Chapter 2: The voice

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It was a radiant and perfect day, although Maria had the strange feeling that the sunlight that flooded her modest room was nothing more than an illusion. The atmosphere seemed to be laden with hidden secrets, as if nature itself held indecipherable mysteries. Maria's black hair cascaded over her shoulders, casting eerie shadows. Her light brown skin and green eyes were like windows into a world of inexplicable enigmas.

Maria wore a simple blue dress that seemed to merge with the clear sky. In front of her, on the old wooden desk, rested a framed photograph. The image showed a young woman with a smile that seemed to project an unwavering happiness on her face. The similarity between the woman in the photo and Maria was undeniable. It was her mother, who had departed this world when Maria was just three years old.

Maria's eyes were fixed on the photograph, and a deep melancholy crept across her mind, like shadows trying to hide something unspeakable. She missed her mother, though she had only hazy memories of her. The loss of her mother had left invisible scars on Maria's soul, and every day she longed for her presence, as if she were the only one capable of unraveling the dark secrets that dwelled within her.

The room in which Maria found herself showed the signs of a time that had witnessed decay. The walls, once white and shining, now revealed tiny cracks that looked like scars from the house itself. Dampness was spreading like a stain in time, as if the place itself were shrouded in a silent lament.

Through the half-open window, intense daylight infiltrated the room. The light, which should have brought joy, only served to highlight the contrast between the outside world and the darkness hidden inside the room.

A ray of light filtered through the window, illuminating a glass vase placed on Maria's desk. In the vase, four blue roses, deep and mysterious blue, lay like guardians of hidden secrets. The flowers seemed to be alive, as if they had been woven by threads of ancient magic.

The dim lighting left the ribbons of the roses in semi-darkness, but Maria knew their meaning. The first rose, with the ribbon that read "The Birth," had mysteriously appeared in her fist the day Maria came into the world. It was an omen, a sign that her arrival was marked by the unknown.

The second rose, with the ribbon that read "Walking," emerged in an equally enigmatic way when Maria took her first steps. Every achievement or learning in her life had been accompanied by one of these blue roses, gifts from a mystical place that congratulated her on her successes and reminded her of her special destiny.

Over the years, Maria's life had been tinged with mystery. Her mother's departure, her grandmother's guardianship and the enigma behind these magical flowers were integral to her story. As the sun flooded the room, Maria continued to gaze at her mother's photograph, wishing her smile could reveal the dark secrets that lurked in her life.

The room, permeated with an increasingly unsettling atmosphere, witnessed a break in Maria's apparent tranquility. Tears welled up in her eyes, splashing over the photograph of her mother that lay on the desk. The smiling image of her mother was now marked by traces of the pain Maria carried with her.

With a burst of fury, Maria threw the portrait onto the desk with a sharp gesture. The blow echoed in the room, as if the place itself responded to the young woman's emotional discharge. The image of her mother remained tilted, as if the woman's smile had twisted into an expression of sadness.

But Maria's fury did not stop there. She moved toward the glass vase resting on the desk, holding the four blue roses that had been silent witnesses to her life. With an act of anger, she slammed the vase to the floor. The sound of the shattering glass seemed like an answer to Maria's heartbreaking scream, a crack in reality that revealed her inner torment.

The four roses scattered across the floor, like petals of a decaying enigma. With the same fury that invaded her, Maria pounced on one of the roses, crushing it under the pressure of her foot. The mysterious blue vanished, leaving only dust and fragments of what had once been a gift of fate.

Mary had exploded, blaming her mother and the strange roses for her uncertain and unfavorable fate. The room, with its cracked walls and dampness creeping in like a reminder of her sorrows, seemed to respond to the emotional chaos that filled the room.

The young woman stood amidst the broken fragments, breathing heavily, as if she had released a storm that had been locked inside her for years. All around her, the roses on the floor and the tilted portrait were mute witnesses to her despair.

The mystery surrounding her life was becoming more and more unfathomable, and Maria could not help but feel that something darker and deeper lurked in the shadows of her existence.

The room lay in a state of chaotic disarray, reflecting the emotional turmoil that had unleashed Mary's anger. The tears had given way to a deep, trembling sigh. Mary, intent on releasing the storm in her soul, opened her mouth to scream at the top of her lungs.

However, what happened next filled her with terror and confusion. When she tried to scream, no sound emerged from her lips, only a faint squeak that echoed from deep within her gut. The silence that enveloped her was more overwhelming than any scream she could have launched into the world.

In desperation, Maria tried again to free her voice, but to no avail. Her vocal cords seemed to have become an impregnable prison.

She slammed her hands against the desk in a desperate attempt to produce some sound, but the result was only the sound of collision, the echo of her helplessness. Each thump echoed in the room, a cruel mockery of her inability to express her anguish.

In her frantic attempts, Maria had scratched her throat, leaving it red and sore. But no matter how hard she tried; her sweet voice had faded into the abyss of silence.

Frustration and fear gripped Maria, enveloping her in a spiral of madness. Her eyes, once filled with sadness, now reflected unfathomable despair. In an act of desperation, she grabbed a shard of glass from the broken vase and dragged it across her skin, letting the blood run as a tribute to her own fury and despair.

Finally, Mary dropped onto her bed, exhausted, and overwhelmed with helplessness. Tears and blood mingled on her face as she wept silently. The shattered rose on the floor, revealing the ribbon that read "Voice" was a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Maria found herself in a world of mysteries and secrets, where even her own voice had been taken from her. Despair filled the room, and as the shadows lengthened, the dark enigma that enveloped her life grew more oppressive.

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