Lyra
The hallway always fell silent when I walked through it. Not out of respect—never that. It was a silence made of stares and whispers, of girls pretending not to notice me and boys pretending I didn't just ruin their pride when I didn't smile back.
Some thought I was arrogant. Some thought I was too quiet to be friendly. But most… most wanted something from me.
I kept walking, eyes ahead, footsteps steady like I couldn't hear them. Like their little games didn't matter.
They did.
Just not in the way they thought.
"Lyra."
A voice called behind me—deep, full of confidence that didn't belong in a seventeen-year-old's throat. I didn't turn.
"Lyra Michelson," he called again, jogging until he caught up beside me.
Damon calisto . The son of a business tycoon and heir to an elite family. His smile was perfect. So were his teeth. And his lies.
"Didn't you hear me?" he asked.
"No," I said flatly. I turned toward my locker, twisting the lock until it clicked.
"You always act like that," he said, leaning beside me. "Like you're untouchable."
"I'm not," I said, pulling out my textbook. "I'm just uninterested."
"Come on," he whispered. "You don't have to pretend you don't like me."
I looked him straight in the eye. "You're not the first boy who's thought that."
He blinked. The hallway grew quiet again. Then, a few feet away, I heard someone snicker.
Damon's jaw tensed. His pride was a glass thing. I didn't care if I cracked it.
I walked away before he could say anything else.
---
I hated the attention. The weight of it. The way it followed me from hallway to hallway like a curse—no, because of a curse.
If they knew… if they really knew what loving me could do to someone, they'd run the other way.
But they didn't know. No one at school did.
Only the people in my house. Only the people bound to blood, to magic, to memory.
To tragedy.
---
The rest of the day blurred. Classes came and went. I got answers right. I corrected a teacher once, politely.
More whispers. More eyes.
At lunch, I sat alone at my usual table near the window. The sun poured over me like a spotlight, and still no one came too close.
Except for one girl—Nia. She was the closest thing I had to a friend. We didn't talk often. But sometimes, she sat next to me.
Today wasn't one of those days.
The seat across from me stayed empty. I didn't blame her.
---
I got home a little after five.
Our estate was too big for the number of people who lived in it. The driveway curved like a snake, the gate etched with old runes that still glowed faintly at night.
Inside, it was cold. Always cold. Even when the sun was still up.
I stepped through the front door quietly, hoping I could make it upstairs without—
"You're late."
My mother's voice cut through the quiet like glass.
"I stayed back to finish my Chem practical," I said, dropping my bag by the stairs.
"You should have told the driver. He waited ten minutes before leaving."
"I didn't know it would take that long."
She stepped into view—tall, regal, lips painted a perfect shade of disappointment.
"You're wearing that?" she asked, looking at my uniform like it was something indecent.
"It's school regulation."
She sighed and walked past me. "We have company tonight. Go change. The dark green. Not the red. And no boots this time."
"Can't wait," I muttered.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
---
In my room, I changed into the dress she picked. Green. Long sleeves. Modest. Pretty. Suffocating.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The girl there didn't look cursed. She looked like she had everything—wealth, beauty, status.
But she knew better.
She knew what happened to love.
It died. It always did.
I touched the silver ring around my neck—a token from the old witch who had once whispered the truth of the curse into my ear.
You cannot love without killing what you cherish.
---
Dinner was silent. Company came and went. Names I didn't bother remembering. Men in long coats. Women in hard jewels. People who smiled too widely.
People like my mother.
My father didn't speak to me directly. He never really did. I was a tool in their grand plan, a name to be signed onto alliances, a body to be dressed up for events.
They loved me only as much as they needed me.
I swallowed my food slowly. Pretended I didn't feel the way their eyes landed on me like I was a glass doll they were already measuring for cracks.
---
Later that night, in bed, I lay staring at the ceiling.
One of the housemaids had left fresh tea on my desk, untouched. My windows were open. The night wind carried the smell of rain.
And I thought—what would it be like to disappear?
Not die. Just vanish.
No curse. No council. No perfect dresses.
Just… freedom.
---
But I was Lyra Michelson.
And girls like me don't get to disappear.
We only break quietly.
Where no one can see.