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Look.
Look behind you.
At the spot no one frequents.
Standing in a corner, not a shadow, not a ghost, but a human.
A girl, but her skin made of mistakes and eyes of smoke, standing in the corner so silently, as if she was a statue, cursed to watch over the ever changing time, waiting, waiting for something to happen.
No one knows she's there, until perhaps you turn, and there you are, standing face to face in front of her.
The girl stands in the dark, just shy of the light. The light is right at the tip of her toes, touching it, but not quite yet.
Her fingertips twitch, aching, longing, dying to catch the light and bring it to her lips, drink it, taste it, let it overflow her.
But it's oh so very hard to move.
Because unseen by everyone, unseen by even herself, the chains around her ankles grip her tightly, like the phantom of a regret unwilling to let go of what's left, like the memory of a dying hope struggling to stay alive. Holding her so tightly, in the same spot, for an eternity.
She feels it. Knows it. Hates it. The familiar sensation of cold metal against chafed skin rubbed raw from years of trying to escape. Trying to reach the world she craved so much.
It's been years since the chains caught her in their iron grip, and she doesn't remember where they came from, doesn't remember exactly when she found herself trapped in a constant state of sadness and longing and anger, doesn't remember who chained her.
But she knows she's been trying to touch the light for the longest time.
So why? Why is it so difficult for the light to love her?
She wants it so much but it refuses to even look at her.
Like her skin is dirty and repulsive, like it is cold and slimy and belongs in the gutters.
She doesn't know why.
Time goes by, and one day something happens.
A boy, he appears in front of her, the light catching in his grey eyes and turning them silver.
He's so bright.
Almost unreal, too close, too beautiful, like a mirage.
He says something, but she doesn't catch it. She's too busy staring into his eyes, they're so kind.
" - need help? "
The ends of his words reach her, and she blinks. What?
When she speaks for the first time, her voice is rusty, unused, cracking, she hasn't spoken like this in so long.
