Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“—as you know, the first Diablerie Invasion happened on May 21st, 2024, in the Haven City Demesne. Humanity had no prior interaction with the Diablerie and thus, were completely outmatched. Luckily, that was also the same day when Magical Girl Alpha revealed herself to the world by fighting back against the insidious creatures. She was able to single-handedly turn the tide of battle and save the world. When the second Diablerie Invasion occurred a mere three months later, and a new Magical Girl popped up, it became clear this wasn’t going to go away. The GDM—Global Defense Mechanism—was assembled on September 2nd of the same year. Magical Girls Alpha and Beta, along with all following Magical Girls, were given hero status under the Treaty of Slavos……..”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I concentrated on the clock, watching the second hand kiss the silver rim and urging it to slow its pace with my gaze. My hand absentmindedly rolled a pencil across my desk, letting it reach the end of my table and taste the fear of falling, before rolling it back to the middle.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“—many debates about the terminology of ‘Magical Girls.’ Some find it to be demeaning and an insult to the girls who put their lives on the line for our sake. However, striking similarities between the appearances and power set of the popular trope and our heroes have led many to christen them as such. They…..”

I sighed and turned my attention back to Mr. Rogers, stamping on the pencil and flattening it with the palm of my hand. By normal standards, he was a relatively handsome man. In his mid-twenties with silky black hair pulled back into a ponytail, a crisp-midnight blue suit with a striking red tie, rimstone glasses that managed to convey both a sense of joviality and seriousness, Mr. Rogers was the reason why so many girls had fought to be in his class. With his youthful looks and put-togetherness, he would have the students hanging off his every word if he didn’t sound like he was being held at gunpoint to deliver the lecture.

In the most monotone voice possible, he held the textbook to his face, covering the majority of his handsome features, and repeated the author nearly word for word. The dull and tedious jargon the author used—as most historians do to sound smarter—coupled with the absence of the main attraction was enough for the class to have stopped paying attention long ago.

It was probably a good thing he didn’t bother looking up from where his nose skimmed the pages, because he would have found his class in disarray.

Although he’d established a seating chart in the beginning of the year, Mr. Rogers hadn’t bothered to enforce it. As a result, people congregated near their friends and respective groups, laughing lightly and passing trinkets to one another to pass the time. Nobody dared to leave the class entirely—the school administration made it clear that attending the academy was an honor, and any student found disregarding that honor would be expelled immediately—but inside the classroom was a different story.

The ‘popular kids’ stood out like glaring beacons in the back of the class, their uniforms purposefully ruffled and made to appear untidy. There was a slight commotion among them and although I tried to not focus on their blabber, a couple snippets and fragments of their conversation inevitably made their way to my ears. It was like they didn’t understand the definition of ‘volume control’ and simply broadcasted their thoughts to the world. Usually, I tended to not mind this; it was a welcome distraction from Mr. Roger’s mindless mumbling, and there were the rare days when one of the boys actually said something that was mildly amusing.

Today wasn’t one of those days, far from it. And it was only going to get worse when I heard someone practically scream about a prank. 

I rolled my eyes as a blond-haired boy—James, I believe—walked past my row, the collar of his uniform folded up and his shirt unbuttoned, exposing little tufts of chest hair. He strided through the aisle with the swagger and attitude of a prince, bursting out laughing at an inside joke his friends hollered through the classroom. In my opinion, it was all juvenile humor.

Upon reaching the front row, he turned around, widened his stance, clapped his hands twice before spreading them apart, and screamed, “Come on!”

One of his friends threw a plastic bottle and instinctively, my eyes followed its trajectory through the air. Glancing at James, I realized that he wasn’t far enough to catch the bottle. When the bottle hit the peak of its arc, I saw light dawn in his eyes as well and he hastily adjusted his placement. The bottle passed over his head and his feet left the floor, hands clasping the bottle triumphantly. For a single second, he was suspended in the air as the sunlight streamed through the open window, hitting his hair at just the right angle to make it seem like his hair had been replaced with blazing golden fire.

Then gravity reasserted itself and taught James a harsh lesson on who was in control. The teenager crashed to the ground, knocking over a desk and sending it skidding across the classroom floor where it came to a halt after banging on the door. I winced upon seeing the pair of black streaks that marked the trail the desk followed. The janitor was sure to have a field day scrubbing that out. The clamor permeating the room dropped away and all eyes were locked on James and Mr. Rogers, bated breaths held as we collectively waited to see what the latter’s reaction would be.

