where is her hero?

UPON THE STAGE OF every childhood dream, Ivette and Katsuki twirled around in their own illusion. Smiles as bright as the sun, laughter that swayed like dandelions in spring, what more could they want? They remained blind to the horrors of the world.

Oh, dear children.

How pitiful.

"Suki, Suki!" Ivette waved her hand, spinning around for her friend. "Come look what I made!" The sand grains were awash in a golden hue, shimmering with each angle of sunlight. Ivette stood upon the coarse sand, beaming at the castle she had just made.

Within the playground, the colours of one's childhood warmed all's hearts.

Strands of a fragile, developing bond slowly began to intertwine in a graceful dance.

Katsuki made his way to his friend, bowing down to peer at her sandcastle. He grinned, lips spreading to show his toothy grin. "Looks great, Princess!" He never mentioned his sandcastle, even though he thought it was better than hers. How could he dare bring himself to wash away that bright expression on Ivette's face? It looked so pure— beautiful. Katsuki never wanted to stop seeing it.

And yet, when he left to grab more buckets for them to use, it faded away.

Standing a few steps away were a group of jealous, disgusted children. They crossed their arms, glares searing into Ivette. How dare some quirkless- quirkless freak interact with the coolest in their class? She didn't deserve to be an inch within his presence.

"She'll spread her disease," spat one of the girls, crumpling her skirt in clenched fists.

The other girl, with her hair tied up into messy pigtails, pushed the tallest kid in their immature group. "Go put her in her spot."

A large commotion arose from what was once a scenery of childhood innocence.

Izuku furrowed his brows, glancing over. His blue-coloured shovel fell from his hands.

Why was his sister on the ground? Why was she crying? Who dared to do such a thing?

That day, that moment, as Izuku ran up to defend his sister, he and Ivette learnt that not all men and women were created equal. That not all children were fair. And neither were the adults that dictated their world.

That day, that moment, Katsuki learnt that quirkless people were frowned upon.

His oblivious, seven-year-old mind never realised how people viewed Ivette. Weak. Fragile. A disgrace to society. A waste. Why? Why could they not see her how he did? She was so innocent, so enchantingly demure.

Why?

"They're quirkless, Bakugo."

So?

"Quirkless people are weak."

Oh.

"And you're strong."

Really?

"They're nothing compared to you."

That's right.

Not all people were created equal.

And no one could change anything about it.

"̵̢̘͚̥̳̻̝̫̾B̶͙̮̠̠̻̆̚u̷̧̙̗̥͚͕̣͎̻̓͑̍̆̽t̷̢̨̛͈̪̦̙̯̹̠̓̿͌̒̌̒́͒̓͠ ̶͎̬̭͎͙̹͖̞̞̣̝̌̒̆͘s̸̡̢̛̻͇̻̦̞͙͚̺̏̑̿̓͌̿ͅȟ̸̤͓̹̓́é̷̼̽̈́͑̀̑͊̚̚͝ ̸̦̭͎͍͚̦̟̳̩̈̅̒͋͌̿͒́̇̂͑̓͝w̵̨̛͉̥̲̙̝̦̰̾͒́͑̐̎͒͌͋͋ó̵̡̜̳̖̦̬͇̟̮ͅͅû̵̧̮͈̤̰̝̠̜̐͋̅̅̌̔͘l̵̨̯͖̳̺̖̻̙̬̙͈͂̌̐̓̈́̑̽͑̕͜͝d̵̡̫̱̩̻̲͉̓͗̏̒́͑͌̓̓̔͝͠͝ͅ.̶̗̪͍̗̠̙̩̦̃̉͑̾̏̈́̅̏͌͝"̵̨̢̱̠̞͕̖̟̝̪͉͉̝̑̾͊̌̒̃̏̈͘̚

Growing up was hard. It always had been. Children all around the world faced challenges, obstacles that hindered their abilities to distinguish right from wrong. Be it childhood abuse, emotional negligence, bullying, isolation, loneliness. No matter the case, children grew into teenagers. And they struggled to cope with their toxic world.

Ivette watched. As she always did.

Overcome with insecurity, Izuku slowly became obsessed with what he could never achieve. He watched documentaries, fight scenes, played games, scribbled analysis in his books, tuned into heroic news religiously.

Ivette watched him succumb. To the same toxic society that clipped their wings.

And she could do nothing more than watch.

"̴̧̛͓̞̪̞̹͕̱͇̖͔͗̒̔̌̀̀̄͝Y̴̧̭̫̼̭̖͔̻̜͈̞̅̈̉͒͗̕̕͝ǫ̷̝̩̝̭̱͎̗̘̍͋̍͛͊͐̒͊͝ͅu̸̡̡̧̼͈̙̼̥̓̀̈́̉͗͐̅ ̴̡̧̭̙͉̲̮̥̜̗͉̒͜c̶̨̮͊͋̾̽̒̐̑͂̈́̓̅͘a̷̢̳̗̳͚͙̼̫̓͛͆̔̐̀̐̓͘͠n̴̨̡̛̹͈̳̰̺̲̟̱̘̋̂̆̊͆́̇̌͌̀̓͘͝ ̴̛̜̝͖̗̯͉͇̼͕̈́͛͋̑́̍͜͜͠d̵̛̰͎̦͚̭̱̱̰̹̯̎͊͋͊̾̍̅̌͒͝ŏ̵̼̤͙͇̺̦̳̜͕̖̱͋͆̉̆͜͜͝ ̴͈̦̱̹̀̎̈̏͆̂̔̅͘s̸̡͇̥̜̜̠̗̞̳̠̠̲̈́̓̽͛̕͘͝͠o̵̗͖͙͙̬̪͈̯̬͖͖̦͎̔̋̈́̊̅̑̋̚͝ ̸̖͚͉̙͍̘̉̄͌̍͌̾̅̉̓̓̆̽̈̚͜m̴̧̡̥̹̰͈̟̫̜̝͓͖̭͚̿u̵̢̧̥̣̗̦̭͖̔̈͂͐͒̉͌̓̈́̚͝͠͠c̷̢̛̩̘̊̒̿̄͌̓̊͌̽̈̈̎̃h̸̡̞͉̦͓̙̼̠̪̞͚̥̄́̃́ ̸͎͇͔͈̠͉͔̘͊̈́̋͒̽͆̀̒̍́̚̕̚ͅm̷̝̟͎̜̬͈̻̰̺̤̉̔̉̊̋̀͊̀͛̚͜͝ơ̵̛̛͕̍͗̽̌͊̈̓ȓ̵̠̲ê̵͎̝̘̘̻̣̙̪̼̓.̸͖̮̻̅͂̀͝"̴̢̧̱̼̟̜̩͙̣̮̦̥͒̆̎̚̚ͅͅ

