I inhaled deeply, allowing the oxygen to fill my lungs, and mustered up the courage to turn the doorknob. As the door swung open, a wave of anticipation washed over me, unveiling a scene that both intrigued and concerned me. Before me sat a young child, her small frame perched uneasily upon the chair in front of my desk. With a gentle push, I closed the door behind me, creating a sense of intimacy and focus in the room. Stepping closer, I entered her line of sight, my face adorned with a warm, reassuring smile. As our eyes met, I couldn't help but notice the intense anxiety etched upon her features. Her fingers danced nervously, fidgeting with each other in a desperate attempt to find solace amidst her distress.

"Hi, Una Hemingway. If I'm correct." I started, sitting on my chair.

"Ye-yes. Hello." She stammered, ignoring eye contact.

"I'm sorry to be direct, but it seems that your anger issues are the reason behind your presence here today. Am I correct?"

"Yes."

I offered a reassuring smile, noticing her discomfort and fear. In an effort to ease her tension, I extended my hand to hold hers on the desk.

"Hey, Una. I want you to know that you're an incredibly courageous and kind person who has the bravery to confront her own flaws. Flaws are something everyone possesses, but not everyone has the courage to acknowledge them. So, please, open up and share with me what has been causing your recent anger."

"I'm not usually like this, I promise. I've never been this way before. I used to be at the top of my class, and-"

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Una. But please understand that I'm not here to pass judgment on you, okay? I may be a counselor at this school, but I chose this profession to assist and support wonderful individuals like yourself."

"I understand. You're my only hope."

"Yes, of course. Please go ahead. Do you think there might be a reason behind why you've been experiencing such intense anger lately, even to the point of becoming violent?"

"Ye-yes. Nobody believes me. Not even my own parents. It hurts. A lot. I had everything. Friends, grades and freedom, everything. Maybe, not everything literally but I was grateful for everything in my life. That is until I started seeing things 6 months ago."

"What things?" I inquired curiously.

"I...don't know. Like mangled up fingernails here and there, shadows, and someone sending me feet pics on Instagram. And everytime I tried to show my parents, the chat disappeared. I asked them hundred times why is he sending me creepy pictures of feet, but the only thing that person texted back was 'Vile Vendetta.' And then I took a screenshot of the next time they send me pictures. And just as I was about to show it to my parents and friends, it disappeared."

"What about the fingernails?"

"It used to appear on random places. And it still does. Like my table, my chair, bed and corners of my room. I was too afraid to pick those up, so I ran and called my parents but as they arrived, it vanished. Everytime I had proof in my grasp, it would disappear just the time I was about to show it to my parents."

I listened to her intently, captivated by her words, and found myself incredulous at the seemingly impossible things she was describing. Each encounter she recounted, each vision she claimed to have witnessed, appeared utterly devoid of purpose or meaning. However, the genuine fear that permeated her voice and the tears welling up in her eyes betrayed a profound sense of authenticity. There was an undeniable truth embedded within her narrative, even though I struggled to grasp its significance. Throughout my tenure as a school counselor, I had encountered numerous cases, each presenting its own unique challenges, but this was an entirely unprecedented situation for me.

"They say I'm crazy. You probably think I'm crazy. At this point, even I think I'm crazy. I, presumably the most logical person on earth, is now encountering illogical things."

A wave of sadness washed over me as I witnessed her tears stream down her face, their presence amplifying the tremble in her voice. It was evident that her emotions had overcome her as she struggled to utter her words through sobs, each one punctuating the weight of her pain.

"Hey hey honey."

"I swear all those seemed so real. I can't...Nobody loves me anymore. They think I belong to a mental hospital. I don't...I don't think I'm imagining things but now I don't know."

Moved by her emotional vulnerability, I instinctively approached her and extended my arms to embrace her in a comforting hug. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, my own words gradually faded away into silence, unable to fully convey the empathy and compassion I felt in that moment.

"Now if we go back to logic and possibilities, there are only two. It's either that whatever you're seeing and saying, it's all true. And there might be logical reasonings for all these. Maybe whoever is doing is crazy himself and pestering you for a reason. And for that I have to ask you. Is there anyone who hates you? Who would love to see you suffer and snatch away your everything?"

"I...don't know. Like I told you, I don't literally have everything. I just have a way to be grateful for everything. And no, I've never been mean to anyone and I tried to help people as much as I could. I can't possibly imagine anyone hating me just like that."

"Well, you never know honey."