I couldn’t help but hope that for once, Mr. Rogers would show a sliver of dedication to his job and dole out just desserts. It looked like the man was contemplating his options, considering the pros and cons of either. I could almost see his thoughts whirring through the lenses of his glasses, the moral dilemma of duty and laziness struggling for domination.

He sighed, pushed up his glasses with two fingers, and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “I don’t get paid enough for this.” Clearing his throat, he buried his face back into the textbook and continued. “The use of Magical Girls violated the Geneva Convention…..”

Emboldened by this latest in a long line of disappointing behavior from a teacher that worked at a supposedly prestigious school, the students let loose with their inhibitions. James clambered to his feet and hurried over to his friends, where he was given the hero’s welcome as they patted him on the back. The insistent buzzing filled the classroom again as people renewed their conversation. 

Feeling like I should have expected this but still experiencing a growing knot of despondency gnawing away in my rib cage, I turned away from the failure of an authoritative figure and let my eyes wander the classroom. Whenever I gazed on the sad visage of my fellow peers, I couldn’t help but feel let down. It was an arrogant thought, but seeing my classmates who’d clawed their way to the number eleven ranked school in the quarter be reduced to giggling about the latest hair products and blaring rock music through their miniature speakers was disheartening. How had we fallen so low?

My eyes landed on a gaggle of girls near the corner of the classroom and the knot sprung to life, becoming a writhing serpent that coiled around my ribs and held my heart hostage with its fangs poised over the organ. I was completely transfixed on one individual in particular: a girl with flowing locks of black hair with ripples like a river that I could never come close to imitating. Her generous curves were accentuated by the form-fitting blazers and her skirt had been modified to shave off a couple of inches, exposing her smooth thigh. The exaggerated warm flush on her cheeks indicated the usage of make-up, but I could barely make it out. Her emerald eyes shone like jewels, and complemented and amplified all her other features, elevating her to an overall higher standard. Zoe Watson was the idyllic example of the generic ‘popular girl’ in high school.

But I still remembered the Zoe Watson who was more focused on binging Star Wars with me than dolling up to look pretty for the boys. She always wore baggy T-shirts and ragged jeans because the minute school ended, the two of us headed over to the park and started digging for treasure. Instead of the contacts I knew she wore now, Zoe preferred rainbow-rimmed glasses that made her eyes look larger than they actually were.

As I watched her now, giggling in an obnoxiously high-pitched tone that was a sharp contrast from the more genuine, throaty chuckle she’d had before, my heart clenched painfully. 

How had things gotten so wrong? 

You know exactly what it was.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the pesky thoughts that tried to sneak under my skin. The serpent tightened its grip and I winced, hot pangs of pain ripping through my body. In my attempts to take my mind off that, I glanced towards the ensemble of girls and was surprised to find emerald eyes staring back.

My heart stuttered to a stop and even the serpent loosened its grip in shock. I dug my nails into my knees, the dull ache doing wonders to alleviate some of the throbbing pressure that was building behind my skull. My breath caught in my lungs and despite my best efforts, remained stuck in my chest. It felt like I was drowning; my stomach sloshed anxiously and I broke out into cold sweat. All throughout this, a traitorous voice whispered, Say something! This is your chance! Don’t let it slip by!

I coaxed open my mouth, licking my parched lips a couple of times. Gathering the tattered remains of my courage that had been torn to pieces over the course of the past few months, I started to call her over. “Zo—!”

Maybe I was mistaken—she was fairly far away, after all, and the world felt like it was tilting right now. But I could have sworn that I saw the corner of her lips twitch upward before her eyes rolled over me. The rest of my exclamation was cut off in a strangled choke, a whisper filled with desperation that was left unheard. She returned to her conversation like nothing happened, sniggering and twirling a strand of hair around her slim fingers.

The serpent hissed and a fiery warmth blossomed in my chest, spreading out and filling me from my toes to my scalp. Bile clawed its way up my throat, filling my mouth with a bitter taste. Heat stung my eyes and I furiously wiped away the tears before they could fall. Resolutely, I turned my head and glared at Mr. Rogers as if he’d become the most interesting person in the world, the world distorting and blurring through my watery eyes. It might have been my imagination but I swore I could have felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of my head, cruel amusement twinkling in those green jewels.

There was a sharp jump in the noise output as one of the girls burst out tittering and the others were quick to follow. I clenched my hands underneath the desk and out of sight, ready to die before I showed Zoe how badly she’d affected me. My fingernails dug notches into my palm, followed by little pinpricks of pain as I marred my flesh. My shoulders went stiff and I hunched forward as I tried to hide the swirling hurricane of emotions from the outside world. 

