Never ownED myself

life goes on

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"However vast the darkness,
we must supply our own light."
– Stanley Kubrick
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The young ones who led her to the dorm were just as young as she was. Seventeen. In this land, it wasn't an age—it was a curse. At seventeen, you were no longer a child the Council could ignore.  Anyone with enough family, fortune, or luck was already disappearing. Hiding. From the Council. From her mother.

My mother is the worst witch in this land. The thought was persistent like a sickness. Do they know it's her? That she's the one terrorizing them?

By order or by whim, it didn't seem to matter. Her mother was erasing memories, scattering families, unraveling people from the inside out.

Annie smiled tightly and waved as she reached her dorm, but the gesture was automatic. When the door closed behind her, her back pressed hard against the wood, breath catching.
Someone was here.

Her eyes landed on him immediately—Tom, stretched across the bed like he belonged in the middle of her private space. He didn't startle. Didn't blink. He simply sat up and nodded toward the tray on the low makeshift table beside him.

Of course he knew she was coming.
Damn that gift.

Reading minds was effortless for him. Guarding hers took more effort than she could afford. It drained her in ways no physical training ever did.

The room was barely carved—rough walls of packed earth and uneven stone. Magic hadn't touched this space the way it had the main halls. But now she noticed: two beds. Two drawers.
She crossed to the second drawer and pulled it open. Tom's clothes. A quiet sigh escaped her. So this is shared now.

Wordlessly, she reached for her poncho. Its charm still held; warmth bloomed against her arms as the wool slid over her shoulders. Magic really could be a blessing, sometimes. She hummed absently as she slipped it on, the sound small and human in the cave-like room.

Then she dropped to the floor beside him, resting her back against the bedframe. Close, but not quite touching.

Tom's eyes were that pale, cloudy grey again—the color they turned whenever he overexerted himself. Physically, mentally, or both.

What happened to you? she wondered. You weren't in the training hall.

As if in answer—because of course, he'd heard the thought—he said, "Let's just say the higher-ups are convinced now. They believe you're the one from the prophecy. And they're in a hurry."
He nudged the plate toward her.

Annie's gaze dropped to the food.
Glue. With vegetables. Her stomach coiled in protest.

"It's elvish," Tom offered preemptively, "mixed with human staples. The glue's protein-heavy. Magical supplements too. Helps restore your body."

She looked up sharply. "Can you stop reading my mind? Please. I can't cast a ward right now."
The words came out sharper than she intended. But she didn't take them back.

Tom didn't reply. His face remained unreadable, though a flicker of regret softened the line of his mouth.

Annie finally lifted the plate. Took a bite. The texture was as unpleasant as she expected—sticky, slick—but it wasn't as awful as it looked. Not good, exactly, but edible. Her stomach rumbled in encouragement.
She laughed—surprised by the sound escaping her. Tom's eyes flicked toward her at once, catching the laugh like a firefly in the dark. She didn't notice. She was too busy eating.

Tom's posture unwound beside her. His legs stretched out, one brushing lightly against hers. The other bent, elbow resting on his knee, his body folding in on itself just slightly.