『"They call her '𝒴𝑒𝓊𝓇𝒾' or say she's one."』✰
『"Why?"』
『"Because you can't see her, she's a ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ.』✰
Started on: 14 /05/23
REWRITTEN ON: 27/10/23
REWRITTEN AGAIN ON: 22/10/24
Finished on: ??
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Yeuri The name of a calm female Ghost, who can be aggressive when triggered.
༺♥༻
The room reeked of sweat and desperation, the cold, damp walls closing in with every passing second. A single flickering bulb hung overhead, casting erratic shadows that danced in the corners like ghosts of forgotten souls. The air was thick with a suffocating tension, broken only by the sound of Hassan Zyani's heavy breathing as he paced in tight circles around Y/N. His boots clapped against the concrete floor, a rhythm that matched the pounding in her head. Every movement felt exaggerated in the dim light, every step a reminder of the storm brewing between them.
"Y/N," the interrogator's voice cut through the silence, laced with an edge of urgency that hadn't been there before. His spit flew with his words, splattering the table like venom. "Your time is ticking. I'm getting impatient!" His shout reverberated off the walls, each echo amplifying his rage.
She didn't flinch. Her eyes remained fixed on her hands, shackled and lifeless on the metal table. They were pale against the dark steel, fingers twitching slightly as if resisting their binds. Her gaze, hollow and distant, reflected nothing but the abyss within her—a void that swallowed the terror, the pain, the memories. She had learned long ago how to lock her fear away, how to keep the darkness at bay. But tonight, that darkness was creeping closer.
"I don't remember," she whispered, her voice brittle like dried leaves in autumn, barely audible in the tension-laden air. She swallowed hard, the dryness in her throat clawing at her insides. "I was never involved in his operations." The words fell flat, lies wrapped in false innocence. But she knew better than to meet his gaze, knew better than to let him see the storm raging inside her.
Hassan's name, his very presence, was like a drumbeat in her skull, each throb reminding her of the danger she was in. He knew her value, knew the weight she carried for their cause. She was more than a pawn to him—she was a weapon, sharpened and honed, ready to be used and discarded. And in that moment, she realized that she had always been just that. A means to an end.
"Y/N," Hassan began again, his voice now a cruel purr, circling the table like a predator toying with its prey. His hands were stuffed casually in his pockets, his stride deliberate and slow, wearing the swagger of someone who had already won. His smirk widened, a grotesque curve that split his face in half, a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
Then, without warning, he slammed his hands on the table, the impact reverberating through the steel and into Y/N's bones. Her breath caught in her throat, but she remained silent, biting down hard on her lip as he leaned over her. His fingers twisted in her hair, yanking her head back until her eyes were forced to meet his. The world tilted, her neck straining as the pain shot through her scalp like fire.