I was angry at Zoe, but I was furious at myself for getting played like a fool. I knew the days spent frolicking across the city with Zoe were gone and buried, but I still perked up whenever she glanced my way. I was pathetic; like a trained puppy who came running back to her master after being beat a dozen times. Despite affirming my resolve to sever all ties with Zoe every time this happened, I always found myself duped.

The memories of playing Hide-And-Seek with Zoe and chastising my sisters for interrupting us swam to the surface of my mind. What had used to be a glorious reminder of better days was now tainted with bitterness and deceit. I locked onto Zoe’s beaming face as she offered me a sandwich, and the trademark features of a child—ruddy cheeks, chubby hands, and even less volume control than teenagers—overlapped with the vulpine teenager she’d grown into. Her joyful grin shifted, dripping with sinister sarcasm. The sandwich in her hand suddenly transformed into a dagger, ready for her to sheathe the blade into my heart.

And my past self—my stupid, ignorant self—smiled stupidly and accepted the dagger with an open heart. 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

What was the use of struggling anymore? My best friend turned her back on me, my family was full of fractures, and life seemed like a chore now. The only redeeming aspect was my above-average grades in school, but what was the point? It wasn’t like my parents would shower me in complements and the teacher couldn’t give a flying shit.

I focused on the clock, letting the background noise fall away until my world was filled with the consistent ticking of the clock as the tiny mechanisms inside whirred. Cogs in a greater machine working tirelessly to manifest a physical influence on the world. There must be thousands of intricate gears inside the clock, and they all worked in perfect synchronization to achieve the telling of time. They had a role, they knew the role, and they fulfilled the role perfectly. It was almost admirable, how they repeated the same thing day after day and never faltered. 

If I had a fraction of that perseverance, maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation. 

The ticking was almost hypnotic, in a way. The clicks sunk into my mind and settled there, stretching its tendrils out and lulling the serpent into a relaxed state. The rhythmic tempo and consistency were like soothing balms to my aggravated soul. If I just focused on the clock and nothing else, I could almost forget about the incident. The painful burning in my chest subsided, the bundle of fury, grief, and anger slowly uncurling. I let out a sigh in time with the ticking as relief spread through my body. 

My eyelids felt like stone blocks sinking to the bottom of the sea. Despite my best efforts, they inevitably started to slide down. I fluttered them open in an attempt to stay awake, but the past seven days spent with me hungrily gathering as many hours of sleep as possible before waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in a puddle of sweat and my heart palpitating, was taking a toll on me. I hadn’t had a decent sleep ever since the incident. My body had reached its breaking point long ago, and exhaustion was a constant companion these days.  

Maybe I can finally sleep.

I was in the throes of sleep’s embrace as the world around me melted away, a fanciful mosaic of dripping colors swirling together in a gentle whirlpool. I whimpered as I felt my worries ooze out of my ears and into the whirlpool, leaving me burden-free. My fears weren’t gone—they were lingering around my head like a swarm of persistent bugs, but as long as I succumbed to sleep, I could escape them temporarily. 

It was nirvana. For the first time in months, I felt like a weight on my shoulders was gone. The clamor and harsh whispers in the back of my head that had pestered me since the incident was silent, granting me peace of mind at last. A pessimistic part of me was adamant on reminding me that this was only a brief respite, that I would have to wake up eventually and return to the harsh reality of my situation, but for now, I was content to nestle my consciousness away in the snug embrace of drowsiness. 

RING!

The blaring bell was a spear, cleaving through the haze of sleep and delivering a rude awakening for me. A harsh flinch tore through my body and the momentum of my jolt carried the chair with me until it was hanging at a precarious position, the last two legs remaining on the floor by a hair. I latched onto the table hard enough to make my hands sore, rattling the desk and sending a twinge of pain through my arms. 

I remained like that for a couple of seconds, chest heaving up and down so intensely it was almost painful. A thin sheen of sweat covered my body and my heart hammered against my rib cage with reckless abandon. My hands felt clammy and I failed to gain traction on the smooth wood, my slippery hands slowly sliding across the surface until I was hanging on by the tips of my fingers. The serpent hissed in outrage, lashing out in a vengeful fury at being disturbed and the sea of emotion started bubbling, threatening to boil over. A catastrophic mix of anger, distress, grief, and oh-so-potent sadness made my body tremble as I barely restrained myself from throwing a fit.

Was it too much to ask for a brief break from this wretched world? Are you this determined to make me suffer?

