Gacha Story (Mature Readers Only)

The Start of It All

It was meant to be her home, but it most certainly did not feel like a home.

Dreary green eyes were forced closed, eyelashes soaked in tears like butterflies in the rain, waterfalls trailing down her cheeks. The room looked the same to her, under closed eyelids - black and lacking any kind of definition, a similar image of the scarred memory of her past. She could not shake the memory out of her head. It was ironic, seemingly getting clearer in her head the more she tried to get rid of it. Her fingers dug into her skin, but she was numb to that kind of pain, pulling her legs up so that her small figure was in a shape of a ball. Willingly, she let herself grin a sideways smile, mentally laughing at the irony of the situation and the fact that she had to fool her own emotions with a feral smile. She covered her hands with her ears, silencing the violent world around her, the cool air of the room ruffling her hair so gently. 

She wanted someone to hear her, to know, but she knew that no one would ever be able to see through her eyes or hear the destructive words ricocheting in her ears and hammering her eardrums. Her memory seemed to be a blessing, craved by the other children, who struggled to remember everything. And yet, to her, it was all a curse. She never asked to be blessed with such a vivid memory.

She was screaming out, so much noise, and yet she was silent, her lips tightly pressed against each other.

Alone, in the dark, she wept.

Then, she let her arms swing to her sides, eyelids fluttering open, colour and light blinding her and a sound penetrating her ears.

"I want to adopt her!" An excited voice exclaimed, grey eyes glancing over at the little girl's. Her tears weren't visible, the woman noticing no difference. The girl stirred, suddenly awake. "What's your name?"

The little girl looked uneasy. No one had ever disturbed her before. They had always let her cry in peace. "Arya..." she replied in a shaky voice.

She had a surname, not that she liked it, though. Her family had thrown her away and she had to carry their name. She hated it! She hated everything about her blood family, but it didn't matter much to her anymore. This was a sign of something different. Her home, the adoption centre, had finally found her someone to belong to. She could be a daughter. She had a new family now; this grey eyed girl with pastel purple and pink hair, wearing a white shirt accompanied by a blue denim skirt and white heeled boots, was surely going to adopt her.

Hmm, Arya thought. The woman didn't look too bad - her style was trendy enough. It was way better than what Arya was wearing anyway, but she was only a little girl. It was hard for everyone, however, as society was just so critical of everything.

Arya had an oversized jumper and tight leggings. Her hair was short and dyed pink and blonde with a green streak, and she had it tied up in a side ponytail. Her skin was emaciated, and the faces she was surrounded by had a much darker and healthier complexion.

She was just different. She was only four years old. Four years old. The girl had lost her parents when she was two. Arya began reminiscing on the family - the Helsing family. However, her thoughts were shortly interrupted by the woman who claimed that she wanted to adopt her.

"I love your name!" She told Arya, excitement building up in her voice. "Arya, why don't I take you back to my place, where you can meet some of my friends."

Arya nodded quickly and followed her. She couldn't help but notice that both of her carer's hands were wrapped in bandages. They were not blood-stained, but something was off about it. She never really trusted people, but she had no place anywhere else - she had to follow. The route they took was deadly silent, Arya feeling unnerved by it. "How can I address you?" She asked her nervously, breaking the silence as they exited the adoption centre.

The woman smiled down at her. "You can call me anything you want! Mum, if you are okay with it, but if -"

"Mum is okay with me," she interjected, hope flickering in her pale green eyes. They walked in silence for the rest of the journey and once they entered the mother's house, sound and energy filled the room.

Whispers echoed as they stepped in: "Who's that new girl?"

"I adopted a kid, Arya!" Her mum announced to everyone around. Faces were staring at Arya, whisperings filled the awkward silence.

Arya wanted to disappear. She hated the noise. She hated being in the spotlight. She was just an introverted four year old girl that needed a family. She didn't want an announcement or dozens of people in the house, but anything was better than the first four years of her life. She remembered it all because she had an eidetic memory and because it was rather traumatic for her as well. She told herself that she really should be used to it by now, but never was she taught that attention was a good thing. If only she could sink through the floor and just... disappear.

"She is so cute!" A purple haired girl commented about Arya. Her mum later told her that this girl was called Ashy.

Why weren't they talking to me? Why was it such a success for my mother? I never understood people well, but I always tried. Maybe if my parents were better... maybe if I wasn't me... maybe that's why no one loves me.

She sighed. She was grateful that people cared about her, but she never asked for it - it only made her feel guilty for being fussed over, as if she was spoilt and a burden. It was what her biological parents preached. They had always preferred her out of sight and out of earshot.

One of her mum's friends (called Crystal) said, "Congrats! She's cute!"

I'm cute? No... this isn't true. My parents never called me cute. In fact, they said that I'm ugly. Maybe my flashy colours of my hair made me cute, but my hair doesn't correlate to me as a whole. Why don't they just say that my hair is cute, then? It's all fake, anyway, my hair is dyed. The only good things about me aren't real.

A four year old with unnatural dyed blonde and pink hair - it was strange, but everything about this world, this universe was strange. This is the universe called Gacha. And Gacha universe was not supposed to make sense.

Another friend (who is Ashy's ex, Byron) said, "She's so cute."

Jenny (another one of her mother's and Crystal's friend) said, "I adopted Lily a couple of days ago!"

And Lily said, "Arya!!!" to her. That was the first thing that someone had said about her, directly to her. Lily was four years old too, in fact, but Lily and Arya were very different people. She doubted that they could ever get along.

And a girl that was five years old called Lexi (Ashy and Byron's kid) smiled at her, but remained quiet, as Lily was energetically greeting Arya.

Lexi was watching, but did not say anything to Arya, almost as if she was jealous, as Lily was her friend.

But Arya was not interested in making friends as she barely understood what that term meant. She headed over to her mother, away from Lily and Lexi and the others. "Mum," Arya called out, and Livia looked down at her instantly, grey eyes rich with concern.

"What is it, Arya?" She asked kindly. "Are you getting along with everyone?"

"What... what is your name?"

"Livia Santos," she replied. "Your surname... you never told me it."

"It's Santos," Arya replied without any hesitation. "It's Santos now."