"I don't understand why they have to be so mean," sniffled Ivette, curled up in her bed. Izuku was busy staring intently at the television screen, and their mother was too busy moping over her failure. Ivette raised her hand, wiping away her tears. By herself. A princess crying in the dead of night.

No hero in sight.

"̵̪͈͈͚̼̇̅͗́̀́͊̉̉̓͝V̴̨̡̼̖̜̥̻̣̯͍̫̂̆͂͊̆͜i̴̢͓̥̞̰̣̩̻̳͍͛̅͗̾̐l̷̥̩̱̩͋͌̆̆̓͐̈́̃̏é̵̡̪̝͕̤̇̈́̍̊̽̅̍̓̚͜͝ ̸̪̘͚̖͌̾̍̓̔c̷̢̘̱̫̮̈́̅̓̉̀̈́̌̓͆̓̊͊̚r̷͇̻͇͈͚̫̰̩͖͉͈̄͛̾͛̀͑̂͂͘͝e̷̡̯̮̜̠͉̝̜̤̼͆͋̆ã̴̧̧̮̳͓͖͕͚̲̀͊͑̓̈́̓͐́̂̐̄͜t̶̢̰̪̹̳͚̗̦͗̓̋̆͂̃͛̑͆͝ư̵̢͈͔͇̝͚̠͇̟̘̲̂̂̈̀̀͒̄̽͂r̴͔̹̭̟̆e̵̩̙͙͙̗̜̦̔̿͆̂̌͑̑̑̿́ś̸̰̰̯̰͝,̴͙̯̤̤͈̯͓̱͗͜ ̴̺̒͌ä̷͙͍͍̯̙͓̠͖́̀r̸̛͈̗͖̦̀́̃̅͌̾̚ę̴̨̻̳͔̮̬̻̗͓̣̈́͒̂̋͝ͅn̴̼̺̪̽̉͊͌͜͝'̴̬̫͓̘̖̤̩̥̯̂̊̿̂̇̒͂́̓͛́t̶̨̛̟̼̭͉̳̖̼̤̣̊͋̓̄̎̓́͋̈̂͜ ̴̣̻̺͚̣͚̜̤̰̐̉̈́̑̇̏t̷̢̧̻̣͙̜̾ḩ̷͚̘̟͔̰͇̫͇̗͌̀̅͒̈́̀̀̔ͅe̷̢͑̿̔̈́͗̾̏̓̀y̴̧̫̰̻͆̓͋̀̆̉̈̅̎͋?̴͓͖̼̬̒̀̓̑̇͠"̴̢͍̝͙͙̱͖͙̯̰̘͕́̇̋

Ivette frowned. "Please don't say that."

"̸̞̥̀̐̀͆̂͌̇̊̒̆͗͗͝Ẅ̴̟̻̺̤̔̃̋͛̽̽̚h̵̦̜̤͙̳̞̗͉̙͊̒͒͆͜͜͠ͅͅy̸͉̫̙̌̌̔͒͌͌͌̊?̷̪͍̱̝̋̀̏̈͂̈́̎̓͒͠͝ ̴̛̤̮̒̒̍͌̉̍Y̸̨̢̳̟̣̳͌̊͛̋̂͜ͅo̵͙̹̐́̃͗͐̌u̸̢̧̡̠̤̹͇̤͉͌̂̎͊ͅ ̵̤͔̘̮̼͙̇̋̌̾̈́̈́̏̈͘k̶͚̑͐̀̀͘ń̶̨̬͇̳̳͆͑̄̇̿̈͌̌̈̓͋͘ö̵̧̡̠̳̼͈͔̟̺̪͕̰̯̇͆̓͂̇̚̕͝w̸̟̠̱͓̟̜̫̘̯̌͆̈́̀̈́̊̎̄̓̚͘͝ ̶̭͈͙͇͈̣̯͗͜i̷̢̛̜̠̳̬͓͉͓̻̥̽̋̒̀̄̌͜͜ͅt̴͉̃̐͐̓͌͝'̸̡̧̛͔̲̹̣̝̀̌̇͌͑̐̈̎́͂s̴̡̨̺͔̥͍̣͙̳̩͎̘̐̋̀̇̿͗͋͘̕ ̶̙̓͐̚t̷̥̜̪̆́̊̕͝r̵̢̼̫̯͖̬̯̍̎ų̸̧̲͙̺̰̰͚̦̲̩̻̐̀̄̀͝͝ͅe̴̛̱̟̋̈͗̇̔̓̐̇̎̀̀̅.̸̢̦̟̭̅͋̐̂̒̒̍̃͝"̶̛͉̟̗͉̤̜̎̇͂̾͆̊̆͋͊͘͘

"They're my friends."

