Between Screens and Hearts

Chapter 2: Tired Stories

The soft hum of the virtual world pulsed in the background, a soundscape of subtle echoes that made ReAL feel alive. Epitaph, standing tall in his oversized black shirt, scanned the crowd of avatars that had gathered in his stream. There was something comforting about the sea of faces—each masked by their own digital design, each hiding behind names that only existed in this world.

His dark eyes flickered to the chat box, watching as the messages scrolled by in rapid succession.

GhostByte: Bro, this story gives me chills. Every. Time.
MidNightWitch: I'm here for the voice. Seriously, where do you get it from?
ToxicHaze: Hey Epitaph, when's the next chapter of your book dropping? I've been waiting forever.

Dean—Epitaph—leaned closer to his microphone, letting a small smile tug at his lips. He loved the attention, though he'd never admit it out loud. These people, these strangers, had no idea who he was outside this world, and that was exactly how he liked it. Here, he wasn't the shy, introverted college student with trust issues and too many scars. He was the storyteller, the voice that kept them hooked, the one they turned to when they wanted to escape their own realities.

"Patience, ToxicHaze," Epitaph replied, his deep voice reverberating through the virtual room. "Good things take time."

A few more messages popped up.

SkyHunter: Yeah, man, but seriously. We're dying out here.
HexGirl13: If Epitaph doesn't drop it soon, I'll riot.

Epitaph chuckled softly, his avatar mirroring the laugh with a slight head tilt. He adjusted his facemask out of habit, even though in this world, it was just for show. The black mask had become his signature—people knew him for it as much as they knew him for his voice. It kept the mystery alive, and that was something he cherished.

Just as he was about to continue his story, a message from Seraphine popped up again.

Seraphine: I'm new here, but this is seriously cool. Do you write these yourself?

He paused. There was something about her, something that felt different from the usual flood of followers. Maybe it was the way she'd stayed in his stream longer than most first-timers, or maybe it was the innocent curiosity behind her words.

"Yes," he answered, his voice deepening, more serious this time. "Everything you hear comes from me."

For a moment, the chat slowed. His followers had gotten used to his evasive responses, the way he kept his personal life close to his chest. But this time, Epitaph was answering questions with a rare sincerity.

Saffron sat cross-legged on her bed, eyes glued to the screen as she watched Epitaph's avatar move about the digital world. The voice... there was something about that voice. It was like a blanket of warmth, wrapping her in a strange sense of comfort. She found herself leaning in closer, intrigued not only by the story he told but by the mysterious figure himself.

The stream continued, and more avatars arrived, each one flooding the chat with excited messages. Seraphine—Saffron's virtual self—hovered near the edges of the crowd, observing, her interest growing by the second.

As the stream went on, more users joined in on the conversation.

BlazeKnight: Epitaph, can I fanboy for a second? Dude, I'm obsessed with your streams.
ChibiMist: Right?! Like, who are you??!
PixelChime: You need to reveal your face one day. We'll all lose it.

Seraphine smiled softly as she read through the comments. It was kind of cute how attached everyone seemed to be to this faceless streamer. She wasn't the type to fangirl over anyone, but something about the mysterious Epitaph made her stay.

A private message pinged in the corner of her screen, drawing her attention. It was from her best friend, Claire, whose avatar—Sunburst—was a bright, fiery red in stark contrast to Seraphine's white.

Sunburst: I see you're finally here! Told you ReAL was amazing. What do you think?
Seraphine: You were right. This is pretty cool.
Sunburst: Yeah, and that Epitaph guy? I wasn't kidding when I said he's got the best voice around.
Seraphine: I'll admit, it's... mesmerizing.

Seraphine hesitated before typing the last word. It felt weird to admit, even in a chat with her best friend, that she was feeling drawn in by a voice on a screen.

Sunburst: Mesmerizing? Haha! Don't get any ideas. But seriously, stick around—there are some cool streamers here.

With a laugh, Seraphine returned to Epitaph's stream, watching as more and more people engaged with the mysterious storyteller. She wasn't sure why, but something inside her felt compelled to stay, to learn more about the man behind the mask.

For Dean, the stream was like a refuge. The real world was a maze of complications—family, school, and the ever-growing weight of expectations. But here, behind the black mask of Epitaph, he could be anything he wanted. No one knew about his past, his struggles, his fear of letting anyone too close.

The chat buzzed with excitement as Epitaph began weaving the next part of his story.

"The world is not what it seems," he began, his voice calm and low, like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. "We walk through shadows, thinking we know the way, but in truth, we're just following the path laid out for us by forces unseen."

The virtual room quieted, the crowd hanging onto his every word. Even Seraphine, who had been hopping from stream to stream, found herself glued to the unfolding narrative.

"But some of us," Epitaph continued, "some of us find a way to break free."

Saffron's eyes widened as Epitaph's words filled her screen. She had never heard anything quite like it before—this wasn't just storytelling. This was something deeper, something that resonated with the part of her that craved more than the usual daily life. There was a rawness to his words, a vulnerability that lingered just below the surface.

As the story grew more intense, Seraphine couldn't help but send another message.

Seraphine: Do you ever get tired of it? Being in the shadows?

For a moment, Epitaph didn't respond. The silence stretched on, and she worried she had crossed some kind of line. But then, his voice broke through again, quieter this time, almost contemplative.

"Sometimes," he admitted, his tone softer. "But the shadows are safe. And safety has its price."

The chat erupted with messages, each one speculating on what Epitaph had meant. But for Seraphine, it felt like a conversation, something shared just between the two of them. It was strange, the way his words seemed to pierce through the screen, as if he was speaking directly to her.

The night continued, with Epitaph's stream drawing more and more people into its orbit. But as the hours ticked by, Dean felt the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones. He had been up for too long, the stress of real life creeping in despite his attempts to escape.

"Alright," Epitaph finally said, his voice growing quieter. "I think that's all for tonight."

The chat exploded with protests, fans begging him to continue, but he knew better than to push himself too far. He needed rest, even if sleep never seemed to come easily anymore.

"I'll be back," he promised, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Same time, same place."

As the stream ended, Seraphine lingered for a moment, her avatar standing alone in the now-empty virtual space. She bit her lip, her mind racing with questions. Who was Epitaph, really? And why did his words feel like they were meant for her?

Dean logged off, the familiar emptiness of his room swallowing him whole. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. Another night, another escape. But as he sat in the silence, he couldn't help but think of one message that stood out from the sea of comments.

Do you ever get tired of it? Being in the shadows?

He closed his eyes, her words echoing in his mind. Maybe he did. Maybe the shadows weren't as safe as he'd always believed.