast my chair shrieked.
Everyone stared.
"Bathroom," I managed, rushing out before anyone could question further.
Silvia called after me, "Not the mushrooms! I knew something was off!"
I locked the door behind me and braced myself against the sink.
Breathe, Sneha. Breathe.
This isn't a dream.
This is a story.
The story.
I looked up—and for the first time since I'd arrived—I saw myself in the mirror.
Red eyes. Pale skin. A face that wasn't mine, but was quite similar to my previous life.
A name.
Sneha Snowheart.
That girl… she dies.
In the novel I read.
Alone. Accused. Destroyed.
No. No, no, no, no—
"Fuck."
It slipped out, soft and broken, with the tiniest chuckle at the end. Like my last brain cell had given up and gone for a drink.
"I'm fucked." .... " Deeply fucked. "