"̷̧̫̳̞̺͚̖͚̥͒͆͂̏̀̐̊̕͝Ẅ̶̢̬̰̞̳͇̫͉͓͙͚͈́͗́̈́ę̶̨̛̩̺͙̬̤̜̗͔̩͕̟̇̔̽͒́͋̽̕r̷̝͓͈͈̗̙̊̄̐̆̈́͆̋̊͐e̸͍͉̬̪̳̻̜̩̠̋̊̍̿̂.̷̡͕̟̻̙͓̲̞̩̙̘̱̙́̈́̒͆̐̓́ ̸̡̮͙̣̮̟̥̃̄̐́̒͌͗̇̆͝͠T̷̡̲̭̩̲͖͓̹̜̀̓̆͑͐̊͆̉ͅh̵̨͚̗̟̭̑̓̆è̷͓̥͚̭͎̟̜̭̦̒̃̑̚ỳ̵̻̝̮̖̥̂̒̚ ̵̠̳̙̠̘̰͚̜̾͆̍̊̍̉̀͑͘͝͠ͅw̷̡̡̛͚͇̪̰͔̯͉̥̞͂͒́̈́́̊̇͌̆̈́̂e̵̛̩͇͈͊̈́̄̾̃̅̃̐͒͠͝ͅr̴̛̫̱̆̌̈́̔̊͋e̴̡̩̣̫̬̯͉̞̫̤̐́́́̈́́͂̀ ̸̗͇̹̝͂̎͝y̷̢͍͍̰̜̥̹̓̐̑ơ̵̪͉̥̍̇̄̈́̒͑̏̀͗̀͛̚ų̵̡̦̩̥͍̀̅̏͑̔̇̈́͜ͅr̴͉̩͓̟̖͙̝̈́̿͜ ̵͈̮̌f̴̢̳̼̰̥̗̯̳̔̂̑̀̚̚r̴̢̢̥̤̩̞̺͇͖̥̼͔̺͊̊͗̎̄̽̈͒͌̕͘͝i̴̦̫̿͋̆̌ȩ̵̡̨͖̟̟̳̗͉̙̬͍̊͛͒̇͋n̵̛͎͍͚̼̟̠̣̬̜̪̔ͅd̸̘͔̫͋̔̀̀̈̈͋̏̎̎͝͝s̸̲͛̇͗́̿͒̄͋̌͋̽͘.̵̘̜̘͔̒͊͗̐̂̈́̾́́̕͘"̵̢̛̱͎̱̺̃͛͊͂̄̊̉̚ͅ

A flash of anger. A whisper of pain.

"They still are!" Ivette tried to defend. Resistance had always been a sign of a lack of trust, and the voice in her head knew that it would take time. It would take time before his beloved master let him in. But he was a patient. He would wait months, years if that were what she needed. A good, loyal servant.

After all, once everything comes to an end, tragedy transforms into something so beautiful, and delightful things occur in the aftermath of a wonderous, destructive chaos.

"̸̻́͊͂͠Ö̸̳̫̥̰̪̣̩́̏̒̑̒̆͘ẖ̶̪̺̮͍̞̝̜͚̹̬̇̅͜,̵̰̙̙̤͖̯͕̤̼̪̊͆͊́͜͝ ̵̢͙͉͚̣̰̲̑̏̎̓͑̂̈́́͘s̸̯̩̬̖̰̤̭̞̜̝̲̪̮͆̂̀̈́͂̂͗̽̿ẁ̶̜͍͉̹̲͚̠̦̭͈̉̈́̀̌e̴̤͍̰͂́ĕ̵͈̺͋̊͒̊͝t̶̡̨͈̹̘̻̮̱̘̳̘̀́́̕̚͜͝i̷̺̯̍e̶̦̩̋̋̈́́͗̊͌̐̏̚͘̕͜ͅ.̵̨̯͉̳̜̜̯͙̣̝̞̮̘̽̿ ̶͔̙̯̪̯̞̈̈́͑̄͝Ẏ̷̡̝̠͎̙̼̳͈̘̹͂̏́͊̂̆̓͝ô̵͓͙̦͇͔̈̎̀́͌̾̔͝͝ụ̶̰̗̥͓͕͇̑̄́͘ͅ'̴̢̤̯̙̹̪͍̣̝̩̹̱̾͛͒͠ṙ̸̡͇̣̹͖̦̩̤̹̺͜ȅ̶̹͓̱̻̱̬̤͖̼̻̤͗ ̵̡̬͎̲͓̮̹̙̞̩̫͔̒̂̇̔̈́̓͛ͅș̵̺̍̔͆̊u̴̫̙̔̔̑̆͆͒͠͠c̶̛͍̈̈́̍̒̔̀̔̌̾̚̚͘h̸̭͖̱̲͙͎̺̉͐͂̀͐͝ ̴̨̨͚̬̞̹̰̦͎̂̇̉́̔͗̔́̇̐͂͝a̵͕͖̽ ̴̰̝̯̜̥̘̙̫̻̜̓͛̒̾͐̑̎́̕͘p̸̰̠̙̥̞̤̘̥̩̦̫͜͝ŕ̷̢̗̲̙̓̈̽͑̑̾̀͘ḙ̵̤͎͍͈̤̳̭̮̯̙͂͘͜c̸̹͎͔͇̘̗̩̭̞̓̒̀̈́̓͝͠ĩ̴̮͓̪͚̖͕̳̹̫̎͛̑̇̽͒̾͐̓͝͝ó̷̡̨̦̹͍͕̞͙̘̞̰̦̀̇̔̄̈́̂̿̈̃̄̚͠ͅủ̸̧̻͍̥͎͉͙̐̅̔̏̉͑̚͝s̸̡̟̭͗͊̒̇́̏̈̈́̀͜͝ͅ ̷̻͓͛̀̾̓̽̓̈̃͘g̴̨͇̯͚͉̤̬̞̫̩͊̂͗̍̄͒̽̔̚̚͜͜ͅī̶̺͖̮͙̪͚̰͈͓͐̄̀̇̕͠r̵̛̟̟̦͊̓̀̈́̏͊͊̐̚̚ļ̴̰͊̋͐̔̀̋͆́̾͛̀̽͝.̷͎̝͔̭̪̘̭͆̄͝"̴̢̜̤̲͚͕͙̫̬̘̏̏̚̕

