“Hard, rough,” Raven murmured as her heavy eyelids tried to pry open.

  It was dark; there was no light—not even a speck. To be precise, there was nothing at all here.

  What was she even lying on? It felt like ground, yet it didn’t look like it. In fact, there was nothing to look at.

  Was she even lying on something? Was she floating?

  Raven tried to stand up, to move further—further than her eyes could take her. But her body didn’t move.

  It was like the connection between the nerves in her brain and the ones in her spine was disconnected—severed.

  Her limbs were heavy, useless, and carelessly lying on the ground.

  It was like she was in sleep paralysis, hardened into one form.

  The only things that moved were her eyes and thoughts.

  ‘Did I… Was this dying? Or am I already dead? Did I fail?’

  This meant her sister Liliane… she left her—she left her to die alone.

  Maybe she was a true murderer after all?

  Despite her fast-paced thoughts, she felt nothing.

  No rush, no pain of losing, no regret or betrayal.

  No relief—just emptiness, like a deep pit of void, alike to this place.

  A vault of blankness. Pitch-black darkness.

  She should be panicking, at least worried or confused, thought Raven. Yet there was nothing but a sound—a beat, faint but steady.

  A rhythm—squeezing and releasing, dancing to a familiar beat like this was normal, natural, and controlled. Similar to her thoughts.

  Mechanical, rational, trying to figure out the situation without any regard for emotions or the lack of them.

  Even so there was nothing controlled or natural about this.

  It should be weird. It was weird, right? The weirdness was in the fact that there was no weirdness.

  It was unnatural and out of order because it was so natural and controlled. It was like snow in summer.

  An unnatural, out-of-order occurrence in the order of nature itself.

  Another beat—a little spiked, faster, but still controlled enough to seem normal. Working actively.

  A beat—meant life.

  The pattern familiar. A constant. Actively working. A beat. A heart.

  Raven was literally dissipating her thoughts, stringing them together like a scattered mosaic, creating one big piece. A beating heart. A working, beating heart meant she was alive.

  A shatter. Something shattered—quiet and deliberate—a wave of relief and disappointment seeping through her.

  It was a mix, neither side weighted more or less. An emotion Raven couldn’t quite name but was accustomed to, like the act of breathing.

  Something natural and inborn you did, yet the moment you tried to figure it out, you forgot how to, and it became a complicated, unnamed matter.

  Once again, Raven busied herself with trying to move any other body part besides her eyes.

  Raven was so concentrated on the unmoving that she missed the movements directed toward her.

  So, before she knew it, a boy barely old enough for middle school squatted before her—bright blue meeting soft blond, gravitating toward a big smile.

  He was pretty—blending—resulting in Raven trying to dim the lightness by slightly closing her eyes.

  The boy, seeing her predicament, put his warm right palm on her eyelids, humming a soft melody into her ears.

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  Pushing Raven to relax—letting herself go, her tensed, heavy body softened under his warmth.

  It was akin to the sun meeting the moon, resulting in a brighter, better form.

  As if old friends were meeting again after a very long time, but as if they had never been separated.

  The last thing Raven caught before her mind completely let go was an echoing laugh, accompanied by a touch of nostalgia, embraced by words she had long forgotten.

  So soft she couldn’t catch them before she drifted off. Still it was undeniable—the tone of mischief. A forbidden spark she knew too well.

  The next time Raven awoke, her senses were dulled.

  Her body wasn’t heavy at all, however she could barely hear or see.

  All she knew was that she was sitting—probably somewhere comfy, maybe a car—

  as she felt a light, vibrating hum through her seat and the harsh air on her skin, signaling fast movement she couldn’t possibly achieve just by sitting.

  So Raven concentrated on the senses she could use, like smelling and touching, which seemed heightened due to the lack of the others.

  The air smelled intensified by honey, fresh air, a subtle tone of home—

  making Raven relax even further, even though, like the last time, this place should be unknown and cause an uproar in her.

  But even now, Raven acted naturally against nature,

  her mind and body being wrapped in the calming, knowing warmth of her environment, lulling her into a state of false safety.

  A dangerous act that seemed so safe to do.

  Raven touched everything—soft leather, hard window glass—everything her fingers could reach within a comfortable radius,

  settling deeper and deeper into the atmosphere, accompanied by muffled sounds.

  Then Raven touched something that resembled a body like hers, resulting in her trying to force her lazy eyes open, which she had closed in concentration.

  The vague vision sharpened with each passing second, and soon she wasn’t just grazing the surface but clutching onto clothes on a body.

  The silhouette was similar to hers, the voice like hers—just lighter and happier, with a touch of innocence.

  ‘This isn’t right. This can’t be.’ Even if she recognized that body anywhere, it was basically hers.

  ‘This isn’t true. Please, please…’

  Her breath grew haggard. Raven quickly turned her face forward, away from the younger girl.

  ‘This can’t be. Please…’

  Raven’s thoughts spread wildly, following no will but to prove herself right.

  The driver—she must see—coursed through Raven. The unshakable need to see.

  By now, her vision was clearer; she could see enough to determine where she was and who.

  Her fingers kept clutching the cloth of the girl, who didn’t seem to notice her at all, talking animatedly with the driver.

  The driver who looked akin to the older version of Raven and the girl beside her.

  ‘M…’

  Raven’s breath stilled, her body trembling in the overwhelming warmth,

  whose gentle heat threatened to suffocate her with every passing minute she looked—noticed more of the woman.

  Dark brown eyes filled with kindness, with a hint of sternness only a mother carried.

  Wild afro hair contained in dreads, her face sharpened by age and experience.

