Shadows and Broken Glass

Prologue: Whispers in the Smoke

Author Note

All rights reserved.

Copyright © Noelle KB

No parts of this book may be reproduced without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

TRIGGER WARNING

This book contains mature content, addictions, drugs, discussions of suicide and self-harm. Read with caution.

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The neon sign flickered above the entrance, casting fragmented light onto the rain-wet sidewalk. The Blue Lantern. A dive bar with a history as murky as the whiskey it serves. Mia Carter pushed open the heavy door, the familiar creak echoing in her bones.

Inside, the air clung to her skin-a mixture of cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and regret. The regulars huddled in their usual places, their faces etched with stories she would never hear. She slipped behind the scarred wooden counter, the worn edges digging into her palms. The bartender's apron hung like armor, hiding the broken bones inside.

Mia had her own demons, the kind that whispered in the dark recesses of her mind. They were relentless, eating away at her resolve. The memories of her mother's hollow eyes, the bruises Walter left behind, the scars deeper than skin. She had tried to drown them in bourbon, but they came to the surface, resistant as ghosts.

The regulars wavered, lost in their private sorrows. Mia wiped down the counter, her gaze drifting to the mirror behind the liquor shelves. Her reflection looked back at her: a woman with haunted eyes, a soul weighed down by secrets.

The door opened and a stranger entered. His coat was dripping with rain, leaving puddles on the ground. Mia looked up, breathless. His eyes - the sunrise - had a calm intensity. He had no place here, not in this dark sanctuary of broken dreams.

He sat at the back of the bar, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Mia poured him a whiskey without a word. His lips curled - a smile that held both warmth and sorrow. "Long day", he said in a low voice.

Mia nodded. "A lifetime", she replied, her fingers brushing the scar on her wrist. He leaned closer, as if drawn by the severity of her pain. "Sometimes", he said, "we find comfort in the darkest places." The stranger smiled again and Mia went to tend to other customers.

The bar buzzed with life: the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversations. Mia wiped the counter, her fingers tracing the scars on her wrist. The regulars had their routine: the old man drinking his whiskey, the couple in the corner booth, lost in whispered confessions. Mia served them all, her smile a mask for the pain inside.

The jukebox played a melancholy tune, a ballad of lost opportunities and broken promises. She glanced at the mirror again, seeing herself - the girl who had once dreamed of escaping Willowbrook, of finding a love that wouldn't hurt her. But the bruises remained - the ones he left behind, the ones she inflicted on herself, and dreams had a way of shattering, leaving deeply cut shards.

As the night progressed, Mia poured more drinks, listened to more stories. Regulars leaned in to share fragments of their lives: the bartender who had lost a son, the waitress who painted sunsets on her days off. Mia nodded, her heart heavy under their burdens. She wondered if redemption was possible, if the frost on the windows could melt, revealing a path to something better.

The rain fell at a steady pace as Mia locked the bar. She pulled her coat tighter, the collar scratching her neck. The streets were empty, the city asleep. Willowbrook kept her secrets, like a lover who doesn't want to let go.

Her apartment was a refuge: a dimly lit space with faded wallpaper and a sagging bed. She took off her shoes, the pain in her feet reminding her of the miles she had walked.

And then there was the stranger, the one with the sunrise eyes. He haunted her thoughts, even when he wasn't there.

Mia made a cup of chamomile tea, the warmth of which spread through her chest. She sat by the window and watched the raindrops fall on the glass. The frost had melted, leaving traces, a card of choice, of regrets. She thought of him, of her mother's hollow eyes. Could she free herself? Could she find comfort beyond the town's borders?

Mia could say it was just another ordinary day.

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Hello. I'm Noëlle and this is my first experience as a writer on Wattpad so I hope you like this story and don't hesitate to share. Thank youuuu (hey haters the exit is not far)❤😘

Instagram: nn_.oelle (because I will love exchanging with you)

Note: The demons Mia fights are not supernatural; they are the ghosts of her past.