"̶̧̢̳̼̫̖̲͚͙̩̼̲͋͒̑̈̀͒̚ͅD̸̰͔̺̼͖̯͈̓ͅo̸̝̪̩̚ͅn̷̩̺͓̽̑̏̿'̸̲̬̞̬̬͚̮̙̰̺̻̗́̽̐̾̇̌̃̃͊̚͝͝ͅt̷̛͈̏̆̂̈̈́̍͌̌̊̍̕ ̶̗̘̱̣͎͎̄̓͆̏̍͋̋̀̎̇̃̐̅w̷̮̙͈̓͐̏̂̇̎͛̀̐̔̎͜ơ̸̗͓̟̗̭̗̙̠̈́̊̑̐͒̈ŗ̶̙͚̅̐r̶̡̝͎̺̺̱͔̺̼̳̣̪͂̂͊̓̀̊̋̈́͘ỵ̵̗̖͖̗̜̜̀̄͊̍̓͒̚.̸̹̩̭͔͉̲̘̞̦͕̰̘͗̎̑̓̀̑̃̊̆͐͘"̴̨̨̬̥̹̥̯͈͈̱͉̬̺̈̑̓̇̒͂͝

"̸̢̛̫̼̙̙̞͍̭̕͜͜I̶̡͇͇͇̟̟̜̞̱̰̱͕̐͆̑'̶̢͙͕͇̲͇̈̑̈l̷̼̪͎̠̱̩̦͕̤̼͚̽̈́̎̓̐͂͂͌̓̎ļ̷̛͖̳͕̲͎̙̠̙̩̗͋͊͑͒́̍̾͜͝ ̵̡͇̥͙͓̝̥̜͂̽̏́̉̒̉̈́̿̈͝ṫ̶͚̯̫̎͗̆͊̑̕a̴̰͊̏̽́͘͝k̴̡̫̰̫̰̈́e̴̺͓̒̀̇̌̿͋̇͋̏̈́̕ ̸̧̳̤̉̋̾̈̌̆̾̌̈̕g̴̲̩̠͕̻̎̀́̀o̸̧̪͕̭̱̼̬͊̾̎̍͐͘o̶̧̧̨̨͉̟̙̖̟̳̹̓̈́͑̈́͌̎̓̆͌͒̚̚͝d̴̳͙̰̱̥̹̥͝ͅ ̷͖͔̰̞̰̄̔͆́̅̏̓̇̇̌͜ͅc̶̘͍͙̋̓̾̓̅̈̏̌͊͘͘͜a̷̖̠͎̱̮̼͕̫̗̜͓̰̬̅r̴̢̫̞͎̘̼͈̟̹̓͑̈́̈̊̅̃̊́̄͜e̸̢̠͚͉̘̠̗̜̝̤̠͕̙͆̎͆̑̏̏́̀̈̈̚̕͠ ̵̨͙͓̤̳̜̻̟̝̈́̈̉͜͜͠ơ̶̡͙͕̹̞̙̽̾̄ͅf̴̡̩͍̰̲̭̩̬̩̍͑̈́̑̈́̐̐̽͋̑͂̚ ̸̹̖͕͕͈̮̫͙̖̯̓̇̔̚̕y̴̧̦̮̙̠̲̆̽̔͋̊́͛̅͛̒̋̈́̚õ̴̢̻̘̗̤̦͇̮u̸̡̱̬͎̩͖̥̲͚̠̠͛̾̄̐͜.̴͍̯̙̼̗̬̬͐̇̋̓̓͐͊̿̈́̅͋̽͠"̴̌̌̐̉̓̄͝ͅ

Ivette reached for her hair, digging her nails into her scalp. "Stop. My head hurts."

"̴̧͙͖͓̜̰̪͎̟͖̻͖̑̆̂̈́̽̈̽͘͝ͅȦ̵̯̜̪̲̳̳̣͜ç̶̛͉͉͚͖̮̖̜͉̩͖͉̭͓̀͊̐̀̾͐̕ĉ̶̡̨̞̗̲͇̲͚̝̯͓̳̮͕͂͌̉̇̉̉͑̈̀̓͂͛̚e̴̡̢̛͔̣̱̩̹͎̜͚͖͐̃̓͆̋̍̀͠p̴̫̰̰̙͈͎͔͉̀̋̒̔̍̍͂͑̀͝t̴̨̪͓̫͎̏̂͆̂͠ ̸̰̦̬̣́ͅm̵̧̦̝͕͇͕͔̙̈́͂̿͂̒͋̄́͗͑̃̆ͅy̷̛̛͓̲̹̳̰̥͖̻̥̓̈́̽̋̽́͆̊̆͗̋̐̈́͜ ̷͙̥̟͈̟̼͓̬̙̝͉̳͇̮͌͊͊͐͆̐͌̅̈́̄͋͘͠͠͠ͅp̴̛̠̹̬̩̘͎̳̼͚̒̓̓͌͝ơ̵͓͍͈͕͚̞̖̊̒̓̆w̸̧̢̳̹̬̰͓̝̻͍̠̻͈̞̗̅͐̆̒́̍̍̽̏͘͝͝e̸͙̞̞̲̣̱̟̤̎̈́̐́́͌̄̄́͌̈̏̕͘͝r̸̺̾̓̋̈̄̈́̑̈̾s̵̨͙̙̣̖̳̠̝͖̲̏̐̏̊̾̃̓͝͝.̷̗̠̤̪̪͕̋̋͆́́̅̐͆͐͗͊̒͛̚̕ ̴͈́̏̀́̎̋̀͑͊͆̿̇̈́͠L̸̞͈̂͗̾̄̔͂͘ę̴̛̻͈̩̖̬̯̰̫͗̓̀͑̉͐͛̕͝͝t̴̫̳͎͓̯͓̀̂̀̈́̚͘ͅ ̵̘̦̫̑̽̇̓̓̐͋́͊̑̔̏̕͠͝m̶̺͗̑̈́̍̾͗̃̅͂̀͆͘̚͝e̴̲̔̿̌͗̔̽ ̵̧̠̞̣̱̹̏́̄̎̑̆̏̓̂̓͆̈́͘̚c̸̛̺̰̞̱̦̞̭̰̖̞͗̏̑͑͜ǫ̷̲̹̭͕͂̽͠m̸̡͉̹͆̐̃̈́̆̂̓̎̔̑͝͠͠ę̷̡̨̛̯̱̰̬͎̮͈͈̙̩͊̐̄̓͜ ̴̮͕̙̗͎͚̊̓̾̐̉́̕͠͠͝͠f̶͙̳̥͔̹̫͑̇̃̔̉̿͘͘͜o̴͎͖̼̞͈̳̐̉̽̑̍̈́r̷̢͚̝͙̣̥̬͛͗̉̾͜͠͠ẗ̵͙̗͍̗̹͔̼͉̣͕̻́̑̀́̓͌̓͒̋̿̚̕͜h̵̝̘̦̯̥̲̫͑̽̓̿͛̓̓̚͝͠ͅ.̵̨̛̫̮̩̿͊̈́̽̃͑̓̄͜"̸̶̧̟̤̜̰̤̩͔̭̟̼͚̥̩̝͈͇͉̟̀̈́̋̈́͌̽̀͐̌͑͛̋̀͋̌̂̾͒͘͜͠

