metamorphosis | reigen arataka

REBIRTH

PROLOGUE — rebirth

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Y/n could no longer bear the idea of drowning in sorrow, but at the same time, she did not want to feel.

Every touch, every caress, amplified the pain that resided within her. She was an empath, cursed with the ability to absorb the emotions of others through the mere brush of skin against skin. Burdened with the curse of empathy, condemned to carry the burdens of others as her own. What others might perceive as a gift had morphed into an unrelenting assault of torment, persisting through the nights and bleeding into her waking hours. Each day was a battle to distinguish her own feelings from those she inadvertently absorbed, a constant struggle to preserve her sense of self.

As the prospect of freshman year of college loomed closer, a realization settled deep within her being. She couldn't bear the weight of staying the same. The realization that she couldn't just become a burden, a dead weight dragging her family down, struck her with a force akin to a piercing gust of wind.

And so, with trembling hands and a heart heavy with uncertainty, she lifted her foot from the tatami mat of all she had known thus far. It was a leap into the void, a leap born not out of bravery but out of sheer necessity.

She turned the doorknob and left her shut-in life.

Her parents, caught off guard by the sound of soft footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent house, turned their heads. Their eyes widened in disbelief as they beheld their daughter standing before them, tears welling up in her eyes. The very notion that she willingly stepped out of her secluded sanctuary shattered their expectations, leaving them speechless.

For years, they had watched her wilt away in the confines of her room, their worries growing with each passing day. Fear had gripped their hearts, whispering darkly that she would become a permanent resident of that suffocating space until the end of her days. But now, a chance, a glimmer of hope.

"—Y/n?" her mother called out, her voice a fragile whisper.

"I'm moving out."

With quivering hands, she packed her meager belongings, her movements devoid of purpose. The room that had witnessed her isolation, her tears, and her whispered confessions to the darkness now stood vacant. The familiar space no longer held comfort but instead served as a constant reminder of her own stagnation.

With a final glance, she turned her back on the room that had become her prison, and the moment of stillness is gone. The world moves around her, and she does the same. There is nothing between the motion. Not her fears, nor her desires.

The streets teemed with people, a diverse tapestry of ages and races, each immersed in their own secluded worlds. It was a world of perpetual motion, a tide of hurried footsteps and racing thoughts. Eyes darted anxiously, minds preoccupied with the next move, the next task at hand. It was a world where connection seemed distant, where smiles were scarce, and eye contact a rarity.

Just a minute was enough to feel out of place.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, the world chanted, an incessant mantra that echoed through the corridors of their minds. It was a world of busyness, of constant movement. They navigated through their days, consumed by the next task, the next goal, their minds occupied with the future, the past a mere whisper in the wind.

She observed the flurry of humanity, standing amidst the bustling crowd, an island of contemplation in an ocean of perpetual movement. for a brief moment, she allowed herself to become part of this bustling symphony of life.

The motion engulfed her, drawing her into its ceaseless dance. There was no intermediary between the bustling crowd and herself, nothing to protect her from the bittersweet tomorrows that awaited her, nor the weight of her own conscience.

A world with an unknown past.

A world with an unknown future.

A world with no plans to be made.

A world of living, yet no one was there to make you feel alive.

To feel was to die.