"What is the other possibility?" She asked, wiping off her tears.

"Oh, I..."

"That I'm insane? It's fine, you can say."

I smiled at her confidence, "Yes. As for that, do you thing of anything that might've triggered you to think like that and be all...delusional?"

She lowered her gaze and thought carefully, "No. As of movies and books for influence, no. I don't see stuff like that."

I flashed a warm smile in her direction once more, captivated by the evident depth of maturity she exuded. However, it pained me to witness such a remarkable individual being burdened by a series of unfortunate circumstances.

"That is why you get hyped up easily. You don't get angry easily, you are just furious at your closed ones to not be able to believe you. That's all." Her gaze fell upon me, filled with a mix of surprise and a touch of admiration.

"Ye-yes. Exactly."

"It's not their fault, you know honey? It's the real world and without any proof they would not believe such events occuring. I'm sure you're mature enough to understand that. Anger itself isn't necessarily a negative emotion. It's how we express and handle it that matters."

"So, what can I do to stop it from getting the best of me?"

"You just need to believe that it's not their fault. It's not yours either."

"Whose is it?"

"It's doesn't have to be someone's fault necessarily. It's just the doings of the universe."

"But how do you believe me when none of my closed ones do?"

"I don't believe you. But I don't doubt you either. You've had your fair share of trouble and I don't want to judge you. And I would want you to try control your anger and focus on your happiness and relationships. I understand all these events have got you screwed up, but consider these as life problems. And you don't abandon and question every relationship you have with others, okay? As for these problems, one day the truth will come out. As to further help, I would investigate on these later. But you also need to check up with a real doctor. Then inform me, okay honey?" I took a deep breath before continuing, "When you feel that surge of anger building, take a moment to step back mentally. Pause and take a deep breath. This will help you create a space between the trigger and your response. It allows you to collect your thoughts and react in a more composed manner." She nodded slowly, absorbing the information.

Abruptly, the door burst open, revealing a familiar face. She stood staring at us, and then looked around at the small room. I couldn't help but stare at her dark brown orbs, until she voiced out.

"Ambrosia. Do you need anything?"

"How do you know my name?" She cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh, I work here. As a counselor. And also am an admin here. So I do know students' names."

"So all teachers know all students' name?"

I forced out a chuckle, "Presumably."

She began walking indoors without uttering a word, prompting me to stand. "Hold on, you're not permitted here. How may I assist you, dear?"

"Oh, I'm here for detention."

I furrowed my brow, contemplating the reasons behind a new student receiving detention. It struck me as odd, but I chose not to dwell on it too much.

"I apologize, but this isn't the designated detention area."

"I see you don't have any arms left!"
Una's sudden outburst jolted her into action, propelling her toward Ambrosia. With urgency in her movements, she grasped Ambrosia's shoulders and shook them. Reacting swiftly, I rose from my seat and rushed to support Una, offering a steadying presence.

"You're a vampire! You're in that organization!"

Startled and overwhelmed by the shocking revelation, Ambrosia instinctively grabbed Una's hands and quickly stepped back, her own panic mounting. Her voice trembled with fear as she exclaimed, "No! What are you saying, man?"

I was extremely befuddled, at both of them. I wanted to focus on Ambrosia, but my first concern had to be my patient.

She seemed visibly irritated, without uttering another word she exited the room. I would have appreciated an apology and few other words but I chose to let the incident slide and redirected my attention.

She slammed the door and just as I was about to proceed, the bell chimed, prompting Una to swiftly rise from her seat. "I need to attend class now. We'll meet again next Monday," she stated with a forced smile. "I really appreciate your efforts to comprehend my situation. And thank you for sharing those anger tips."

I couldn't resist looking at her from behind until she walked away. Numerous doubts and inquiries flooded my mind, causing me immense sadness as I pondered Una's mental instability. The way she looked at Ambrosia, the way she accused her, the way she returned to normal as soon as Ambrosia left.

It was also particularly disheartening because, despite my reservations, a part of me was inclined to believe Una's words and indeed did believe them. However, based on her previous actions, I was firmly convinced that she was mentally unwell and in desperate need of medical assistance.

What further bothered me was Ambrosia's behavior after Una accused her of those unreal things.  I had a sense that there was a deeper connection between Ambrosia and Una, as well as a greater depth to the world they inhabited and the beliefs held by humans. There was more to this world, more to everything I knew. Despite my strong desire for answers to my questions, I found myself completely clueless and uncertain about where to begin seeking guidance or direction.