Irina Taylor, a girl who lives in the 1940s with the gift to see any human's soul, goes from a social outcast to a prophecy come true. But there is a realm that coexists with ours, invisible to the majority of mankind; only a select few can see thro...
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𝓣ʜᴇᴍᴇᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʏtwisted in the rusted lock, clicking shortly thereafter. The door swung open with a long screech, allowing me to take in the small room. It had a high vaulted ceiling and gaudy, red floral wallpaper covering all four walls. Cockroaches made themselves at home tucked in the lacerations of the wallpaper and oak paneling underneath. Spiders the size of my palm owned all eight corners. The one undersized window had thick wooden panes crossing over the glass, making light scarce. The only furnishings were a wooden desk in the far left corner of the room, a round mirror adjacent to the door, a puffy chair with mysterious stains on the cushion, and a single bed.
I couldn't bring myself to look under the green quilt covering the mattress; however, fatigue reared its head at the sight of a soft bed, so I kicked off my faded brown boots and rolled on top of the thin yet comfortable quilt. The pillow coughed up dust as I fluffed it before tugging the feather-stuffed case under my head.
I had hoped that sleep would come quickly, but it was the opposite. My body was desperate for respite, but my mind warded it off with a whirlwind of thoughts, as violent as the thunderstorm outside.
Ever since I glimpsed the first soul-thieving Shadow, I'd had no choice but to start barrelling through everything that was thrown at me. The Dark Shadow trying to steal my soul. The fortune teller declaring that my fate will be full of grief and sacrifice. My complex feelings for Charlie that I never got to voice aloud before he disappeared. My hometown hunting me down. Saying goodbye to my mother. Everything had happened so fast that I never had the chance to process any of it, so it was natural that the first moment I had alone, all of the stifled emotions came rushing to the surface and hit me like a freight train. My mother and Charlie said I was strong, and perhaps I was, but all of this was enough to break a person. And I broke.
My knees curled up to my chest, and tears stung my eyes. For the first time in two years, I set my tears free.
I cried for my mother.
I cried for Charlie.
I cried for Genny and Annika.
But most of all, I cried for me—cried that I did not have a childhood to look back on fondly, raised my sister with little to no money, took care of my dying mother, navigated my inhuman abilities on my own, and did it all while wearing a mask of indifference to conceal my sorrow.
My sobs shook my entire body, each hiccup making me flinch as if I had forgotten the sound of my own grief. I thought letting my emotions off their chain might have made me feel lighter, but it didn't. My troubles remained unsolved, and they loomed over me like an angry cloud that promised a storm.
I was torn away from my misery by a soft, distant sound floating through the air. It was a mere breath, but it made the hair on my arms stand up.
