Yggdrasil [Simulated Dream]

May 14, 2013

Day 0

The car rumbled softly as we crossed into the small town.

Its name escapes me now, if I ever truly knew it to begin with. It wasn't my hometown, that much I remember. But it was where I was born, or maybe not. Maybe it was my father's hometown. Or my mother's. Or perhaps it wasn't connected to either of them. Maybe they just knew someone here. Maybe it didn't matter.

The sky was overcast, the clouds thick and gray like wool soaked in water, and the streets passed by in slow, muted color through the smudged car window.

I had always been a quiet child. Not shy, but silent. My voice, rarely needed, often felt like a stranger in my own mouth. I didn't speak unless something inside me insisted on it, something wordless and sharp, a need that couldn't be ignored. And that day, I wasn't expecting to speak at all.

But then…

We drove past one of the town's playgrounds. It was nothing remarkable, just a small cluster of metal swings and a worn plastic slide, the kind you'd find in any rural plaza. The grass around it was patchy, and the paint on the play structures had begun to peel in the sun.

But something about it caught me.

Not with wonder. Not with longing. But with a peculiar weight. A feeling I couldn't name. It hit me all at once, like a voice that didn't belong to me spoke from inside my chest.

"Can I go?"

I heard myself ask it. My voice was low, almost hesitant. Not pleading. Not hopeful. Just…there. Just enough to be heard by the two people in the front seat.

For a brief moment, I expected silence. A shrug. Maybe even a glance in the mirror and nothing more. But then—

"Maybe later."

No irritation. No surprise. Just a casual reply, as if I'd asked about the weather. As if it wasn't strange for me to speak. They didn't look back. They didn't acknowledge it beyond that.

I wasn't sure what I had expected. Excitement? Concern? A question?

Instead, they returned to whatever quiet conversation they had been having, as if nothing unusual had happened at all. And I sat back in my seat, the window humming gently against my head, still watching that fading playground in the mirror until it disappeared behind a corner.

I hadn't wanted to play, exactly. That wasn't it. It wasn't the swing or the slide or the sand beneath it.

It was the pull. Like something forgotten had reached out from that spot and brushed against my soul.

The car rolled past rows of badly built houses, each more poor than the last, until finally, it came to a slow, gravel-crunching stop. We had arrived.

I fumbled with the door handle, the way any ten-year-old might, awkward fingers gripping plastic, a little too weak to push and pull at the same time. After a bit of struggling, it popped open with a rusty groan, and I stepped out into the stale, fresh air.

My birthday was coming soon. A few days from now, maybe tomorrow. I wasn't sure. Time felt strange, elastic, blurry at the edges. It moved faster than I could count, and slower than I could understand.

The house stood before me, taller than the others on the street. We were clearly in one of the poorer districts, there was no mistaking that. Cracked or just no sidewalks, peeling walls with sun-bleached paint or no paint at all.

And yet, this house stood out. Not because it was grand, but because here, it was unusual.

Two floors. Three bedrooms, if I remembered right. A narrow front yard that hadn't seen much care. But most surprisingly…it had a pool. A small one, half-covered in a brittle tarp and filled with leaves. But still, a pool. In this neighborhood, that felt almost indecent. Like bringing a feast into a famine.

I wondered, just briefly, if it was bad manners to build something so big in a place where everything else seemed so small. I didn't care, not really. But the thought lingered.

A man stood at the front, waving lazily as we approached. Was he the owner? I couldn't tell. I don't think so. If memory served me right, this house belonged to my parents.

Which was strange. They were nomads in all but name. Always drifting. Moving from one city to another, always "just passing through". Why would they own a house at all? Why here, of all places?

My father stepped forward, hand extended. A firm handshake followed, rituals of adulthood I hadn't yet been taught. They spoke the way adults do, with half-smiles and vague words that never really said anything. My mother joined them soon after, her voice softer but just as guarded, carrying the same weightless tone.