I carefully pulled myself forward and held my breath until all four legs of the chair were on the floor. Releasing my grip on the edge of the desk, I nursed my aching fingers as I looked around. Before the bell even finished its course, the classroom was already emptied out. I snapped back to reality just in time to catch Mr. Rogers hastily shoving bundles of papers with chicken scratch on them into his binder, clipping it shut and placing it under his arm. Grabbing his bag and a mug of cold coffee, he hurried out of the classroom.

At the last second, he slapped a hand over the doorway, pulling himself back through and poking his head. He blinked a couple of times, as if he was hoping I would go away if he checked his vision enough times. I remained sitting, meeting his gaze dead-on with lifeless eyes. 

I wondered how it looked in his shoes: a student who voluntarily stayed behind after the bell without prompt was probably as scary as a Diablerie to him. Heaven forbid he actually has to talk to a student one-on-one instead of regurgitating textbooks for two hours every day. He gripped the door frame tightly, the moldy wood releasing a meek groan in protest. Mr. Rogers flicked his tongue over his lips, once, twice. His eyes darted back and forth, and the yearning to look into the hallway was almost palpable.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on for longer than it should have, the result of two socially awkward people trapped in an equally awkward situation. I found my pencil and renewed rolling it across the desk, mulling over the right words to use. I thought I saw a bead of sweat roll down the curve of Mr. Roger’s face as I watched him intensely, eyes narrowed in concentration.

I pushed too hard and the pencil flew off the desk, clattering noisily to the floor. The sound seemed to snap Mr. Rogers out of his reverie and he chuckled hoarsely, releasing his grip on the doorframe. I spotted tiny splinters of wood stuck on his palm as he removed his hand, which he discreetly tried to rub off onto his pants. 

“Right-o. How about you lock up once you’re done, E……” His forehead scrunched up and he murmured under his breath in consternation. Despite his whispering, I still clearly heard various names beginning with ‘E’ roll of his tongue as he cycled through the options. I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. It was already the middle of the school year. 

“Elysia,” I offered, just wanting to get this over with.

He snapped his fingers, open relief flashing over his face. “Right! Elysia! I’ll leave the key in the door. Don’t stay here for too long!” He reached into his pocket and fished out a key-ring. Flipping it onto the palm of his hand, he fingered through the various keys until he finally settled on one and lodged it into the door’s lock.

Turning around, Mr. Rogers shot me a smile that I might have considered reassuring if he wasn’t about to leave a student behind. Giving me a nod like he was doing the right thing, he turned around and shut the door behind him, extinguishing the clamor of noise from the hallway and leaving me in silence.

I was still for a couple of minutes, trying to come to terms with what I witnessed. My stomach rolled over at the thought that someone as lazy as Mr. Rogers was allowed to teach impressionable teenagers. Righteous anger surged through my veins and I contemplated the idea of rushing out the classroom, chasing Mr. Rogers down, and whacking him over the head with his stupid briefcase. The imagery was so vivid, I bared my teeth and tightened 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Save me, Elysia! Please! Don’t leave me! SISTER!”

Grief and alarm flooded my system like ice cold water dumped over my head. The abrupt shock completely eviscerated any thought of tracking Mr. Rogers and replaced them with flashes of a city on fire, ashes circulating through the air and making it impossible to breathe, terror-filled shrill screams piercing the sky, accompanied by the low rumbles of monsters out of this world. I didn’t focus on any of that though.

I was focused on the ache in my arms, the searing-hot pain as I tried to move a slab of stone that was larger than I was. One insurmountable obstacle in the wake of many, desperation and adrenaline enhancing my strength tenfold but it still wasn’t enough. The raging flames and the plumes of toxic smoke they produced began to get to me, reaching through my flaring nostrils and sinking into my muscles, shutting my body down and deadening my limbs. The surge of strength my adrenaline had provided me with quickly failed as my vision got blurry. The slab slipped through my fingers and crashed down and a scream split my world in half—

I let out a shuddering gasp, my bloodshot eyes snapping open. I looked at my trembling hands, trying to quell the shaking to no avail. My body wouldn’t respond to my commands. My breaths came in quick and hard, in staccato rhythms, each inhale and exhale sending a new wave of pain rolling through my chest. The bottom of my stomach dropped as I tried to control my breathing, and the classroom swam in front of my eyes.

I need air.

I sprung to my feet, knocking the chair to the ground. I stumbled forward until I slammed into the closed door, my bruised shoulder throbbing in response. My hands fumbled around the lock, scouring desperately for the keys. I found it and yanked out, gripping it tightly enough for the metal to imprint against my skin. 