"I don't like this."

"̷̧̛̲̊̐̍͋S̶͓̔̀͆̌̓̈́̽̽́̽̚a̸̧̳̝̿̓̎̆̈́̀̋̎̚͘͝͝d̷̞̥̩̦̾̑̉͝.̸̠̥͚͇̫̭̘̫̳͍̮̀͜͝͝ͅ"̵̛̩̪̞̥̯͙̼͓̪̼̖̙̎̀͝

"̵̨̢͕͙̫̮̗̜̜̭͒͐͛̌͛̓͛̌́̀͌̒͜Î̵̗̹͈̘̦̞͖̰̻̲̼͊͂͌̌̀̑̊̊̏̄̚̚͝͝͠͝ ̴̢̡̻̳͓̥͚͖̮̞̻̞̦͙̼͂͘d̵̫͓̈́̔ő̵̢̗̫̘̫̻̰̥̣̂̿́̏̓̆̄̃͛̕͠.̵̡̡̨̙̭̱͇̯̦̀̑̏́̃̾̕"̶͉̗̲̤̰͙͓̺̞͙͕̩̙͎̈́͐̾̌̐̓̑̇̿̎̀͜ͅ

"Stop."

A plea in the dead of night.

Overcome with panic, Ivette brought her knees to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, fear-stricken as shadows coerced her.

"Stop it," she repeated.

Her breathing became laboured.

"̶̢̝̬̬͚̖̻̂̀̊Č̵̢̝͉͓̺̹̼̬́̀͗͑̌̾́̓́͒̓͝͝ͅó̸͖͙͊͝͝m̷͎̰̬͓̜̩̝͍͉̱͔͠ė̷̢̬̯̩͉̱̮̈́͊̎̽̒͒ͅ ̴̢̧̨̪͇̱͉̺̦̩͓̺̰̰̱͈͉̽͜ỏ̸̧̧̰̯͙̤̝͈̮̯̪̣̝̬̰̼̬͇̥̀̃͂̌̍͠n̷̛̝͉̗͉͎̰̈̈́́̉͋̏̄̆̿,̷͙͑̎̄̽̆̐̋̂͗̇̉́̄̃̀͌̚͝ ̶̙̜̜̺̣̺͐̈̿̽̚Ị̶̛͖̦̥̱͛̓͆̎̂̂͂̍̀̄͂̾͒̚͝v̶̧̢̖͙͉͚̤̱̙͈̣͇͖̫̭̱̫̱͊̏̇͗͑ͅẹ̸̘̙̘͉͈͋t̵̢͓̳͇̥̠͙̩̻̘̀̿̍̎̓̈́̃͛̔̑̓͒ţ̴̧͖̗̠̝̣̯̝͕̠̹͈͎̙̥̝̔͆͆̈́͆͜͝ĕ̶͉͖͋͋͆̐̆.̴͙̤̫̭͎̙̼͛̾̇͑̾̂͑͒̕͜"̶̨̘̜̾͛͊͋̃̈̂͑̀̇́̂̄̐