I stood there, watching. Unnoticed. Unimportant. Until the man, whoever he was, turned to me. His eyes squinted with an amused glint, and then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A toy. Not the plastic kind from a store. It was hand-carved, wood smoothed by days of carving, small enough to fit in his palm. He held it delicately by a notched handle and spun it between his fingers. It moved in an odd, lopsided rhythm, wobbling and clicking, yet almost graceful. Comical in a strange way. Mechanical, yet full of character.

"I want it." I said.

The words tumbled out before I had a chance to think. That made two times I'd spoken that day. That had to be a record.

The man raised his brows in mock surprise. "But this is mine." He said gently, tucking it slightly behind his back. "If only there were a special day coming up, one where people gave gifts for no reason. Wouldn't that be something?"

He was speaking in riddles. Adults liked to do that. I didn't like riddles. I didn't have patience for games wrapped in cleverness. If something couldn't be mine, then it had no value.

I looked away.

The man laughed, low and knowing. "Like father, like son." He murmured.

I didn't know what he meant. I don't think I wanted to.

A few minutes passed before my father returned to the front steps, holding something in his hands. It was a mask, wooden, old, rough at the edges. The kind of thing that looked too fragile to touch, yet too mysterious to ignore.

He held it with the careful pride of someone showing off a rare find.

The man, our host, or neighbor, or relative, I still wasn't sure, leaned in to inspect it. His eyes narrowed with interest, the casual air around him tightening slightly.

This was common with my parents. Artifacts, relics, pieces of half-buried lives, objects worn by time and dust. That was their world. They were traveling archaeologists. Not the kind you see in movies, with fedoras and bullwhips, but the quieter kind, who spoke in academic terms and handled bone fragments with reverence. Always driving somewhere. Always chasing old gods in ruined places. They found meaning in the past. They rarely looked back at the present.

As my father began explaining the mask, its origin, its etchings, maybe some half-forgotten tribe or ceremonial rite.

"Come on. Inside." My mother ordered.

I obeyed, saying nothing. She didn't wait for me. She was already walking toward the house, purse in hand, eyes scanning the porch like she was seeing if anything had changed since they'd last been here.

I followed her, passing the man and my father, who were now completely absorbed in their artifact talk. Their voices dropped into that strange academic rhythm, trading references like playing cards.

As I stepped through the doorway, the air inside felt different, stale and heavy, as if the house had been holding its breath for a long time. It smelled faintly of wood, old curtains, and something sweet I couldn't name. Not exactly pleasant, but familiar in a way that confused me.

This was supposed to be our house, wasn't it? That's what I'd been told. Or maybe just implied.

But standing there, with my hand still resting on the edge of the doorframe, I realized I didn't remember ever living here. Not a single room. Not a scent, not a sound. The walls didn't echo anything familiar. The floor didn't creak in the right way. The air didn't carry any childhood trace of me.

Maybe, just maybe, we had lived here, briefly. After I was born. Maybe this was the place where I took my first steps, babbled my first words. But if so, those moments had been stripped from me like names from worn gravestones.

Because as soon as I could walk without help, they had started taking me with them. From excavation to excavation. Site to site. Never rooted. Never still.

And now I was back at the beginning, or what was supposed to be the beginning. But it didn't feel like mine.

Still, as I stepped deeper into the entrance hall, with dust spinning in the pale, slanted sunlight, something stirred inside me. Not a memory, no. It wasn't sharp enough for that. It was more like a murmur in the marrow. A faint whisper beneath the skin. Like the house itself exhaled through me, quietly saying: you were here once.

The hallway walls were lined with old photographs, each frame slightly off-kilter, tilted like forgotten memories too tired to stay upright. The images inside were faded, almost sepia, curled at the corners from time and neglect.

Faces stared at me. Some were smiling. Some solemn.

Beyond the hallway, rooms branched off in every direction. Bedroom doors left half-open. A kitchen light flickering dimly in the distance. The rooms didn't beckon. They waited. Like they expected me to return. Like they had questions.