I forced the door open so hard it swung wildly and hit the wall, the sound of weak plaster crunching in my ear in tempo with the sickening sound of bones cracking. I scrambled out of the doorway and yanked the door out of the small crater it had made in the wall. Shutting the door hard enough to rattle the frame, I slid the key in and turned it roughly. 

Pocketing the key ring, I turned and started shoving my way down the hallway. The dim racket of chattering and giggling had subsided in the aftermath of my dramatic exit, replaced by hushed whispers and murmurs as they stared at me. I hunched my back, lifted my shoulders up, and fought the instinct to pull my hood over my head. 

I could see their eyes in the peripheral of my line of sight even as I made sure to keep my gaze directed to the dirt-ridden linoleum floor. Dozens of pairs of eyes, scrutinizing me with poorly concealed interest and amusement—and something else. Pity, shining in their pupils like tiny diamonds, glinting at me out of the darkness of the abyss. Lights boring into the back of my skull, trying to rip my head apart and reveal my brain and innermost thoughts to the world.

I heard their whispers as clearly as if they were standing next to me.

“That’s the girl whose sister died in the San Francisco Diablerie Invasion six months ago.”

“Heard she went off the deep-end. Complete loner. She’s the quiet kid.”

“I knew her before her sister died. Elysia. She was really peppy and energetic, if a bit annoying. It’s a shame what happened to her.”

Shut up. 

I wanted to scream, to roar, to holler and make my voice rise above the cacophony. To tell them that they didn’t know a damn thing, that Alice wasn’t dead, that it wasn’t MY FAULT!

Instead, I shoved through a couple who were too immersed in trying to blend their faces together to notice me, and started sprinting. My shoes squeaked against the linoleum and the endless rows of graffitied blue lockers blurred together. Something wet slid down my face, and I increased my pace. 

I burst through the double doors at the front of the school and raced down the stairs, pushing some kids off their feet. Ignoring the outraged exclamations and demands for an apology, I continued running through the crowd of people. I squirmed, shoved, forced, bit, and punched a path through the swarm of people. The sea of identical uniforms pushed against me on all sides, the same boring gray everywhere I looked.

The same uniform Alice had wanted to wear one day.

I thought I saw Zoe in her group among the crowd, and for a split second, I think she saw me. Her emerald eyes widened marginally and her pink lips formed a perfect ‘O’. The Zoe I knew would never have been so reserved in her action, so ‘lady-like.’ Unconsciously, I slowed my pace, holding her gaze for as long as possible. 

Help, the traitorous young voice in my head whispered. The voice that still saw Zoe as my best friend. Help me.

Something in her face softened, and almost imperceptibly, she took a step forward. Her arm started lifting. Her face told a million words, chronicling a conflict within the recesses of her mind as she weighed the bond of our past friendship and risking the new connections she had made. Then steel shutters came down in her eyes and she took another step forward. My heart soared.

One of her air-headed friends slung an arm over Zoe’s shoulder and said something that made Zoe burst out laughing. She shot another look at me before letting herself be directed away from the crowd. From me.  

I bit my lip until the taste of iron lingered on my tongue and shouldered through. I didn’t look back either.

I escaped the crowd and fled through the gates. Out on the sidewalk, I thought I could stop—that I could breathe, but I was wrong. The air was just as stifling, the noises just as blaring, and the memory of that incident followed me like a shadow no matter where I went. 

I stopped running though. My body couldn’t keep it up—three months spent cooped up in your room did wonders in sapping your stamina. My legs quivered but I pushed past the pain, walking through the street. Numerous tall buildings lined the street, but there was one skyscraper that stood out in particular. Fashioned from blue-hue windows with a curved metal frame that thinned out into a point at the top, there was a long billboard glued down the side. I spared it a glimpse before turning away, enough to notice it was talking about a burger. 

The shuttle was just at the end of the street, but there were hundreds of students piling in. The thought of being confined in a cramped metal box going 80 miles per hour made my heart skip a beat. 

I reached into my left pocket and felt cold steel. I rubbed my fingers over the metal, wondering what the fuck it was before realization hit me. The keys. In all the commotion, it slipped my mind. I’d just instinctively placed it into my pocket. I didn’t know how Mr. Rogers would enter his classroom tomorrow—I doubted the school would make copies of schools and hand it out willy-nilly—but I couldn’t give a fuck.

I left the keys where they were and took out my phone from the right pocket. Letting the AI scan my face, I swiped the screen and found two new messages from Amelia. My fingers shivered as I opened them. My lips traced the words soundlessly, and I felt something in my gut shrivel and die. 

