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█▓▒▒░░░Warnings: Angst from Y/N's past░░░▒▒▓█
In the quiet solitude of her apartment, Y/N lay peacefully asleep, the room enveloped in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains. However, the tranquility was soon shattered as Y/N was gripped by the tendrils of a haunting nightmare, a vivid flashback to a painful chapter of her past.
The air was thick with tension as Y/N, a young child with innocent eyes tainted by shadows, stood in the dimly lit living room of her childhood home. Shadows clung to her like loyal companions, a manifestation of the cursed technique she had possessed since a tender age.
Y/N's mother, a woman with warmth in her eyes and an understanding of the supernatural, watched her daughter with pride. "Y/N, my darling, you carry the Shadowbind Symphony with such grace. It's a part of who you are, a legacy we embrace."
Her mother's words were a comforting melody amidst the shadows, but the harmony was disrupted by the discordant notes played by Y/N's father. A man consumed by resentment and disdain for the supernatural, he regarded Y/N's abilities with contempt.
"Why can't you be a normal child?! You're a freak, just like your cursed mother!" he spat, his anger a storm brewing in the darkness.
The abusive echoes of her father's words lingered in the air, casting a somber shadow over Y/N's childhood. The nightmare intensified as Y/N relived the haunting memories of her father's cruel actions, the physical and emotional scars etched into her soul.
One fateful night, as shadows danced eerily around the room, the nightmare reached its climax. Y/N's father, consumed by rage, grabbed a kitchen knife to strike her mother. The shadows, a reflection of Y/N's inner turmoil, responded with a surge of power she could barely control.
In a desperate attempt to protect her mother, Y/N unleashed the full force of her cursed technique. The Shadowbind Symphony manifested with a ferocity that startled even her.
The shadows wrapped around her father, tightening like a malevolent serpent. Y/N's mother, a witness to the nightmare unfolding, pleaded for mercy amidst the chaotic symphony of darkness.
As Y/N's father lay defeated, the shadows clung to him, holding him captive in a macabre display of her cursed power. The nightmare, however, didn't end there.
In the aftermath, Y/N's mother, though saved from immediate harm, suffered severe injuries. The hospital became a cold, sterile stage for the tragic finale of that cursed night.
Y/N, haunted by the unintended consequences of her powers, stood by her mother's bedside, a silent witness to her slow descent into the abyss. Two hours later, on the night that was supposed to be a celebration of life, Y/N's mother breathed her last, leaving Y/N orphaned and burdened by the weight of a cursed legacy.
The moonlight that gently bathed Y/N's apartment seemed to pale in comparison to the shadows of her past. In her sleep, Y/N's features contorted with pain, reliving the anguish of that long-ago night.
A hushed stillness filled the air as Y/N stirred, tangled in the sheets of her bed. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead, a testament to the emotional turmoil that had unfolded in her dreams. The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a silvery glow on the room, yet failing to dispel the shadows that lingered in the corners of Y/N's mind.
She sat up, her breaths uneven, and ran a trembling hand through her disheveled hair. The room felt oppressive, suffused with memories that refused to be confined to the past. Y/N's gaze lingered on the moon outside, a celestial witness to the secrets she had hidden even from herself.
As the fragments of the nightmare dissolved into the edges of her consciousness, Y/N couldn't escape the vivid images that replayed in her mind. The living room, the shadows, her mother's proud smile juxtaposed against her father's scornful sneer—all intertwined in a tapestry of pain that had woven itself into the fabric of her existence.
With a sigh, Y/N swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the coolness of the floor grounding her in the present. The apartment, a sanctuary of solitude, offered little solace as the weight of the past clung to her like an invisible shroud. It was a dance with shadows that she couldn't escape.
In the dim light, Y/N made her way to the small kitchen, seeking solace in the routine of making a cup of tea. The soft hum of the kettle and the rhythmic clink of the spoon against the porcelain offered a semblance of normalcy, a feeble attempt to anchor herself in the mundane.
As Y/N cradled the warm mug in her hands, she retreated to the living room, where the moonlight spilled through the curtains, casting a pattern of shadows on the floor. The apartment seemed both familiar and foreign, a paradoxical refuge that held the echoes of a past she had tried so hard to bury.
She sank into the couch, staring into the steaming liquid as if it held the answers to questions she dared not voice. The tea offered a fleeting comfort, a fleeting distraction from the lingering pain etched into the recesses of her memory.
It was on nights like these that Y/N found herself grappling with the complexities of her own existence. The cursed technique, the shadows, the legacy she bore—each element of her identity seemed entwined with the sorrowful melody of that long-ago night.
The moonlight waned, the shadows deepening, as Y/N contemplated the legacy she carried. A legacy that had granted her a unique power but had also torn away the pillars of her childhood. The room held a silence pregnant with unspoken truths, a requiem for a past that refused to be forgotten.
As the night stretched on, Y/N found herself caught between the lingering shadows and the tentative embrace of dawn. The nightmares may have subsided, but the echoes of that fateful night resonated within her, a haunting symphony she carried in the very essence of her being. And in the quietude of her apartment, Y/N grappled with the shadows of the past, searching for a way to find light amidst the darkness that clung to her like an unwavering companion.
Then she got a call from her phone.
Her phone it read 1:03am. As she picked up the caller was unknown.
Then it spoke
"Happy Birthday Y/N."
*click*
Y/N looked at the phone in panic from the familiar voice. The tea spilled on the floor, as Y/N collapsed on the couch, gripping the pillows.