My mother had already vanished around a corner, absorbed in her quiet rituals, unpacking, inspecting, tidying things no one else would notice. She hadn't said where she was going. She hadn't asked me to follow. She didn't need to. That was her way.

And so, I stood there for a moment, perfectly still. The house hummed faintly around me, old pipes settling, floorboards breathing under years of dust. It wasn't haunted. At least not by ghosts. But by absence.

And somewhere in its walls, behind the dust and the silence and the crooked photo frames, I knew this place held stories I had lived…but no longer remembered.

Night came faster than I expected.

One moment the sun was slanting lazily through the windows, catching the dust in soft, golden beams, and the next, the sky outside had darkened into a deep, bluish ink. Shadows crept across the floors, stretching into the corners like fingers searching for something lost.

I hadn't moved. I was still standing in the hallway, staring at the wall.

Not looking at it. Not thinking. Just…staring. The way you do when your body forgets it's supposed to do something else. It felt like the house had stopped with me. Like time, too, had curled up in a corner and gone quiet.

Eventually, I heard the crunch of tires outside. The front door creaked open, and my father returned, along with the man I still couldn't place. Our host, or guest, or relative.

Now that I looked more closely, something about him tugged at a thread in my mind. His eyes, maybe. Or the shape of his smile when he laughed at one of my father's dry jokes. He looked…like my mother.

Could they be siblings? But their hair color couldn't be more different. The question passed through me like a breeze through a screen, brief and without weight. I didn't care enough to ask.

We sat together for dinner. The four of us. At a square wooden table that had clearly seen better years, its surface full of knife marks and heat stains, with one leg shorter than the others. The food was simple. Rice, something boiled, something green. The kind of meal that filled your stomach but left your memory untouched.

Conversation drifted around me like wind through leaves. My father spoke with that quiet certainty of his, my mother added small comments in her calm, controlled tone. The man laughed often, louder than anyone else, as if trying to fill the room with something light.

I chewed, swallowed, nodded when expected.

Then dinner ended. Plates were stacked, cutlery clattered into the sink, and the adults fell back into their hushed rituals, retreating into themselves like folding chairs.

My mother guided me down the hallway to a room near the back of the house.

The room was small. Sparse. A square of sunlight had long faded from the wooden floorboards. There was a bed in the corner, short and narrow. A dresser with chipped paint. A single chair with one leg uneven. Everything looked frozen, like it had waited years for someone to return and remember it.

Mother had already changed the sheets, bright white fabric still wrinkled from the package. As she smoothed them down, the dust caught in the air again, stirring like ghosts shaken from the furniture.

I sneezed. Once, then twice more. She smiled faintly. "Still allergic to dust." She said, more to herself than to me. But I survived.

She left after that, quiet as ever. I changed into my clothes for bed, climbed under the too-stiff covers, and stared at the ceiling. The light had been turned off, but a dim orange glow came from the hallway. Just enough to shape the darkness into vague suggestions of corners and forgotten toys.

Finally, it was time to sleep. And yet…it didn't come easily.

The bed creaked faintly beneath me each time I shifted. The sheets were clean, but too crisp, unfamiliar. The pillow too high. The mattress too thin. The silence too heavy.

Outside the window, the night pressed in close. There were no city sounds here. No cars. No voices. Only the occasional rustle of dry leaves and the hum of unseen insects.

My eyes stayed open. Something inside me itched, not on the skin, but deeper, beneath the chest. A thought, perhaps. Or the echo of one.

Then it came to me. A flicker. A shape. I got out of bed.

The floor was cold under my feet, even in spring. The house had that sort of stillness that felt like it might never wake up again.

I padded quietly down the hallway, the soft glow from the kitchen light barely enough to guide me. The voices were gone now. The adults had retreated into their rooms or their thoughts, but I found my mother sitting alone near the sink.

She didn't notice me at first.

"Playground?" I asked, quietly. My voice broke the silence like a pebble dropped into still water.

