"Why…! Why did you do it…?"
Absynthe stood behind Celestia's chair, her form blurred, her edges fractured—as if the weight of betrayal had distorted reality itself.
Celestia sat motionless, her face shadowed in darkness, unreadable.
Across the room, Synthena stood apart—silent, withdrawn.
Her arms hung loosely at her sides, her back slouched, as though the tension had physically weighed her down.
The silence was suffocating.
"Why…"
Absynthe's voice shook, her skin flushed red, heat burning through her veins—betrayal sinking deeper than bone, deeper than thought, deeper than memory itself.
"WHY!"
Her voice cracked against the walls, sharp, unforgiving, desperate.
Celestia didn't turn around.
She didn't flinch.
She just sat there, the glow of the computer flickering against her hollow expression, fingers poised over the keyboard.
Synthena didn't move, but something in her eyes dimmed.
She wasn't sure who she pitied more—the one who carried betrayal, or the one who had caused it.
****************************************************************************************
"Hey, you two! What's up?"
Absynthe strode forward, her steps light, unburdened, her smile bright and effortless.
The sun caught in her hair, once a vivid white, now dyed a faint black—a change so subtle, yet enough to make her almost unrecognizable.
Celestia and Synthena stood waiting, their blue middle school uniforms flowing in the wind's quiet grace.
"Absynthe, you made it!" Synthena called out, her voice cheerful, familiar, untainted by the weight of what was to come.
They walked together, in perfect unison, toward the school gates.
Back then, the world still made sense.
Back then, everything felt possible.
Back then, Celestia was still her best friend
*****************************************************************************
"Whoa! What's up with that freaky hair, Syn?"
Absynthe laughed, eyes widening in amusement as she took in Synthena's newly dyed hair—candy. pink hair streaked slashing through the green in bold defiance
At their school, students were allowed to express themselves freely, as long as they kept their uniforms tidy and professional.
Synthena twirled dramatically, striking a playful pose as she flaunted her new look.
"With this whole 'EXPRESS YOURSELF' movement taking off, I figured I'd jump on the trend!" She grinned.
The group burst into laughter—the kind that felt effortless, the kind that didn't know it was standing at the edge of something irreversible.
"Oh, Abby! You ready for today's exam?" Synthena's voice lifted, excitement bubbling beneath her words.
"I heard it's gonna be super hard this time!"
Absynthe chuckled, her blue eyes shimmering, reflecting none of the anxiety her peers carried.
"Psh, of course I'm ready!" She flashed a confident smirk, her posture easy, secure, without hesitation.
"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna ace it!"
Synthena jumped in excitement, clapping her hands together.
"Well, obviously—you're our top student after all!"
Their laughter continued, filling the space with warmth—but the silence surrounding Celestia was deafening.
She stood motionless, her face shadowed, her eyes dull.
Her veins filled with envy, twisting beneath her skin in ways she didn't want to acknowledge.
She had spent years standing in Absynthe's shadow.
Always second place.
Always almost enough—but never quite.
And for the first time—she let herself wonder what it would feel like if Absynthe wasn't at the top anymore.
****************************************************************************************
"What are these grades?!"
Her father's voice cut through the room like a blade, precise, controlled—not out of anger, but disappointment sharpened into expectation.
"You better start picking up your slack. Our business doesn't tolerate failures."
Celestia sat rigid, her mother in the background, elegantly composed, dusting white mist across her skin—powdering her youth into perfection, shaping flaws into porcelain obedience.
"You will never make it in life with these grades."
His hand slammed down, decisive, absolute.
"Fix it. Or you will never hold the Ruelle name again."
The words cut deeper than any slap ever could.
Celestia, pulse hammering against her ribs, forced words past clenched teeth, desperation weaving through her voice.
"But Absynthe… she always best me!"
Her father paused.
A moment too long.
A silence too precise.
"Absynthe?"
Celestia nodded instantly, shrinking beneath his gaze, unaware she had just triggered something irreversible.
"Yes."
The air changed.
Not in volume. Not in motion. But in something unspoken—something buried deep beneath control, wealth, and legacy.
Her father turned toward her mother, his voice lower now, sharp, urgent, words murmuring between them as if shielding something ancient, something untouched by casual conversation.
She had heard plenty of names before. Plenty of rivals. Plenty of competitors.
But this?
This wasn't just a name.
This was Seraphis.
"As in… Seraphis?"
Celestia saw it too late—the way her father's fingers tightened, the way her mother's back straightened, the way tension stretched between them like an unraveling thread.
Something old had surfaced. Something buried had cracked open. Something she had spoken too recklessly, too ignorantly, too foolishly.
She was too consumed by envy to notice it yet.
Too caught up in desperation to see the shift she had caused.
Her mother approached, posture perfect, yet rigid, each step soundless, yet deafening.
Celestia knew what came next—knew how swiftly cold hands could erase weakness, how easily control could be restored with impact.
The slap landed, sharp, swift, unhesitant.
"It doesn't matter," her mother hissed.
"You will pass this last exam—or else."
Celestia fell to her knees, the sting lingering, but it wasn't the pain that suffocated her.
It was the weight.
The words she whispered to herself, quiet, broken, trembling against her own fury—
"I will best you this time..... absynthe..." she hissed silently to herself.
Her eyes burned, a faint reflection of Absynthe's silhouette flickering within them, flames igniting in the depths of her pupils, staring directly into the reader's soul.