Amelia: Where the fuck are you? We were supposed to leave together.

Amelia: Fine. Be that way. I guess I should have expected this. 

I saw three dots appear and waited, my breath caught in my throat. The seemingly mundane and inconspicuous circles blinked innocently, but to me, they might as well have been the herald of my condemnation. The message that would finally push me over the edge, that would confirm my worst fears and accentuate my failures.

The dots disappeared and Amelia’s status went red. Today was not that day. I let out a sigh of relief, but at the same time, my heart twisted painfully. I started to type out a response but my fingers were too shaky; every time I touched a letter, I made copies or was too light for the screen to register. Thick globs of wetness splattered against the glass, making it even more difficult. I rubbed my eyes and admitted defeat, putting the phone in my pocket.

I faced the end of the shuttle; more specifically, the black-tinted windows that lined the sides of the shuttle. I knew for a fact that the engineers had designed the shuttle so the passengers could see the city while the outsiders only saw black. I wondered if Amelia had gained the much fought over honor of a back seat. Was she staring at me right now, judging me with those trademark beady eyes of hers that could make anyone feel stupid? 

I kept my gaze locked onto the shuttle until it started moving, rapidly accelerating until it was little more than a dot on the horizon. I checked the glowing neon sign attached to the station. There was five minutes until the next shuttle. Add the thirty minutes it would take to reach the house, and it was the recipe for more disappointed looks from my parents.

“What else is new, huh?” I chuckled bitterly. A bright flash of light caught my attention and I turned to find that the billboard plastered the length of the skyscraper had changed from an ad for a boring fancy restaurant to an iconic image of someone who everyone knew. Even now, I could hear little kids talking excitedly to their belligerent parents who’d probably heard it a thousand times about the Magical Girl whose face was on display for everyone in the district to gawk at.

I say ‘on display’, but that wasn’t exactly the case. One of the most debated topics regarding Magical Girls was the passive magic that surrounded their body. No-one could pinpoint exact details about their face. If a Magical Girl was blonde, everyone would notice. However, people disagreed on the shade of yellow, the hairstyle, and the length of the hair. It was the sole thing that kept the anti-Magical Girls from using lack of privacy as one of their many reasons why teenagers shouldn’t fight on the frontlines. Not that they needed it; there were so many other morally gray areas they could capitalize on.

I was studying the face of the Magical Girl—‘Moonlight’, I believe—and admiring her silver adorned dress, along with the double claymore swords strapped on her back—when I noticed something: I was feeling unusually light. I reached over my shoulder and grasped air. My blood pressure skyrocketed and I briefly considered bashing my head in against the nearest pole.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, of all the things to forget.” My backpack had everything. My grade was already slipping, I couldn’t afford to not do my homework. Not to mention, the thought of leaving my backpack behind for anyone to rummage through and take whatever caught their fancy didn’t sit well with me. The classroom may be locked, but there were some people who went to school before the others. I’m sure they could pester a janitor into opening the classroom, and then what? It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

I wanted to scream. To raise my fists to the sky and rage against the constraints of this mortal body that always made errors. Miscalculations, some that were deadly. I wanted to claw at my flesh and rip it off until I was reborn: a new Elysia, who was reliable and trusted.

What’s the point of this anymore? Why am I doing this anymore? Alice, am I doing the right thing?

There was no response.

My gaze flickered to the incoming shuttle that was smoothly gliding our way. I could get on, and just leave. Not return home. Forge a new life for myself. The percentage of people who survived on the streets were slim, but not hopeless.

Warning: Despair levels reaching dangerous heights. Current course of action is not recommended. Deviate from your current trajectory, and return to the Parokampos GDM headquarters.

I stilled. The high-pitched, almost childish tone, didn’t suit the gravity of its statements. And the GDM? The same GDM that protected humanity from the Diablerie, where the Magical Girls trained and worked and served? The GDM that everyone wanted to join? 

I snapped my head around, my plans of a new life flying out the window in the face of this new development. I scoured the mass of bobbing heads, trying to locate the source of the noise. I didn’t know how I planned to isolate one individual out of hundreds, not when the strange voice didn’t seem like it intended to speak again, but I had to try.

For the first time in three months, I felt something come to life inside me. A quant spark, but it was more than I’d felt in nearly 100 days. And maybe if I found the source of the sound, it would fan the spark into something greater.

The longer I searched to no avail, the more I felt despair start to consume me. My movements started to become more fidgety, more desperate as I rocked back and forth on my heels. I drew some unsavory looks from the crowd, but I couldn’t care less. I needed to find the source of the noise. It was no longer something to pass my time waiting for the shuttle to arrive, but something required. I felt like if I didn’t manage to track her down, something horrible would happen. I could feel it in my bones, as surely as I knew the sun would rise in the morning.