She blinked, startled slightly, and turned toward me. Her expression softened, but only for a second. Then it shifted into something tighter. Concern. Tension. Maybe guilt.

"It's too late, ███████." She said. My name hung in the air like a misplaced object.

"Tomorrow?" I said, voice barely more than breath.

She hesitated. Her mouth opened, then closed. Her eyes flicked toward the window, then the hallway behind me. "Uh… I think it might be better if we don't go."

Her voice was careful. Too careful. Like she was choosing each word through a minefield. She was preoccupied. More than that: worried.

Something had changed since dinner. Something had passed between her, my father, and that man in their quiet conversation. I hadn't been meant to hear it, but I saw it in her posture now. Her shoulders sat higher, tense. Her fingers kept twitching against the edge of the table, as if testing their own nerves.

Maybe they learned something. Maybe there was something about that city, something they didn't want me near.

I didn't push her. I never did. I turned around without another word, the floor creaking softly under me as I made my way back to my bedroom. The door closed behind me with a faint click.

I climbed back into bed, the room just as cold, the shadows just as restless. Somewhere in that silent house, something had shifted.

May 15, 2013

Day 1

The clock had struck 3:00 AM.

By then, I had already fallen into sleep, deep, silent, dreamless. The kind of sleep that wraps itself around you like a heavy blanket and doesn't let go. All the lights in the house were off. The halls had gone still. No footsteps. No voices. Only the occasional creak of wood settling, the breath of an old house exhaling into darkness.

And then my eyes opened. Not from a nightmare. Not from fear. But because I had heard something. Soft. Distant. A melody. A lullaby. Not sung in words, but hummed, low, slow, and tender, as if drifting through the air from somewhere far beyond the edge of sleep.

It wasn't coming from inside the house. I knew that instantly. It was outside.

I sat up, still half in the grip of slumber, but my body moved on its own. I didn't question it. I didn't hesitate. Something was calling.

I slipped out of bed and padded across the floor in silence. My fingers found the handle of the window and turned it gently. It creaked, just once, soft and long, and then the wind met me.

Beyond the glass lay the narrow shared balcony of the second floor. I stepped out, bare feet against the cool stone, my breath catching in my throat. The lullaby floated on the wind, distant but unmistakable. A haunting tune, filled with something…sorrowful. Familiar.

I didn't pause. I climbed over the low railing and dropped carefully onto the garage roof, my landing cushioned by instinct and adrenaline. The tiles shifted beneath me with faint clinks, brittle beneath the weight of a ten-year-old boy. But I didn't slip. I didn't fall.

There were two cars parked beneath. That was good. It meant I had a path.

I crouched low, balancing my steps, and moved to the edge. Then, carefully, very carefully, I dropped from the roof onto the hood of the nearest car. My feet touched it with practiced quiet, the metal dipping slightly under my weight.

I held my breath, waiting. No alarm. Just the hum of night and the lullaby threading itself through the silence. From there, I slid down the side of the car and landed softly on the concrete floor.

The garage was dark, but I knew where the gate was, the wide wooden one, heavy as a coffin lid. I ran to it, every movement deliberate. My hands met the splintered wood and pushed. At first, it didn't budge. But I didn't stop. I pushed again, harder, and this time, the old gate groaned. The chains that bound it rattled and strained, protesting the effort, but something gave. Just enough.

Just wide enough for a child to slip through. I slipped through the loosened gap and squeezed into the night beyond.

The air outside felt different. Not cold, not warm. But awake. The lullaby was clearer now. Like it had been waiting for me. So, I followed it. Barefoot, breathless, and pulled by something older than memory.

It took a long time to cross the district.

The streets wound on in quiet disrepair, their pavement cracked and patched, littered with forgotten objects and the echoes of lives lived small and close to the ground. Rusted fences leaned sideways. Empty clotheslines hung limp in the still air. Every house I passed was dark, their windows shuttered or curtained tight. No voices. No flickers of television light. No barking dogs.

