꧁ • 𝗹𝗮 𝗿𝗼𝘀𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗲 • ꧂

✧ • chapter five • ✧

The Weight of Solitude

As I retreated to the sanctuary of my room, the weight of the day pressed heavily on me. The chaos of earlier—the blood, the shattered vase, and the disconcerting revelation of miraculous powers—seemed almost too much to bear. The smell of blood lingered faintly, a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. I had managed to clean up the mess, but not without leaving traces of my own vulnerability behind. My hand, wrapped in bandages, throbbed persistently. The cut, a deep gash across the middle of my right palm, was a silent testament to my inner turmoil. Despite the layers of bandages, the pain was oddly comforting. The rhythmic drip of blood as I had cut deeper seemed almost cathartic, a release of pent-up emotions. The sensation of pain, despite its harshness, was a strange solace, a way to feel alive amidst the numbness of my reality. The cut, though not life-threatening, had a morbid allure to it. I wondered, in my darker moments, if it would be better if the pain were more intense—if perhaps, it could give me a fleeting taste of what it would be like to succumb to the void. But for now, the bandages would have to suffice. My shirt remained unstained, much to my relief. I didn't want any more reminders of today's turmoil than necessary. With a sense of grim determination, I retrieved a novel from my brother's collection, a small escape from the oppressive weight of reality. The book was a borrowed relic, its pages a refuge from the unrelenting reality of my life. 

I slipped out through the back door of the mansion, a place I had come to regard as my own haven. I carried a spare key for this purpose, a secret passage to my moments of remoteness. The garden was an oasis of calm amidst the mansion's grandeur. The grass was meticulously trimmed, and white roses adorned the borders, their delicate petals a stark contrast to the harshness of my inner world. Dominating the garden was a statue of a woman, crafted from exquisite white marble. It was my mother, immortalized in stone, a silent sentinel of a bygone era. I settled on the grass, the book resting in my lap. The garden was empty, a place of solitude that I cherished. I approached the statue, speaking to it as if it could offer solace.

 "Mother," I began softly, "I'm here. I hope I'm still welcome. "The statue remained silent, as it always did. It couldn't speak, of course, but that was part of its comfort—it didn't judge, it only listened. "The school today was unbearable," I continued, my voice tinged with frustration. "The other kids stared at me as if I were some kind of creature from another world. The teachers... they seemed just as bewildered. "I took a deep breath, trying to steady my thoughts. "Adrien encountered this... talking bug. It claims to have superpowers and is somehow connected to that old legend you once told us about. I have a faint memory of it. It's all so absurd. Why can't people just move on from the past? Why am I treated like a stone while Adrien is regarded as some kind of golden child? "A sigh escaped me, heavy with the weight of unresolved guilt. "I know it's all because of your death. I was only four, I didn't understand anything then. But they don't seem to see that. They think I'm heartless. Maybe it's them who are heartless, for not seeing beyond the surface. "As I spoke, the words felt hollow, like echoes in a vast emptiness. Speaking to the statue was a ritual of sorts, a way to voice my frustrations without fear of judgment. Yet, I knew it was ultimately a futile exercise. The statue, for all its silent companionship, couldn't provide the answers I sought. I had no way of knowing how long I had been sitting there, but as the shadows lengthened, I felt the heaviness of sleep overtaking me. The peace of the garden, the silence of the statue, and the comfort of the book lulled me into a restless slumber. For a brief moment, in the embrace of the garden's tranquility, I found a semblance of escape from the relentless burdens of my life.

