"I think it's okay for us to start living."
*****
In a fanfiction universe full of cliches, absurd plot-proceedings, and a depressing number of death flags, Clarity is determined to do everything in her power t...
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Ding-dong!
The alarming ring of the door bell echoed within your ears as you were forced out of your sweet slumber. Rubbing your eyes groggily, you pulled yourself out of bed and dragged your feet to the washroom mirror. After giving yourself a few seconds to clear your mind, you stared into the mirror's reflection: the messy h/c hair dangled from your face, and your e/c irises shimmered under the dimming light.
"Y/N! Where are you, brat?" Mother called from across the room. You couldn't help but flinch at the impatient tone of her voice. The room was only so big, there was no need for her to yell.
As her footsteps approached your room, you quickly stepped out of the washroom and made your bed, just in time for the door to swing open. Your mother stood in front of your door, seemingly out of breath.
"Why didn't you answer me?!" She scolded, narrowing her eyes at your unkempt appearance.
Mumbling a small apology, you quickly threw your hair into a messy bun and pulled your head over an oversized sweater. From the corner of your eye, the flickering light from the obsolete clock displayed 5:30 A.M..
"What is the matter, Mother? Why are you up so early?" you asked.
At your question, Mother smiled. It was a rare, yet unsettling smile that put an unconscious pressure onto your back. You gulped as a chill ran through your spine. "Mother?"
"Y/N—how old are you?"
"Eighteen," you replied uneasily, not knowing where this was going.
"I've raised you for eighteen years." She leisurely strode around the room, the floor creaking below her feet. Mother went up to the windows, where she rustled the beige, semi-transparent curtains. Dust descended from below, and you had to suppress an urge to cough. "It's time for you to repay me."
Just as she finished her sentence, there was a loud, harsh knock on the door. Startled, you glanced out the window and saw a group of men in suits, standing in front of your house. Parked a distance away from your house was a black Mercedes-Benz, radiating an aura of extravagance as it attracted all the eyes from your small, archaic neighbourhood.
As your gaze lingered, you couldn't help but notice a silhouette sitting in the back of the car, his face masked by the gray-washed shade of the glass window. Even with the car window in the way, you can't help but feel intimidated by his pressing aura all the way from the second floor. Vaguely, his head veered towards your direction.