It felt like the world had gone to sleep and forgotten to wake up. But something kept pulling me forward.

The lullaby still hummed through the air, faint but unwavering. Always a few steps ahead. Not louder. Not closer. Just constant. What called me was not within the district's tangled maze of alleys and cinderblock homes. It was further. Beyond.

Eventually, the narrow roads gave way to a break in the buildings, and I found myself standing at the edge of the old railroad tracks.

They cut through the land like a scar, slicing straight across the district's outer rim. Overgrown with weeds. The wooden ties splintered, warped. Iron rails rusted to a dull brown red.

I knew, without needing to be told, that these tracks hadn't seen a train in years. Maybe half a decade. They had been abandoned. Just like so many things that weren't supposed to be. Still, I stepped onto them.

My feet touched the rail, then the gravel, and I began to walk. The rhythm of my steps fell in line with the distant hum of the lullaby, like we were both moving along a path laid out long ago. The journey stretched.

The tracks wound through silent roads and under flickering streetlights. Abandoned telephone poles stood like crooked sentinels. The buildings here were fewer, older, washed in shades of gray and shadow.

And then I saw them. Police cars.

They were parked at distant intersections or slowly creeping through side roads, their headlights off, engines barely murmuring. Ghostlike. Searching.

It was then that I realized something was wrong with this town. Not in the way children often imagine danger, but in a quieter, colder way, like the town itself had rules everyone knew about.

Curfew. That word rose in my mind uninvited. I didn't remember hearing it, but it made sense. It fit.

And suddenly I understood I wasn't supposed to be out here. Not just because it was late. Because something was happening in this town during the night.

So, I moved carefully. Ducking behind bushes, crouching low when headlights appeared in the distance. Once, I pressed myself flat against the damp wall of a loading dock, holding my breath while a police cruiser rolled silently past, windows dark.

They weren't looking for me specifically. They were just making sure that no one was in danger.

Then, after what must have been nearly an hour of walking, maybe more, I reached it. The source of the song. The playground. The very same one we had passed by in the car earlier that day. I recognized it immediately, even in the dark.

It sat near the edge of a wide plaza, quiet and perfectly still. Rusted swings hanging motionless. A crooked slide that leaned slightly to one side. Faded paint clung to the play structures in patches, like old skin peeling off.

By day, it had looked ordinary. Empty.

Now, under the pale silver light of the full moon, it felt…different. Waiting. As if it had always been meant for this moment, and for me.

The lullaby floated through the air like mist, curling around the metal bars and crumbling wood chips. The sound came from nowhere and everywhere, like the playground itself was humming in its sleep.

I stepped closer.

Every teaching I had, every rule, every quiet warning whispered to me as a child, told me to turn back. To go home. But I didn't. I couldn't.

The melody was impossibly familiar. Not like a song I'd heard before, but like something buried deep in my bones. Something that had been sung to me a very, very long time ago.

Each note stirred a ripple in the still water of my memory, gentle, but insistent. I crossed the plaza, my footsteps silent against the cracked stone. I passed a rusted merry-go-round, its colors faded into shades of ash. A seesaw that creaked gently in the breeze, even though the air had gone still.

I walked toward the swings. And then I stopped.

Because there, right there, was a single swing, swaying ever so slightly, though no wind stirred.

Its motion was slow. Gentle. Almost reverent. It rocked in perfect time with the lullaby, as though the melody itself had hands, pushing it back and forth in a cradle's rhythm. And then I saw her.

She had been there all along. Not hidden. Not hiding. Just…present, in a way that felt impossible to notice until it was too late. Not a ghost. Not a trick of the light. Not a dream stitched together by my half-sleeping mind.

No. She was real. Solid. Tangible. Moving through the half-lit gloom with a quiet grace that made the night seem softer around her.

The girl with black diamond eyes.

One hand lightly brushing the frayed chain, her fingers glinting like shadows on silver. Her posture was calm, unbothered. As if she had always belonged there, woven into the bones of this playground, humming its song through the silence of years.