  Skin shining in a beautiful ebony, perfectly moisturized, carrying the light scent of shea butter and vanilla.

  Voluminous lips slightly trembling, mumbling to the sound of the radio or signaling she was still listening to the other girl.

  ‘It’s them. How… Oh God, it’s them.’

  By now, Raven was overcome by her senses—the ones lost and the ones heightened. It was all happening so fast.

  It was overwhelming. Raven wanted to vomit whatever had settled in her stomach—the warmth, panic, sadness, anger, guilt. She wanted everything out.

  A rush of tingles overran her. Sharp pain pinching her—striking her heart, her lungs, her limbs.

  Nonetheless, she gripped the girl and put herself at an angle that shouldn’t even be humanly possible,

  barely sitting, more than half her body turned forward toward the driver’s seat, taking in the driver.

  The driver who didn’t even notice her, even though she was basically in her face.

  In fact, it was as though nobody noticed her—not even the girl beside her, not to mention the driver, the woman she could never get enough of—no matter what tales her mind and mouth spun.

  A known, haunting ache stirred in her core.

  Raven wanted to scream at them, make them feel a scratch of what she felt every day, make them bleed, make them notice her.

  It was a sudden force but not unexpected.

  But all she could do was touch, look, and endure the emotion spreading again: hate vs. love, anger vs. repentance.

  But foremost, guilt—the guilt of being alive when they weren’t—not like before, at least.

  Raven released sobs that rattled through her. It was like the earth was shaking and the air was holding its breath.

  The honey and homey scent was mixed with the lingering scent of rain—the weather was about to change—water in exchange for fire.

  Then it happened. It was so sudden, too sudden. Raven needed more time—just a minute more to touch, to look, to memorize—but not even that was granted.

  She felt the sharp break before the collision, the screams, the cries, and everything.

  In the blink of an eye, it was gone. Their lives, the warmth, the car. The only thing left was her, in the cold rain outside.

  No warmth, no sun, no car, no family.

  Just her, in the cold rain outside—aside, alive, sirens, lights, fire, so much fire—destruction and chaos, rampant and radiant.

  Remnants of what was and all it could have been blended with the punches of rain that fell on her lifeless, standing body, which hollowly watched fate being sealed again for the thousandth time.

  Once again, she couldn’t cry. Monsters don’t cry—they scream and haunt. And Raven was haunted.

  By wide eyes that watched her, observed her doom; by voices that whispered her ruin; and fingers—thin or thick, long or short—that pointed between her and her damnation, unsure what was the worse curse.

  And Raven fell with every stare, sound, and pointing. She fell on the hard concrete, kneeling, body hunched in on itself, head smacking the ground, creating a tempo.

  “Stop. Stop, please.”

  Her fingers scratched the arms she wrapped around herself, shivering, skull on cold stone, struck by the merciless rain piercing her peeled skin—like she wanted to erase the sin, to erase herself.

  As if it hurt enough. If she bled enough. She would be enough.

  Her words were broken, barely coming out but loud, laced with every emotion she could muster—despair, anger, frustration, and helplessness.

  Still, no one heard her, no soulless soul. It was like she was a spectator in her own horror movie.

  “Please. Enough. I know. I know I am guilty. It hurts. Please, plea—”

  The air was loaded with the lingering smell of burnt flesh and gasoline.

  Raven felt like she couldn’t breathe, her heart dancing, moving to a rhythm so out of order and control. Everything was so fast, yet also so slow.

  The puffs of cold air she released were shapes of irregular circles and patterns.

  She would die. She would leave like that. Alone, cold, and empty. She should be happy this was her end.

  A beautiful and deserved ending for someone so undeserving.

  It was perfect. It should be perfect.

  Except there was one confused, faint voice inside her, stumbling, dimly demanding to be heard.

  Supported by a warm hand covering her burning eyes, palming the side of her face, supporting it, halting the tempo.

  Raven hadn’t even noticed when someone approached her. The only thing she noticed before the warmth was the cold, merciless mock of the sky, dark and empty.

  Sending down strikes as she saw the same blond, familiar boy smiling down at her.

  It was bright, so bright, like a soft caress on her scraped, raw surface.

  And before she knew it, the scarce sound started to whisper forbidden melodies.

  Melodies of surviving, of living despite the monsters.

  As daughter, as sister, as friend.

  They were ridiculous; even so, they flowed through her silently, afraid, gravitating toward the warmth—the boy.

  The boy who was currently murmuring soft nothings into her ear. She couldn’t figure it out.

  Despite that, it felt… she felt soft tickles, triplets of gentle flames.

  “It’s alright, lit… plumette. Sleep…”

  “……..”

  “… I am sorr…”

  The last thing she could figure out of the shambles—they were incohesive.

  No matter how much she tried.

  Nevertheless, Raven let herself fall… fall into the gentle embers.

  A shrill sound arose inside the dark room, slightly illuminated by the penetrating sunlight.

  Raven awoke in a fast, sharp movement, gasping, clutching for air.

  Eyes wide, darting around, never staying on one place for long.

  Face hardened. Sweat sliding on her skin.

  Clothes and bonnet disheveled. Pajamas barely on.

  Marred skin exposed, bandage slightly scratched off, skin freshly scarred.

  A heavy pause. Then two breathless, murmured words, sounding harsh against the cold, echoing silence of the room.

  “Well, fuck.”

  Thanks for reading! No extra note or teaser today — blame my terrible time management and the prison called school. If the style feels a little off, that’s because I didn’t have time to polish the text like I usually do. I only fixed grammar, not content or phrasing. Honestly, it annoys me, but it is what it is.

  See you guys next week — Monday, or maybe this Sunday. —(N.N)