The world around me faded as I drifted into sleep. In that restless slumber, reality unraveled. The garden, with its white roses and pristine grass, dissolved into something darker, more chaotic. I stood before my mother's statue once again, but now the marble was cracked, its perfect surface marred by fractures that snaked across her face and body. Her once serene expression twisted into something unrecognizable—a mask of pain and sorrow.The sky above turned crimson, like the blood I had seen spill earlier. The world felt wrong, like a nightmare I couldn't wake from. And maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to. The suffocating silence of the garden turned into whispers—taunting, echoing voices that gnawed at my mind."It's your fault," the whispers said. "You killed her."I stood frozen, my breath caught in my throat. My eyes fixated on the statue as pieces of it began to fall away, crumbling into dust before my eyes. I tried to scream, to move, but I was paralyzed. The whispers grew louder, harsher, filling my head with accusations I couldn't bear to hear.

"Heartless."

"Murderer."

"Monster."

The words clawed at me, tightening like a vice around my chest. The garden was gone, replaced by a desolate wasteland where the earth cracked and the sky burned. I was alone, surrounded by the shattered remains of everything I once held dear. Even the statue of my mother was now just a pile of rubble at my feet.Suddenly, I felt the familiar, searing pain in my hand—the same one I had cut earlier. But this time, the pain intensified, spreading through my entire arm, coursing through my veins like fire. I looked down to see the glowing purple light emanating from my palm, just as it had earlier in the day when I had lost control. But now, it was fiercer, uncontrollable, a force of destruction.I screamed, trying to suppress it, but the power surged through me. The ground beneath me cracked, fissures opening up, swallowing everything in their path. White roses turned to ash, the once-pristine garden disintegrating into dust. And in the midst of it all, I saw them—my parents, standing at the edge of the crumbling world, their faces etched with disappointment. 

"Why couldn't you save us?" my mother's voice echoed.

"You're a failure," my father's voice boomed.

I staggered back, my heart pounding, blood pulsing in my ears. This wasn't real—it couldn't be real. But the guilt, the shame, the crushing weight of their words—they felt all too real. I fell to my knees, clutching my head as the whispers continued to scream. Just when I thought I would be consumed by it, a hand reached out to me. I looked up, my vision blurred by tears I hadn't realized I was shedding. The hand belonged to Adrien, but he looked different. His familiar blond hair was wild, his eyes glowing with an eerie green light. He was clad in his new black leather suit, cat ears perched atop his head, his face hardened with determination. "I told you not to get into trouble," he said, his voice firm yet filled with concern. Before I could respond, the ground beneath me gave way, and I fell—plummeting into the abyss below. Adrien's hand was no longer there to save me, and I fell deeper, into darkness. 

I jolted awake, my heart racing. I was still in the garden, the grass beneath me soft and cool, the statue of my mother once again intact. The sky was a soft twilight blue, the sun casting a dim glow across the mansion grounds. For a moment, I was disoriented, the dream clinging to me like a shadow. My breathing was shallow, my hand still aching as if the dream had bled into reality. I glanced at the bandages wrapped around my palm, the faint traces of blood seeping through. It felt too real—too vivid. But this was reality, wasn't it? I wasn't sure anymore. Everything felt blurred, as if my life was slipping between two worlds, and I was powerless to stop it.I stood up, brushing the dirt and grass off my clothes, my mind still clouded with the remnants of the nightmare. The statue loomed over me, watching, silent as always. I wanted to speak to it again, to pour out the confusion and frustration that gnawed at me, but the words died in my throat. What was the point? No one was truly listening. I walked back toward the mansion, my footsteps heavy, as if the weight of my thoughts was dragging me down. Adrien—he was out there, somewhere, fighting with that strange power of his. And here I was, left behind, struggling to even make sense of my own existence. As I reached the door, I paused, glancing over my shoulder at the statue one last time. "I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if it was to my mother or myself. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, closing it softly behind me.The mansion was eerily quiet. I made my way up to my room, the hollow sound of my footsteps echoing in the empty halls. Once inside, I sank onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. The events of the day, the dreams, the powers, the blood—it all felt like a storm raging inside me, and I didn't know how to calm it.The world outside was spinning, out of control, and I was left behind, stranded in my own darkness. And maybe, just maybe, I was okay with that.