For the last year, Angeline Campbell was living in an orphanage with no memory of the last 35 years. The weirdest part? She's still 14. The other weirdest part? She has super powers.
But her life only gets weirder when a 58 year old man in a child'...
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♥︎Chapter seventeen: Man of the Moon
❥Angelina Campbell had returned to her mind palace after much determination of staying awake. She should've known that she couldn't just avoid all of her problems until they simply vanished. That wasn't how things worked, especially for her.
They had made it back to the academy after the long drive they had to endure. She had struggled to keep her eyes open throughout. Of course Five Hargreaves had decided to meet so far outside of the city that they had to get gas twice. Said boy had yet to show up since he mysteriously vanished away from existence.
She hadn't actually thought much about how strange it was since it had actually happened, mainly due to her complete sugar crash and collapse of exhaustion. Everything she had been doing throughout the day to keep her awake and on her two feet were gone. The effects of both the ice cream and the coffee, as well as any other action.
It was quiet now. Everyone had retreated to their respective areas, including the blonde who had collapsed onto the crisp, white bed sheets immediately. She didn't plan to practically pass out almost right after, but here she was, standing in her nightmare realm once again.
She hated it. The thought had almost fully left her mind and the feeling had slipped away slowly as the time passed, ticking away like a time bomb, but now it was all back, and she hated it.
She could feel every vein within her burn up and the sheen of sweat leaking from each of her pore, even through the cold, manufactured air surrounding her.
It felt strange how everything was so real, but it wasn't. It was more like stepping into a memory fresh from her mind, each molecule, every atom still in place, but every time it was too jumbled to decipher.
Even now, it was different.
There were no corpses, no stench of blood, and no trashed furniture. In fact, everything looked much better than it ever had before.
All shiny and glinting and new, as if the home had just been newly furnished and the scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.
No more photos sat on the walls, just empty blank canvases, ready and awaiting their imminent future of decaying and rotting, of grime and blood. Who knew how long that would take. A month? A year? A decade? A century even?
Clearly not with the semi-modern furniture surrounding her, all so familiar that she could probably sketch out every detail when she awoke.
It was strange how perfect everything lay, gleaming under the sunlight glinting through the windows. Too perfect.
Something was off.
Well, obviously. When was something not with these dreams? There was always a catch whether it be blurred, frantic, mystery people, decay and rot, dead, decomposing bodies or whatever was going on now.
