Anastasia is little (Age Regression)

Chapter 1: Same old song

Anastasia's days were all too familiar. Each morning, she woke to the soft chime of her alarm clock, signaling the start of yet another day that would blend seamlessly into the one before. The sun filtered through her curtains, casting a gentle glow across her room, but it failed to stir any excitement within her. It was just another sunrise, marking another day of monotony.

She slipped out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold floor, and went through her morning routine without much thought. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and tied her long chestnut hair into a loose braid. Breakfast was a simple bowl of cereal eaten alone at the small table in her room. Her parents were somewhere in the house, but their presence was more like background noise—familiar but distant. She only saw them at dinner, where the conversation was always polite, almost rehearsed.

After breakfast, Anastasia immersed herself in her usual distractions: video games, books, and the internet. In her games, she could be someone else, somewhere else—someone who wasn't invisible. But even that escape was beginning to lose its appeal. The thrill was fading, replaced by a dull sense of resignation. The same quests, the same battles, all of it had started to feel as repetitive as her life.

She often tried to connect with people online, posting in forums or sending messages to her classmates. But the conversations never lasted. They always started with polite responses, sometimes even enthusiasm, but after a while, the replies would dwindle, becoming shorter and less frequent until they stopped altogether. It was as if people lost interest in her, as if she didn't have anything worth saying. She would reread her messages, trying to figure out what she had done wrong, but she could never quite pinpoint it. What was it about her that made people pull away?

Her days at university were no different. She attended her classes, took notes, and quietly participated when required. But when the lectures ended, and the other students paired off to chat or study together, Anastasia always found herself alone. It wasn't that she didn't try—she did. She would approach groups or join conversations, but it was like there was an invisible barrier between her and everyone else. They would smile at her, maybe even include her for a moment, but then their attention would drift, and she would find herself standing on the outside again, watching as they talked and laughed without her.

Walking through the crowded halls, Anastasia often felt like a ghost. People brushed past her without a second glance, their conversations continuing as if she wasn't there. She tried to make eye contact, to smile at someone in the hopes of sparking a connection, but it was like she didn't exist. Sometimes she wondered if she really was invisible, if maybe she had somehow slipped out of the real world and into a shadow of it.

Even at home, the sense of isolation persisted. Dinner with her parents was a quiet affair. They asked about her classes, her plans for the future, and she answered with the same vague, noncommittal replies. It wasn't that they didn't care, but the distance between them was palpable, as if they were living parallel lives that only intersected at the dinner table. Afterward, she would retreat to her room, back to the safety of her routine, where the hours blurred together until it was time for bed.

As she lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Anastasia wondered if things would ever change. She wanted more—needed more—but she didn't know how to get it. Each day was a repeat of the last, and she felt like she was trapped in a loop, endlessly reliving the same day over and over again.

She thought about the people she had passed in the halls, the classmates who had lost interest in her, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with her. Why did people get bored of her? Why was it so hard to connect with others? These questions gnawed at her, leaving her restless and anxious.

But no matter how much she tried to understand, the answers eluded her. So she went to sleep, knowing that tomorrow would be the same as today, and the day after that, and the day after that. And in this endless cycle, she would still be alone, still a ghost drifting through her own life.