I make my way to the locker after school, needing to grab my things. People are still whispering and staring, talking about whatever rumor Sophie has started. I don't care anymore. I've never cared what others thought of me, and now that Maruca doesn't care either, I don't have any reason to be pissed at them.

When I open my locker, I see pieces of paper sitting on top of my stuff. Not this again. I don't bother reading them. One by one, I rip them up and drop them on the floor. As I pick up the second to last one, the handwriting catches my eye. Sophie's handwriting.

In her thin cursive, she's written a message. 

𝒾 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒾 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊

I clench my fist around the note, crumpling the paper. My hand starts to heat up and I catch myself. Breathe, Marella, breathe. Whatever Sophie says doesn't matter.  My fist cools down, stopping the fire before it started.

I take the last note. It's bigger than the others, contains more writing. Curious as to what Sophie thought could hurt me, I flip it over so I can read the words.

𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓂𝑜𝓂 𝒿𝓊𝓂𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒾 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝒷𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇---𝒾'𝒹 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓂𝑒.

My vision turns bright, anger consuming me. My whole body is heating up. I feel the paper in my hands disintegrate, probably burnt to a crisp. Around me there are gasps and shouts. I slam my locker shut and I turn towards the exit. I can barely see, my vision filled with bright light. Storming through the crowd, people jump back from me, hurrying to get away. 

From the edges of my vision, I see flames flickering on my arms. I pause, lifting my hand up to examine it. Rainbow flames dance across my skin. A wicked smile creeps onto my face. I shake my hand, embers flying to the ground, bursting into flames in the hallway. They don't burn the ground though. They follow me, forming a wall around me.

People start to gather as I make my way to the Leapmaster. Standing there in shock is Sophie's group. I smile sweetly as I walk towards her. Panic flashes across her features but she quickly composes herself, standing straight with her chin held high. Around her, her friends stand, ready to fight.

"Stop this right now, Marella," Sophie orders.

"I'd rather not." I survey her friends before turning back to her. "Maybe your human family is happy you're gone."

With that, I go to Leapmaster. Sophie looks both angry and terrified at the same time. Staring her dead in the eye, I say, "Fluttermont" and get whisked away by the light, carrying my flames with me.

~~

I run to the fountain in front of my house, desperate to put out the flames. The water washes over me, quenching the flames. Ever since I manifested, my dad infused quicksnuff in all the fountains on the property so I could just run to them and put out whatever fire I started.

Ever grateful for my father's ingenuity, I sit under the falling water, trying to ease my anger. My eyes closed, I take deep breaths, remembering Fintan's lessons on controlling my anger. My emotions control my pyrokinesis more than I do, something that I've been working on during my sessions with Fintan. He's taught me how to calm down when in a fit of rage and it usually works. But it isn't working right now.

Drenching wet and still angry, I make my way to the front door of my house. I glance up and see the balcony that my mother fell from all those years ago. Maybe your mother jumped to get away from you.

A flame shoots from my hand and scorches the ground. I storm up the stairs, thankful that my dad's gone. I don't even bother trying to be quiet for the sake of my mom---she wouldn't notice if I broke every single window in the house. 

Maybe your mother jumped to get away from you.

The hand that was gripping the banister turns the wood black, leaving a handprint on it. Outside my room hangs a family portrait from before the accident. My mother looks happy and normal, not frazzled and forever changed.

Maybe your mother jumped to get away from you.

A fireball finds it way to the edge of the frame, charring the corner of the picture. I kick the wall, knocking it to the ground. Slamming shut my door, I scream into my pillow.

I kick things, throw things, break things. Papers get scattered around the floor, ripped and shredded and crumpled. Clothes are thrown aimlessly. Every breakable thing is broken. A dent grows on the wall from all the punches I've thrown at it. My desk moves from the force of my kicks. 

A picture frame falls from my desk. I pick it up. It's my mother and I, a year ago. It had been a good day for her and we'd gone to Mysterium together. She bought me a hair pin before breaking down in the middle of street, her mood flipping like a switch.

I punch the frame, glass digging into my hand. I punch the windows, but they won't budge. I punch and I punch and I punch until they finally crack. A final blow and CRACK, the glass explodes, shards flying everywhere.

Tears start to fall. Where did they come from? Why am I crying? I'm angry, not sad. The tears keep coming as I punch the wall, over and over again. The punch gets weaker and weaker until my arm just falls to my side.

Sobbing, I crumple to the ground, back to the wall. I sit there, crying, the mess I've made all around me. The adrenaline of my fury is wearing off and the pain I've inflicted on myself starting to hurt. I punch the floor and pain jolts up my arm.

With tear-filled eyes, I look down at my hands. I blink, the tears falling down my cheeks and clearing my vision. My knuckles are bloody and there are pieces of glass imbedded in my skin. A final sob escapes me.

I stand and stumble to my bathroom, tripping over the things on the floor. The person I see in the mirror shocks me out of my stupor. I look . . . horrible. 

My hair is even more wild than normal. My face is streaked with dry tears and my eyes are red and puffy. There are small cuts on my face from the shattered window, blood smeared with my tears. Bits of glass are stuck in the wounds. My hands are shaking, blood running down my fingers from knuckles, glass shards poking my hands. Similar cuts line my arms and legs, glass pieces, big and small, finding refuge in my flesh. There is one big shard impaled in my side. I can't tell how deep it goes but it hurts.

