The Stolen Element

The Breaking Point

(Age 18)

Vanessa stared at the words on the page, her vision blurring as the text seemed to warp and shift before her eyes. She rubbed at her temples, willing herself to focus, but her head felt heavy, her thoughts scattered. The dream she'd had the night before lingered like a ghost, pulling at the edges of her mind.

A glowing palace. A woman's voice. Vanessa, come home.

The voice had been so clear, so achingly familiar. And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't place it. Her chest tightened as the dream replayed in fragments—fire, swirling elements, a shadow creeping through golden halls. It felt like a warning, though of what, she didn't know.

"Vanessa!"

Bloom's voice snapped her back to reality. She looked up to see her sister standing in the doorway of her room, her arms crossed and an impatient expression on her face.

"You've been in here all morning," Bloom said. "Mom and Dad are asking for you."

Vanessa sighed, closing the book she hadn't really been reading. "What do they want?"

"How should I know? Maybe they want to see the child prodigy in person for once," Bloom said, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Come on, don't make me play messenger all day."

Vanessa bit back a retort, standing up and brushing past Bloom without a word. The tension between them had been growing steadily over the past few months, ever since Vanessa's nightmares had begun intensifying. Bloom didn't understand—how could she? Vanessa couldn't even explain it to herself.

Diane and Greg were waiting in the living room, their expressions neutral but expectant. Diane gestured for Vanessa to sit, and Vanessa complied, feeling Bloom slide onto the couch beside her.

"We need to talk," Diane began, her voice measured. "Vanessa, we've noticed you've been... distant lately."

Vanessa stiffened. "I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine," Diane pressed. "You've been shutting yourself in your room, skipping meals, staying up all night. And then there was the... incident with the kitchen light."

Vanessa winced. Two weeks ago, she'd accidentally blown out the lightbulb while trying to contain a sudden spark of electricity in her hands. She'd hoped no one had noticed.

"It was just a coincidence," Vanessa said quickly. "The bulb was old."

Diane didn't look convinced. "Vanessa, we're worried about you. If something is wrong, you can tell us."

Vanessa opened her mouth, ready to say something—anything—but the words caught in her throat. How could she explain what was happening when she didn't even understand it herself?

"She's fine," Bloom interjected, her tone dismissive. "She just likes to make everything a big deal."

Vanessa turned to glare at her. "I didn't ask for your opinion."

"Well, maybe you should," Bloom shot back. "Because whatever's going on with you, it's affecting all of us."

"That's enough," Greg said, his voice firm. "Bloom, let Vanessa speak."

But Vanessa didn't want to speak. She was tired of trying to explain herself, tired of the constant weight of expectations and judgment. "There's nothing to talk about," she said flatly. "I'm fine."

Diane sighed, her disappointment evident. "If you say so."

Vanessa stormed out of the house later that day, needing air. The conversation with her adoptive parents had left her feeling suffocated, their concern and Bloom's constant needling stirring emotions she could barely contain.