blurred lines in a forbidden fairytale

{27} and if they call me a slut you know it might be worth it for once

Aurora's POV:

I walk into school, barely awake, and head straight to class. It takes me a second to notice, but the room feels different, quieter. The usual hum that fills the room when Ms. Swift is here, that warmth she brings, is missing, though we aren't on good terms right now and haven't really talked since I stormed out of the classroom a few days ago.
Instead, there's a substitute teacher standing at the front, shuffling papers, looking a little lost.

"Good morning, everyone," the substitute says, glancing around with a forced smile. "Ms. Swift is... not feeling well today, so I'll be covering for her." The words barely register before a wave of anxiety washes over me. Taylor never misses school—she's so careful. Always here, always consistent.

I text Maya during class, because she isn't here either. Her response is delayed, and when it finally comes, she says she isn't in school, claiming she has a doctor's appointment. My stomach twists. It's not just Taylor.

By the time the final bell rings, I've had enough. I've tried calling Taylor about a dozen times but every call goes straight to voicemail. I can't ignore this feeling anymore. I grab my bag, barely say goodbye to anyone, and head straight for Taylor's apartment. As I walk, every step feels heavier, like my legs are moving through quicksand. I keep replaying everything in my head, every small detail from our last conversation, searching for something I might have missed.

When I finally reach her building, my heart's pounding so hard it hurts. I stand outside her door, swallowing down the nerves, and knock. No answer. I knock again, louder this time, praying for her voice on the other side.

Nothing.

I try the door, but it's locked tight. I peek through the keyhole, hoping to catch any sign of movement, but the place is still, eerily so. It's like she's just... gone.

My phone vibrates with another text from Maya, something casual, asking if everything's okay. But I can't focus on her words. I'm staring at Taylor's door, my gut screaming that something is very, very wrong.

I crouch down, almost on instinct, feeling around the edge of the doormat until my fingers brush against cold metal. My hand closes around a small key—her spare key. I hesitate for a second, my heart racing, but I can't shake the dread twisting in my stomach. Something is off, and I need to know she's okay.

I unlock the door and step inside, trying to be quiet, like she might somehow appear and catch me here. Her apartment is still, everything exactly where it should be, but the silence feels wrong, like a blanket pulled too tightly.

"Taylor?" I call out, my voice barely above a whisper. "Taylor, I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

No answer. I walk farther in, glancing around, feeling like an intruder in the empty room. Her coat is missing from the hook by the door, but her shoes are scattered by the entryway, and there's an empty coffee mug on the table.

On the coffee table, a folded piece of paper catches my eye. I pick it up, unfolding it with trembling hands. It's a note, written in hurried, looking exactly like my handwriting but I never wrote that note:

Meet me. 9 PM tonight. 326 Hawthorne Lane.

I can feel the fear coil tighter inside me, questions piling up too fast for my brain to keep up. What the hell?

I stare at the address, committing it to memory, my pulse thundering in my ears. Did she head to that address? I shove the paper into my pocket, not caring if anyone sees me leave.

Outside, I barely feel the cold biting into my skin as I start walking toward the address. Each step feels heavier, but I'm too afraid of what I might find to stop. If that note was written by the same person that sent all those threats, Taylor might be in serious danger.