I move to pull it out but remember something that Elwin taught me. Don't remove the object that's stabbing you. It'll make it bleed more. I consider calling the physician but decide against it. Elwin would tell my father and I can't deal with either of their pity.

Unsure what to do, I make my way to my desk. I can't remove this by myself and I don't have anyone to help me. 

"Darling?"

I freeze. Turning slowly, I see my mom in the doorway. She glances around the room. I expect her to say something about the mess, but her eyes look empty, distant. "Are you alright? I heard some noises."

I paste on a fake smile. "Yeah, I'm great."

"Okay. That's good." She leaves, leaving me by myself in my mess of a room with my hundred cuts. I kind of expected her to at least notice the mess or my injuries. I thought she'd at least acknowledge that something was wrong.

 Today must be a bad day. For some reason, that thought angered me. My whole life, it's always been revolving around whether my mom was having a good or bad day. It didn't matter how I was feeling or how my dad was feeling, we just needed to take care of her. It's been a while since my dad has actually asked how I was doing. He's practically forgotten about me---and himself.

My mom isn't the only one who has bad days. I have them too! But no one notices. Stina and Maruca don't know how hard it is to take care of my mom, not that I let them know. My father is never free; he's always either with my mom, a doctor, or at work. 

Well, there is one person. I think, my mind going to the one person who has ever acknowledged that I was having a hard time. 

I rummage through my desk for a small box. It's wooden, a flaming heart carved onto the top, with a black metal lock. The key lies right next to it. I pick them both up and sit on my bed. I stare at it for a few minutes, debating whether or not to open it. 

Fintan gave it to me at one of our sessions without Linh. I remember him telling me to open it when I'd had a really bad day. When I was completely fed up with the Lost Cities. That was six months ago. I haven't opened it even though I've been tempted to. The offer he gave me after handing me the box worried me, scared me by how much I wanted to accept it.

I insert the key into the hole, turning it. It unlocks with a small click. Inside is a note, a necklace, and a bracelet. I lift the things out one at a time, examining them all. First, the necklace. It has a thin crystal pendant in the shape of a diamond. A leaping crystal. Second, the bracelet. It's a simple silver bracelet with a charm in the middle: an eye with a circle around it. Finally, the note. On it is a small message:

ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇʀ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ.

My mind flashes back to that session with Fintan all those months ago, to him handing me this box, to the offer he'd given me.

"Someone's moody today." That's how Fintan greeted me that day. 

I rolled my eyes. I was moody. I'd gotten into a fight with Stina and Maruca over something---a prank Dex had pulled on Stina, I think. I hadn't thought it was that big of a deal, but Stina was pissed. I had always liked Dex the best out of Sophie's group and we'd been friends a few lifetimes ago. Even then, he'd prank Stina relentlessly. I think this time he'd made her skin turn green.

I told Stina to let it go, that it wasn't a big deal, and she got upset. Maruca took her side and that was that. 

"What do you care?" I plopped down on the ice chair in front of his ice bubble.

He didn't respond, just studied me for a while. After a minute or two, he got up and grabbed something from under his bed. He walked back over to me and placed it in front of him. "Take this."

"How?" I couldn't get anything from his cell and he couldn't get anything from the outside. It was impossible.

He gestured to a small, barely visible hatch near him. "It's how they get the disgusting things they call food to me." 

I stood dramatically and walked over to it. I put out my hand for the box, but he didn't hand it over. Instead, he talked. "Everyone has bad days, you know."

My eyes widened in surprise. I'd just been thinking about how it seemed like I wasn't allowed to have bad days because my mother was always having a worse one.

"It doesn't matter if someone else's is worse than yours, yours is still bad." I opened my mouth to object to that statement, but he put up his hand, silencing me. "Yes, your mother is always going to need your help. That's the sad truth. But you need help too. You can't get through your bad days alone."

I rolled my eyes. "I've been doing just fine for the past 12 years, thank you very much."

Fintan sighed, one of those disapproving sighs he loves so much. "'Fine' is not the same thing as 'cared for.'" Finally, he stuck the box out the tiny opening. "Take this," he repeated. "When you're having a really really horrible day and are done with the people of the Lost Cities, open it."

Tentatively, I took it. I looked at it. There's a flaming heart carved on the top and a key is stuck to the side. Before I could say anything, he added, "If you are ever absolutely and completely done with the Lost Cities and the Moonlark and the Council, there is always a place for you in the Neverseen."

My eyes widened to a size I didn't know was possible. "I don't think we should be talking about this."

Fintan stepped closer, as close as he possibly can be. "The Council doesn't appreciate you, the Moonlark doesn't appreciate you, but I do. With the Neverseen, you'll always be valued. You'll never be alone again."

I'd always be valued. I'd never be alone. I found myself stepping closer, a word---a single, life-changing word---on the tip of my tongue.

Stop.

My body froze, unable to move forward. Do I really want to be part of the Neverseen? Would I be willing to be a murderer if it meant not being alone?

Ye---No. 

The thought I was about to have scared me, terrified me down to my bones. Stuttering and shaking, I turned away. "I-I need to go."

Fintan didn't say anything, just sighed another disapproving sigh as I stumbled my out of the prison.

I stare down at the box, at the bracelet and necklace, at the note. Am I really doing this? Am I really willing to do go through with this? Am I ready to be a killer for the sake of not being alone?

A single thought makes its way to my mind and, this time, I don't stop it.

Yes.

~~

word count: 2350