"̷̨̧̨̢̛̭̖̬̳̱̟̰̳̰͉͙͈̥̼͎̹̣̥͉̥̟͇̰̞̻͛̈́̃̈́͂̾̈̆̏͊͊͜͠͝ͅL̷̢̡̜͎͈̝̫̮͚̼͍̠͖̻̦͙̻̬̬͙͚͍̼̠̹̩̝̘̲͒͆̾̇̓̐͑͌̀̔̑͊̆̔̋́̐̇̾̐̚̚̚͝͝͠͝͝͠e̵̛̛̹̗̹͋͆̔͛̃̈́̀̎̋̈́̕͝t̷̡͙͓͇̙̀͒̑̈́̽̓̍̔́̈́̉̆̀͊̽́̄͋̅̀͊́̎̊́͗͘͘͜͝͠ ̷̡̡̧̗͎̣̖̺̮͉͇̳̪̩̝͎͔̱̼̬͖̯̼͎̙̮̠̥͕̌̊͌̀̾̇̅̎͊͆̆̄̋̿̓̋̈́̂͂͋̐̚͝͠m̵̡̛͖͙̹͎̰̮̗͕͚͍͇̐̐̐͛̎̊͐͌́͒̌̄͛͌̀̈́̾̇̀͊͛̉͂̐͗̋͝͝͝e̶̟̬͇̹̰͚̱͇͚͖͖̘͍̞͊̿̇̉͆͑͆̕͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅ ̶̢̡̲͙̭͓̭͇̩̜͓̼͕̲̿̏̒̂̉͘͜͝ơ̵̖̩͚̟̩̝̤̜̫̖͖̌͌͐̒̅̽̍͛̄͂̄͊͛͌̂͛̌̊̋̄͋̕u̵͉̬̜̥͙̖͕̓͋̓͊̆̈́͑͑̿̉̈́̑̃̃͐͌̐̇͛̿̋̾͐̀͆̾̕͜t̸͇̖̙̳͇̲͇̙̝̲͍̱̣̤̯̗̱̗͇̻̃̈̓͆̈͗͗͆̊̉̌́̅͋́̃̏̽͂̈́͐̃̈̈́̊̉͝ͅ.̶̢̧̡̡̧̛͇̜̝̺̝̟͙̹̙̱͕̯̬̘̭̗̙̫̹̠̼͖̙͎̗̖̿̇̾̉̏̽̾̋̌͊͗̾̿̈̌͊̎́͐̀̑̔̋̿̐͛̒̕͝͝ ̸̡̡̛̪͙̝͍̟̥̤͈̟̯̣̪͇̙͎̹̟͉͇͍͛̅̈̍̄͑̎͆̈́͂̅̃͗̔̚͠͝ͅI̶̡̬̩̝̞̹̼̹͖͇̺͕͖̖̗͈͋̿͆̆̈́̐̉̋̊͑͜'̷̥̫̍̿̾̊̂͌͗̊͗̊̾̕̚͝͝l̶̢̡̧͖̫͍͈̮̦̲̺͙̰̺͍̙͉͕͎͎̣̳̩̉̒̃̀l̶͉̳̲̦͈͎̔̿̂̾̐͘͘͝ ̴̘̣̦͍̮̫̖̰̮̯͍̻̿͊̂̅͒͊̈́͋͑̀̒̋̈́̈͑̾͋̅͑̚̕̚͜͝͝͝ͅş̸̧̛̬̳̳̼̣͕̳̣̝̯̠̩̱̞̯̲͕̜͉͓̞̻͈͖͋̏̊͊̈́̾̒͘̚̚͝ą̵̢̧̭͔͚̼̘̤͔̗̬̲͚͚͍̎̆̇͗̽̑̐͌̈́̊͊̾̉͝v̷̻̯̺̤͎̍͋͆́͑̒̇̇͒͘͠e̴̹̲̰̩̳͍̠̙̠͖̩̣̣̟͓̻̦̺͉͇̩͐̔̇̀̀̈́́͒͝ ̵̡̧̨̞̘̦̳̺̼͖̺̻̟̼̯̯̳̻̼̠͍͕̲̮̼̺̭̝̤͋̓͑̈́͋͘͝y̷̮͈̞̰̬̘̻̗̠̫̦̦͛̅͂̇̾́̾̎̄͋́̓͌͠o̶̡̮̳̬̚u̴͚͇̦̫͖̠̾̂̀̓.̸̢̛̭̭̺̹͍̼̲̲͈̝̖̭͓̝̰̝̝̬͓̱̪͇̀̔̎̿̓̄̽̈́͒̔͌͆̅̄͗̓̒͊̄̽̀̅͝͝"̶̦̥̫̒̄͆̀

"Stop."

Tears blurred her vision.

Overwhelmed.

"Stop!"

A burst of green erupted from her body. Wisps of pure, tainted emerald. So enticing, so enchanting. Yet, as soon as it exited, it was sucked back into her body in a volatile explosion. Ivette hunched over, stomach aching, head threatening to burst open.

Inko barged into the room, the sound of the door slamming against the wall echoing. Her motherly, ignorant eyes widened upon seeing her sobbing child all curled up and alone.

"Ivette!"

Arms snaked around Ivette's quivering body.

She clutched onto the familial source tightly.

"Mommy, it hurts," she cried, fingers gripping her apron. "Please make it stop."

Inko rubbed her sides, whispering sweet, comfortless nothings. "Make what stop, honey?" she asked softly.

"Everything. Everything."

"Ivette, I don't- I don't understand."

She cried harder. "Mommy."

"Shh." With nothing else in her mind, no useless idea conjuring in her mind to comfort her distressed child, Inko rocked her back and forth. Izuku tiptoed in, spotting his twin sister— too late to stop her tears once again.

He rushed over to them, hugging Ivette.

"I'm here, baby," Inko whispered into her ear. Useless. Absolutely useless. "We're here— me and Izuku. You're not alone."

Ivette's mind ached.

"They're being so mean," she sobbed, her voice filled with the grief of the ocean.

Inko and Izuku thought she was talking about her classmates.

She wasn't.

The voice just wouldn't shut up.