Scanning my surroundings—and noting some questionable fashion choices that I never would have noticed before—was more time-consuming than I’d expected. The shuttle rushed past me and slowed down as it reached the station, sliding smoothly to a stop right in front of the building without a sound. 

The shuttle doors popped up and rotated to the top of the shuttle, leaving space for a line of people to clamber into the shuttle. Fear gripped my heart as I continued my aimless search, well aware that the next shuttle wouldn’t arrive for 15 minutes. I was already pushing it as it was, any more delay would probably result in my parents making good with their unspoken threats and finally kicking me out of the house.

The sea of people began to thin out, leaving pockets of space in between people. I jumped up and down, cursing my diminutive height. Why was everyone in Parokampos so goddam tall? Prometheus' voice rang through the street, the melodic pitch bouncing off the walls. 

“Shuttle 386AB is departing shortly. I repeat, shuttle 386AB is departing shortly.”

Desperation fueled my jumps as I gained more air with each hop. Landing on my feet once again, I crouched down, ready to give this jump my all, when I spotted them. A cloaked figure, weaving in and out through the crowd. Looking back, I wasn’t sure how I knew that they were the person, but there was no doubt in my mind at the time.

Unfortunately, I’d been about to jump. I aborted the jump at the last second but my legs didn’t receive the memo before pushing off the ground. While midair, my body finally reacted and all sense of coordination vanished as I flailed around. My left hand hit a pole and I instantly retracted the hand to my chest, a pained hiss escaping through gritted teeth. I hit the ground hard, and fell to my knees.

My body was aching and I was pretty sure I was bleeding at my knees. My line of sight was surrounded by legs like beanstalks as several good Samaritans crowded around me, asking if I was alright. While normally, I would have been touched by the genuine concern in their voices, this was absolutely the last thing I needed right now.

Throwing out some hasty assurances, I pushed myself off the ground and onto shaky legs. Most of the citizens departed, bustling back to their busy lives when they realized I didn’t require immediate medical attention. They’d probably forget around me by the time the next shuttle arrived. One particularly fussy lady hovered around me, patting at my hair and brushing off the dirt on my uniform.

“Oh, poor girl. Let me call the medics for you,” she insisted, already having her phone in her hand and dialing the emergency number. She lifted the phone to her ear and I could hear the annoyingly cheery music they’d decided to install as their dial tone. Why they did that when the only reason someone should be calling their emergency number was if a person was in mortal danger, I had no clue. Then the full consequences of her actions rammed into  me like a truck and my blood froze.

“No, no, no, I’m fine!” I floundered for the phone, both arms outstretched and fingers curled. The older lady screamed and jumped into the air, her phone slipping out of her grip. It clattered to the floor and I all but pounced on it, pressing the cancel button hard enough to jam my thumb.

Ignoring the low throbbing pain, I handed the phone back to the lady, who suddenly seemed a lot less worried about my safety and more considering if she wanted to call the police or not. “Sorry about that,” I apologized, inclining my head slightly. I heard her huff before the sound of heels clicking against the floor indicated she was walking away.  

I lifted my head and glanced towards the shuttle right as the doors slid shut with an ominous thump, sealing my fate as it sealed the shuttle. I watched with a lump in my throat as the shuttle hurtled away from me at breakneck speeds, taking the only chance I had of not receiving severe punishment along with it.

“This is not my day,” I murmured before remembering the cloaked figure. Whirling around, I saw them exit the crowded street and turn into an alleyway. Strangely enough, it looked like the crowd was unconsciously parting for them, crafting an easy path through the otherwise unnavigable swarm. Nobody paid the cloaked stranger a second look, when their clothes alone should have been enough for someone to snap a dozen pictures and plaster them all over their social media. Instead, it appeared like the stranger was invisible to the average person. Their stray glances rolled over the stranger like water droplets sliding down an umbrella. 

Without a moment to waste, I followed them, fighting my way out of the crowd until I was standing outside the same alleyway. I spotted a glimpse of the brown cloak before it entered the shadows, the dark shade making it the perfect outfit to blend in.

I hesitated. I pushed my body more today than I had in three months. I was tired, I was broken, and I just wanted to rest. Besides, what business did I have interfering in the stranger’s life? Was it mere curiosity that prompted me to take such drastic actions? If so, I was no better than the scum bag students who didn’t have a shred of tact in their whole body, who’d cornered me one day and launched question after question about what happened that day. I despised it when people didn’t respect my privacy; wasn’t I doing the same to this person?

