Shards of Memory [English - Under Revision]

Chapter 1: Love and Loss

Skylane

The ceiling above me was a vast white emptiness, as blank and merciless as the way he looked at me now. I had been staring at it for so long the edges blurred, my lashes dry and gritty, my mind circling the same thought over and over: how do I face him again without falling apart?

I rehearsed it in silence—his eyes turning away from me, his shoulders a hard line, his voice a dull blade. I pictured myself not flinching, not crying, not breaking. Training my heart like it was a stubborn muscle, forcing it to accept rejection the way skin accepts a wound and scabs over.

But every time he treated me like I didn't matter, it felt like a thousand bright shards pressing deeper into my chest.

My lungs ached from holding back everything I wanted to scream.

At last I pushed myself upright. The mattress sighed under my weight, a soft exhale that made me feel seen and tired all at once. I perched at the edge of the bed and let out a breath that shook on the way out. The smile I forced into the mirror across the room was thin and breakable—an echo of a girl who once believed love was supposed to be beautiful and simple and kind.

If only pain could be released in one clean tear, one shattering cry, one violent burst that emptied me out. But pain was stubborn. It stayed. It settled into my bones and learned my name.

Dragging myself to the bathroom felt like dragging chains. The marble floor was cool beneath my bare feet, each step slow and unwilling, months of carrying the weight of him clinging like a second skin I couldn't peel away. I twisted the faucet; the shower hissed to life. Cold water lashed the porcelain and then my body. I flinched, goosebumps lifting across my arms, scalp prickling, breath caught. And then—blessedly—the cold numbed everything. It drowned the storm in my skull long enough that I remembered how to breathe.

Armor came next. It always did.

Crystal Academy's uniform waited like ritual: crisp white shirt; sleeveless blue sweater patterned with diamonds; black tennis skirt that swayed just above my knees; long socks pulled to perfection; shoes buffed until they caught the light. I tied the golden ribbon at my collar. It cinched under my throat like a promise, like a leash, like a crown.

Some girls painted themselves into glamor every morning—winged eyeliner, gradient lips, blush draped across high cheekbones. I never had the patience or the need. Mascara. Thin liner. Lip balm. My mouth held its own color, a quiet rose I couldn't scrub away. I twisted my long black hair into a messy bun and let a few strands escape to frame the face I no longer trusted. When I tried to find the Queen of Crystal Academy in the mirror, all I saw was a girl fraying at the edges, holding herself together with thread.

Bag. Breath. Door.

The dining room had already made up its mind about the day. Garlic fried rice perfumed the air. Bacon crackled on a platter. Plates clinked. Warmth leaned in from every corner, reminding me not everything in my life was broken. Mom Lea looked up and smiled as I entered, the kind of smile that doesn't need words. Dalyn, mid-chew on a triangle of toast, raised his fist. I bumped it, because ritual, because family.

"Morning, Mom. Morning, Dalyn," I said, kissing Mom's cheek. Her skin was cool from the kitchen but soft, always soft.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, spooning fried rice onto my plate with a motion that was part care and part choreography.

"Yes," I lied. The word slid out like a bead of water, practiced, harmless, dishonest. My nights had been battlegrounds for months—memories marching in, setting up camp behind my eyelids.

"Good," she said lightly. "You'll need the energy for practice later." Her gaze flicked to Dalyn. "And you—big game tomorrow?"

Dalyn's mouth quirked. "Blue Dragons. We'll crush them."