She turned slowly. And then our eyes met.

Those eyes, those impossible eyes. Deep black but glimmering like gems in moonlight. Not hollow. Not cold. But ancient. Endless. Not with the weight of time, but with the weight of knowing. Of seeing things others couldn't. Of remembering what others forgot.

And at that moment, the lullaby stopped. Not abruptly, not broken. Just…concluded. As though it had been waiting for me to arrive before it could rest.

We stared at each other for what felt like a long, breathless eternity.

Around us, the world seemed to hold its breath. The rusted swing stopped its motion. The plaza faded at the edges, as if the night itself was bowing out, leaving just the two of us suspended in a moment outside of time.

"It seems like we finally met each other. I've been waiting for so long."

Her voice was soft, but not weak. It echoed faintly, as though it didn't come from her mouth but from all around me. Like the lullaby had simply changed shape into words.

Something in my chest pulled tight, like a string being wound. I took a cautious step forward.

Her expression shifted. Not into a smile, not into anger, but into something flat, unreadable. A subtle, sideways tilt of her head that made the world feel just slightly off-balance.

"Is that what you thought I would say?" She asked.

Her voice was different now. Sharper. Less dreamlike.

She stared at me, blinking slowly.

"Who are you?" She said, as if annoyed. As if she had just realized I wasn't the person she thought she'd be meeting here.

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. She didn't move, but the weight of her gaze pressed down on me with something heavier than suspicion. Not the kind children give each other on the playground. The kind someone gives a stranger who shouldn't be here. The kind that says, you don't belong.

"I—" I began, but I wasn't sure what I was trying to say. I didn't know my name anymore. Or maybe I did, but it didn't matter.

A low wind rolled in, sudden and cold, brushing a fine layer of dust across the plaza. The swing behind her let out a strained groan, creaking once before falling still, its rhythm silenced, like a music box whose key had wound all the way down.

She took a small step forward, her hair barely moving in the wind.

"What are you doing in a place like this?" She asked, voice low, inquisitive. "This late?"

Her gaze didn't soften. It cut right through me. Eyes that glimmered without warmth. Unblinking. Unforgiving. Eyes that seemed to peer not at me, but through me, as though I were a puzzle she was slowly piecing together.

"…Did you come looking for me?" She asked.

I swallowed, but the words wouldn't form. I wished I had more experience talking. I wasn't used to this, people, questions, attention. I never knew what to say.

She tilted her head slightly, a subtle shift, like a cat noticing something out of place.

"Hm? What is that you're holding?"

I blinked. I hadn't even realized I was holding anything. I tried to look down, but my eyes couldn't focus. There was something in my hand, yes, but it was distorted. Wrong. The object pulsed faintly, as if wrapped in static. The space around it shimmered, like the very air was struggling to remember what it used to be.

Like a memory that had been ripped out…and never healed. Her expression changed. She took a cautious step forward, eyes narrowed.

Without hesitation, she reached out and grabbed the object from my hand. I didn't resist. With a sharp motion, she flung it across the playground. It landed in the sand with a dull thud, and for a moment the night felt heavier.

Then, slowly, she stepped in close, far too close, and brought her face to mine, her breath barely brushing my cheek. Her eyes scanned mine, as if reading my thoughts directly from their source.

"Hm…" She murmured. "You've never killed anyone. Those scared eyes couldn't fake it. Too clean. Too raw."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to search my expression again.

"Then why were you holding… Could it be…" Her brow furrowed, and she looked back at the place the object had landed. "You're looking for the same thing I am?"

I tried to speak. Only a sound came out. "Hm?"

"Not that either." She said, smirking slightly. "You're a complete mystery."

She turned away then, walked over to the object and picked it up, her hands moving with care now, not fear. She examined it for a brief second, then returned and offered it back to me.

"Here. Take it. Just be more careful with it."

