Here's another story I make! (-^〇^-)
In a world where heroes, villains, vigilantes, and monsters intertwined their destinies, Maya lived a life on the fringes of their stories. She was unremarkable in appearance, with hazel eyes that hinted at depths of sadness and a cascade of chestnut hair that framed her face like a veil. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, as if the lightest touch could leave a mark. Yet Maya possessed a unique and powerful ability—one that could heal or destroy with equal ease.
Her gift, however, came with a dire cost. Every time Maya wielded her power to mend bones, cure diseases, or revitalize the dying, she paid with pieces of herself—her memories. Minor uses, like healing a small cut or alleviating a headache, caused fleeting forgetfulness of recent events. Moderate applications, such as mending broken bones or curing severe illnesses, erased the past day or two. Major uses, like saving a life from the brink of death or healing extensive injuries, wiped away significant portions of her personal history, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty.
Maya's fear of losing herself paralyzed her. She saw her memories as the threads that wove together the tapestry of her identity. Without them, she believed she would cease to exist as the Maya everyone knew and loved. It was a fate worse than death in her eyes—to become a hollow shell, devoid of the experiences that shaped her soul.
Living in a modest apartment on the outskirts of the bustling city, Maya worked as a librarian. Books became her refuge, and knowledge her solace. She avoided close relationships, fearing the consequences of using her power. Her days passed in quiet routine, a delicate balance between the desire to help and the terror of losing herself.
One of the few constants in her life was Alice, her closest friend and confidante. Alice was vibrant and lively, with a cascade of golden curls and bright blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. She was the antithesis of Maya's reserved nature, drawing people in with her warmth and charm. Alice and Maya had been friends since childhood, their bond forged through years of shared laughter and tears.
Alice often worried about Maya, sensing the hidden burdens her friend carried. She had tried countless times to get Maya to open up about her fears, but Maya always deflected, afraid to share the truth about her powers and the toll they took on her.
One fateful evening, as Maya closed up the library, a frantic woman burst through the doors, clutching a child limp in her arms. The child, barely breathing, was covered in severe burns from a recent fire. Maya's heart clenched with empathy, but dread also gripped her—using her power could mean losing more of herself.
With trembling hands, Maya laid the child on the library table. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the fear gnawing at her insides. She focused on the child, feeling the life energy flow through her fingertips. The burns slowly faded, the child's breathing steadied, and color returned to the cheeks. Maya's relief was palpable, but as she opened her eyes, she felt the familiar fog of memory loss descend upon her mind.
When Maya woke the next morning, she found herself standing in the library with no recollection of the previous day. Panic seized her as she struggled to piece together the missing hours. Frantically, she checked her phone, hoping for clues, but it offered no answers. The memory loss confirmed her worst fears—the child's life she saved came at the cost of another piece of herself.
Days turned into weeks, and Maya's unease grew. The child's grateful family visited her, unaware of the turmoil brewing within her. Her friends and colleagues noticed her withdrawal, her hesitance to engage in conversations about recent events.
Alice, growing increasingly worried, decided to confront Maya one evening. She had been by Maya's side through thick and thin, sharing laughter and tears. But now, she felt a growing chasm between them, a barrier that Maya erected out of fear and self-preservation.