Also, this whole situation stunk something fierce. The brief sighting I’d managed to get revealed that the person was fully covered in a brown cloak. Who even wore something so woefully out of style these days? It was something out of the Middle Ages, not modern Parokampos. The only people who had a motive to wear something so distinct in public were either extreme cosplayers or people who didn’t conform to the norm.

And in this day and age, people like that were dangerous. Either because they themself were dangerous, or because the people who tracked them down were.

I should leave. I forget I ever saw the strange individual and leave them to their fate, whatever it was? I wasn’t brave. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t anything. If I left right now and pleaded to my parents, they might be merciful. If I followed the stranger, any chances of reconciling with my family was gone.

I turned around, fully prepared to wait in line for the next shuttle like a good daughter and a good sister. But something stopped me. A single, rebellious thought:

What if?

What if I threw away my inhibitions and did what my instincts told me? What if I followed the voices in my head and saw where they led me? My breaths came out quicker and shorter, puffs of frosted air drifting in front of my eyes. I dug my nails into my thighs as the idea became more and more appealing.

What if this was what I’d been missing? The key to making everything right, to making people love me again. I could have my parents back, I could have Amelia, I could have Zoe…..if I just took this one step. I spent three months as the perfect daughter, trying my best to survive in a world that didn’t seem to want me anymore, attempting to fit all the puzzle pieces into a frame that wasn’t the same anymore. Maybe I needed to change things up; to enact change, I needed to change. 

I took a step, a shard of broken glass shattering under my shoe. Apprehension flooded back and I almost backed away, just barely stopping myself. I remained stock still, my upper half tilted awkwardly back into the glaring light of Parokampos while my feet were shrouded in the alleyway’s darkness. I was on the precipice of something important, I could feel it. Something that would change my life forever.

What if you’d been more bold during the Diablerie Invasion? What if you hadn’t followed protocol and followed your gut? Alice may still be alive. Your family might still be whole. 

I pulled my torso forward until I was submerged in darkness, but I could still feel the light dancing on my back. I could still walk away if I so desired. And I didn’t have anything left in me to take the next step, and the next dozen. I sighed, and somehow, that sight conveyed 3 months worth of disappointment and self-loathing. At the end of the day, I simply wasn’t strong enough to make a difference. I turned to leave.

What if that person is going through the same thing you did? What if you could give them the help you never received? What if……

….you could be a hero?

My gaze hardened. I relaxed my hands. I inhaled, deeply, and exhaled. Let the frost tickle my nose. Took a tentative step forward, filled with uncertainty and hope and dreams and billions of emotions and thoughts that I couldn’t possibly express in something as restricting as words. 

The moment my shoe was pressed firmly against the cracked cement, a laugh bubbled up my throat and spilled from my lips. It surprised even me, with how jubilant and carefree it sounded. The sound of pure joy rippled through the alleyway, a foreign entity in a dark and destitute location where hope had no place. The darkness swallowed it up quickly, leaving a gaping void in its wake. The silence seemed deafening, and a chill descended down onto me. 

My legs rattled and my knees knocked against each other. Every tiny blow sent small jolts to my pain receptors, sharpening my mind and keeping me alert. It was the only thing stopping me from dissolving into a puddle of Elysia as I took another step forward.

I was still scared. Pressing my hand to my chest, I felt my heart rise to meet my palm. It felt like there was a jackhammer lodged inside my rib cage, pounding away ferociously. The beating of my heart filled my ears until it was all I could hear, a constant thumping that drowned out everything else. It was a terrifying experience, the sound of my own mortality everywhere around me, settling into the smog and discordant nature of the alleyway. I held no delusions that the alleyways were safe; people died in them, and most didn’t even reach the news. They just rotted away in the shadows.

I wanted to flee. But I took a step, then one more, and another step after that. Each step was stiff and unyielding, but I forced my legs to move. Every inch I gained was a testament to my resolve, a reinforcement of the vow I’d made after Alice fell into the coma: that I would do everything in my power to help those in need. I traversed deeper into the darkness of Parokampos, not for me, but because of that cloaked stranger.

Because of the frail hope that I could save someone like I hadn’t been able to save Alice. Because I’d never quite grown out of my ‘hero’ phase as a kid, and because I didn’t want to be seen as someone who needed to be pitied anymore. Because it was the right thing to do.

Just you wait, I thought fiercely, brimming with anticipation of catching up with the stranger. I’ll save you! 

I’ll be a hero!