"̷̢̛͙̫͔͚̜̪̩͔̗̟̖̳̣̭͖͉̊̀̄̑̔͐̈̂̃̇͊́͝͝͝͠Ĺ̴̨̡̛͙̥͕̲̖̳̳̝͉̹͎̠̠̩̼̰̞̺̘͓̜̀͋̀́̆͒̍͋̆͒̀́̃̃̅̏̆̄͆̄͆̀̾̕̕͝͠͝ẹ̸̡̧̡̞̤̟̜̼͉͕̞̹͕̣̱̩̰͔̝͔̱͇͎̲͚̾̍͘͜ͅt̴̨̨͍̼̙͇͖̟̗̜̺͙̪̥̦̙͇̩̯̩̱̹̞̜͍̾̌͒̈̍̃͜ͅ ̷̡̢̲̞̝̯̬̦̹̽̈́̇m̶̢̨̡̧͙̙̻͇̬̘̙̙̤̹̯͖̹͇̹̓͑̿̉͊̂̈́̉̓͐̓͝ͅe̸͇͖͎͒̑̏̀́̆͋̑̀͋̔̊̎̀͐̄̓͊̆̄͗̌͜͝͝͝ ̵̧͍͚̖̣̻̥̝̲̬̹̩͈̰̝͎̮̻̺̭̠̉̆͗̓̔̓͌̾̈́̀͑̍̾̓̐͑̒̈̀͗͠͠ọ̸̧̪̣̼̩̤̼̲͖̣͓̜̮̝̗̟̟̯̍̀̈́́̒̔̈́͜͝ư̸̢̛̯̲̭̰͔͉̮̯̾̃̃͐͗̑͂̓̽̐͋̇͛̌̍̋̓͗̾̽̓̓̈́̃̏̚͘̚t̵̢̡̯̠̝̫͚̟̪͔̲̬̅͗͗̃̏̄͋́̄̓́̿̋̌́͋̏́̈͘͠,̸̨̧̛̮͖̦̰̤̉̓͑͋̌̋̂̈́̇͒̎̊̒̍̓̎̃̕͘͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸̯͈̟͈̲̞̜̮͝I̴̳͑͋͂̿̈̌̑v̷̛̬̫͈̻̻̖̹̮̦̮̪̳̯͎͎̦̣̟̹̞̦͚͒̋͂̈́̑̐̈́̑̈́́̂͌͊̔̊̚e̴̢̧͚̥͔̙͍̗̲̖̫̘̿̌͌͛̍̆́̾͗͗̒̓́͂̋̏̕̕̕̕̕͜͠t̴̢̧̢̢̛͈̪̺̜̝̼͓̰̟̱̞̳̰̲̹͈̱̉͆̒̇̈̐͆̏̄͊̌̿̓͒̇̈́́̃͊̔́̆̄͑́͒̈͛͝t̸̢̙̞̦̳̩͉͖̹̿̌̔̀̈͆͋̽͒͐̏̈̀̍̇̎͛̐͛̚͜e̵̡̢̹̭͓͇̪͐̈́͗̍͘͠ͅ.̴̡̢̹̩͇͙̯̭̩̗̭͇̼͖̻̩̳͈̙͈̭͇͍̺̙̏̈́͊̀̓͑̔̃̃̋̓̿̅̊̇͑́͜͝͝͝ͅͅ"̷̝̲̰͌͂̏̽̇̈́̉́͗̈́̓̌̍̈́̄͐̾͊̚͘

