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ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖𓉸ִֶָྀི ִֶָ་༘࿐
When the shadows curl up, hiding in the blood-stained corners of the corridors, invisible to Mortal eye, ready like slithering snakes with sparkling eyes as red as fresh blood, sparkling and shimmering in the darkness, lying in wait and waiting, then the demon was not far away. It was like an unknown feeling a knowing something dark and dangerous was here, wispering but at the same time silent, that crept into the subconscious, took over the thoughts without you knowing it and filled your head with shadows.
The tapping of pencils on old wooden tables was barely audible, drowned out by the voice of the teacher, whose sole job was to read Hamlet to a room full of emotionally unstable 16-year-old teenagers. Tap tap tap. A constant rhythm, like a clock that never stopped and kept ticking. The classroom was dark, with little light, as the management of the Half-blood Acaemiy Dionysus felt that the school had to save electricity. Times were difficult, electricity was an important resource that had to be used with care.
Deep violet eyes turned sleepily outside. The dark abyys of emotionlessness and indifference followed the storm with slightly dilated pupils that beat against the windows outside the walls of the academy and tore trees from their roots. Fair tanned skin glowed even in the darkness of the shadows, and yet it was so dangerous to be here. in the shadows, in a world without light. A head of curly ash blonde with deep ocean blue streaks, scattered throughout her hair, hung lazily in front of her face, dangling with each breath as if she were trying to keep the blue streak out of her eye. Tap tap tap. The clock was ticking, Hamlet was roaring ever further into the background of the 16-year-old Melanie Wyney. She preferred to observe the outside world, which seemed to be falling apart on this stormy morning. The air was thick, something hung in it, buzzed with electricity and void.
Something was coming. The shadows curled up as if they were laughing maliciously, laughing at something that was about to happen, Melanie could see that out of the corner of her eye, the shadows that usually always seemed to reach out to her, wanting to drag her into their world, they laughed, giggled, smelled blood which would very soon be spilled. A shiver ran down her spine, the hair on her neck stood on end. She was cold, cold at the thought of being found. A world she once escaped from. They wanted her back, back to the life of a prisoner, a fallen woman.
The air crackled, charged with unnoticed energy. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate. Tap, tap, tap. The clock struck 12 noon. Thud, thud, thud. The wind from outside grew stronger, blowing and dancing with the leaves, tearing the blossoms from the few remaining flowers. A shame to let something so beautiful pass. Their brightly colored blossoms reminded Melanie of a free life, of the wonderful memories she once had, embedded in her memory like a chip that was constantly played on a loop. But the flowers were robbed of their memories, like the dreams and wishes of the people who once roamed the world with great hopes and now sat in this classroom and wondered if they would ever achieve their dreams. They lost their colors, were torn from their freedom, lost their joy and their lives. Just like Melanie.