"̴̡̡̺̪̳̳̹̬̦͚̻̻̲̞͍̖̦̽Į̵̧̢͉̘͔̞͙̫͕̠̦̟̃̽͐̍̔̆̋̎̐̒̔̓̍̄̾̃̒̕͜͜͝͠ͅ'̵̢̡̧̛͍̲̟͓͉̬̯͙͓̭̥̞͖̭̞̟̭̗̤̮̼̭̪͔͔̗̱̖͇͖̲̳̭̱̣̪̗̥͚͇͉̖͍̪̯͊͐̓̈̄̽̍̏͘͝ͅͅl̵̢̰̜̭͉̺̗̜̳͇̝̼̣̟̭̈́͆̊̿̿̐́͑l̸̛̗̰̺̜͖̄̈̌̾͌͋́͗͐̇̓̽̀̿̓̄͆̂̊͝͠͝͝͝ ̶̛̛̳̞͍̳̟̰͙̱̞̺͓͇̲͙̰̥̗̳̦̩̱̠͇̮̖̋͋̓͊́̈̀̈́̔̐̈́̽́̿̔̏̓̾̈́͒̇̏͋̀͐͗̈̀́̊̽̒͌̌̃̒̍̑͒̚̚͘̕͜͝͝͝͝͝m̶̢̢͚̝̠̩̞̩͉͓̱̞̻̙̭̗͍̟̰̠͉̘̟̮̪̖͈̙͖̦̊̂͗͂̉͌̂͆̊͑̇̀̄͗̇̈́̒̓͊̐̍̏̇̈̈́̓̒͒̚a̴̧̢̡̨̢̨̡̛̛͍̳͕͈̮̝̭̼̹̥͎̮̥̳͎͕͍̤̳͎̭̼̯̝̫̥̟̝͚̼̱̟͈̖͔̤̳̯̼̗̼̍̏͂̾̑̾̈́̿̽̐͐͛̉́̈́̒̾̌̾̎̒̑̓́̚͘͝ͅķ̸͙̻̞̮͉̭̘̣͓̗̤̞͈̘̣̳͉̯̺̫̘̩̬̣͓̼̲̫̞͍̤̺̜̜͑̂̃̒͒͗̎̈́̎͑́̒̎̿̈́̃̀̂̉̎̉̉͊̿̽͋̃̈́̀̇̏̈́̓̑͆̓̃̀̄̓͘̕͘̚͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͝ͅȩ̸̧̛̫͖͍͓̰̙̭̖̗͕̙̻̟̪̲̱̳̻͈̻͈͕̳̪̳̺̝̞͔̗̯̳̬̱͕̩̘͉̞̥̰̫̠̬̏̿̒̓̎̿̈͐̑̏̈́́͂͒̋̾̃̀̃͆͂͛͊̾̔̃̊̽́̎̀̍̓̽̽̊̓̿̔͆̐̀̚̕̚̚͜͝͠͝ ̸̧̢̢̛͕͈̞̱͍̭̖̘͔͍̗͉͓̱̩͔̹̫͓̖͎͖̬̺̦̦͔̤͍̹̗̟͎͎̠̟͓̬̦̼̟̫͖̬͕͗́͛͋͑̂͂̔̓̍͆̀̀̍̌̓̐̀́̓̈́͘͘̕̕͘͠͝ͅͅȉ̵̧̡̢̡̧̨̛̦͓̩̖̞̻̖̗͎͙͖̙͈͕̖̻̰̻̱̹̪̭͖̘̘̘̖̼̹̗̭̫̗̺̟͈͗̍̅͋̔̋̈́̍̃͌̎̚͘͘͜͠͝͝ͅt̵̜̬̲̟͖̥̯͖̩̲͎̰̽́̔̏̀̎ ̴̨̡̤̻̤͈̝̯͖͈̫̣̝̫͇̳͕̯͔̳̤̓̌̔̑̾̽̓́̋͑͐͆̈́̃͐͜͜w̷̧̳͕̭̰̻͚̩̲̩͒̈̎̄̓̔͂̍̓̽́̚͠o̵̢̡̧͍̻͈̣̘͙͚̙̱̜̱͕̲̻̞͉̙̠̺̣̫̩̮̜͔̹̝͎̙̬̖̫͇͇̫̙̮̹͚͋̿͗̀̈́̿̎̍͒̽͒̈́̇̓͛͊͌̐̂̇͊̒̽͐͑͋̆̎̓̌͛̓͋̽͗̍͆͗͘̚̚͘͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝r̸̢̡̛̛͙̙͖͍̰͙͓̟̻̱̳͉̼̙͙̜͉̟̭̖̭̪̤̥͕̱͕͓̙̗̖̱̔̈́̊͌͆̓̊̌̊̿̅̍͛͒͗̃̅̓̌̍͂̽͗́̒̇̃͒̊͊̆̈́̈́̅̆͛́͊̕̚̕ͅt̷̨̢̨̛̛̥̪̳̳̜̱̠̮̱͙͎̳̗̩͈͎̪̯̻̗̺͖̣̫͖̳̙͚̱̣̰̘̝͎̲͔̱̫͕̣̮̰̥͔̼̜̆̐̾̔̀̇͛̀̓̆̄̈́͛͊̂̿̉̇̊͗̏͋͊̏̓̍̏̃͒̎͊̇̄̔͛̏̉̃͛̆̕̕̕͘̚̕͘͠ͅh̵̨̨̨̢̧̡̨̨̗̪̖̮͙̺̪̪̰̣̭͔̟͓̰̮̻̤͍̹͉͉̦̪͓̼̺̝̤̙͕̹͈̜̫͆͛͐̏͊́͜ͅ ̴̢̨̢̤̫̥͖̟̩͔̰͍͍̞͍̳̱͔̮͔̔̅̔̿͛̈̑̀̐̆́̑̓̀̕͝͝y̵̧̧̩̤̪̭̲̥̥̜̜̼͖̭̬̙̻͉͍̖̳̱̞̙̘̳̣̲̋̅̋̋́͑̎̂̋̊̔͝͠o̶̧̧̧͍͕̜͙̩͙̳͖͓̻͔̝̰͉̙̮̞̳͍̰̭̮͈̭̘͙̼̠͗͗̈͂̐͑̎̎̏̐͆̀̓́̾͊̈́̎̀̉͛͋̅͋̇̅͌̍͂̈́̎̀̈̂͘̚̚͘͜͠ͅư̷̧̡̡̹͉͕̘̼̭̱̩̩̖͔̣̫̱̘̻̞̳̬̝̜͕̮͓̬̣̦͉̩̠̘̮͓̞͔̻͚͇̥̻͍̭̌͑́͗̋̿̅̈́̈́̒̾͛́͐́̿́͂̅͗̑̾̔́̕̚͜ͅr̴̡̨̡̧̡̬̗̖̗̘̹̱̺̬̬̦̺͕̤͍̭̙̣̫͚̳͇̲͚͓̙̬͎̯͔͓̟̽͊̓́͂̀̽͌̎̉̀͒̈́́͆͐͗̂̕̕͜ ̶̡̧̡͕̲͚̱̲̲͇͍͕͓̦̙̹̩͍̳̣̳̠̙͍̼̼̖͓̟͙̠͕̯̱̰̜̳̞̫̟͕̰͗̃̏͜͜ͅw̵̙̦̯̝̱̜͐̃̏̈̑̐̀̊̎̐̑̈́̓̇͒̎̆̾̒̀͋͂͛̀̉͑̌̆̽̒͐͂̒̇̕̕͠ḩ̷̭̪͓̮͙̙̤͚̰͉̳̞͖̦̺̹̯̙̥̗͈̲͕͇̟̮̻͎̪̠̩̜̰̟̹̳͙̣̗̲̯̘̯̲͂̍́̾͊̉͋̈́̿̈́̽͜͜͝ͅȋ̶̡̧̡̡̺̯̘͈̥̞͙̺̩̺̱̱͓̜̯͕̪͍̺͍̬̺̻̺̘̦̝͔̜̌̈́̅̾̓̍̍̊̿͋̄͗̌͘͠l̶̨̧̨̡̧̢̡̡̢̨̦̼͓̘̖̦̠͓̲̻̮̙̞͙̳͕͇̳͓̦͍̦̝̗͔̻̠̦̹̗͙̞̣͖̗͍̋̌̏̈́͐̒̐̆͌̿̐̃̌̍͝ȩ̷̨̨̨̛̜̪̖͇̻̣̭̥̰̲̖̝͖̙̲̹̣̹̖͔͕̳̘̱͚̘͎̯͔̟̺͕̦̮̙̋́͊͂̔̆̇͗̽͊͑̓̈́͂̀͗͒̆͋̃̾̎̔̀̍͆̿́͋̑̀͠͝ͅ.̵̢̨̢̙̺̦̦̦̰̪̠͔͇͉͈̰̻͇̺̉̽̆̋͗͊͋̅̉̋́̅ͅ"̶̪͓͉͍͈̝̯̗͓̫̌͌͛̈͊͋̊͆͂̓̈́̾̈́̏̏̀͋̂̕͘͜