I didn't move at first. I didn't understand what it was. But my hand took it anyway. It was warm now. Heavy.

"Go home," She said, her voice sharper this time. "It's dangerous out here at night."

She looked toward the empty streets, scanning the shadows as if they might shift and reveal something awful.

"There's a serial killer roaming this town. Been happening for years. People disappearing. Bodies showing up…torn apart. No reason. No pattern. Just gone." She met my eyes again, her tone more serious now. "You wouldn't want to die."

I raised a trembling hand and pointed at her. "You?" I finally asked.

She blinked, then made a face of exaggerated offense. "No! Of course not!" She crossed her arms with a huff. "I'm looking for them, actually. Him. Her. It. Whatever the hell it ends up being."

"…How?" I asked.

"Different from you." She said with a crooked grin. "I don't walk through the city waving a knife in my hand."

She tugged her shirt up just enough to reveal the edge of something metallic tucked against her hip. A gun. It gleamed faintly beneath the moonlight. She lowered her shirt again and leaned in close, finger pressed to her lips.

"It's a secret. If they catch you, torture you, pull your fingernails out…don't tell them I have it, okay?"

I nodded without thinking. She smiled, but her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Good. Now shush."

She gestured toward the road behind me.

"Go home."

May 16, 2013

Day 2

The next day came like nothing had happened. I returned home without anyone noticing I'd been gone. The wooden gate was still cracked open just enough to let me slip through. I retraced my path, over the car, up the garage roof, across the tiles, and back through the window, just as carefully as I had left it.

By the time the sun rose, I was already in bed, eyes closed, pretending to sleep. No one checked. No one asked. No alarm was raised. It was as if the world had conspired to keep my midnight journey a secret.

The day passed without sound.

Conversations flowed like distant water around me. My parents spoke to the man again in hushed tones, voices muffled through half-open doors. Something serious lingered in the air, something unspoken. But no one ever brought it to me.

And I didn't ask.

There was no reason for me to speak. No words felt right. No one had asked me anything. Still, I found myself wanting to. The silence clung to me like damp clothes. Stifling.

I missed it. Talking. Even if all I'd said the night before were fragments. One-word questions. Half-broken sounds. I missed the way my voice had felt in the air. Real. Alive.

The day dragged on, thick and slow. No one mentioned the curfew. No one explained the sirens in the distance, or why the adults kept glancing out the windows when they thought I wasn't looking.

Night came again, folding the town in quiet shadows. The lights in the house went out one by one, until I was once again surrounded by stillness. My room was exactly as I'd left it. The sheets a little less stiff now. The floorboards a little more familiar.

And then…3:00 AM. I felt it before the clock confirmed it. A quiet vibration through the walls. Through my bones. A presence returning. The lullaby had come again.

Soft. Slow. Familiar. It slipped through the cracks of the house like a breeze from a forgotten dream, curling in the corners of my room until I could no longer pretend to ignore it.

I rose without hesitation. The world beyond was empty again. As if it had been waiting.

"Hm?" She muttered, without even turning fully to face me. "You returned here?"

She sighed, sounding more irritated than curious.

"Where is the…ah, there it is." She added, eyes flicking toward the object in my hand, the knife I was holding.

"Well, I doubt you'll be attacked by the murderer. They probably wouldn't go for someone holding a weapon. There's a reason the police walk these streets without fear, even the ones who don't carry guns. The murderer is a coward."

Her tone was cold. Clinical.

"That's why I hide mine." She continued. "I want them to come after me. I've been trying for…what, a year now?"

Her voice picked up, quickening into rhythm. She began to pace, slowly, as if walking along an invisible path she had followed a hundred times before.

"And what do I get instead? Silence. Footsteps in the dark that always turn out to be rats or patrols. Every night I wait, and nothing. I keep thinking maybe I'm in the wrong part of town, but no, this is the pattern. This is the area."

She turned to me sharply.

"What? You think it's weird that I'm monologuing?"

I blinked. Her intensity was sudden. Alive.

"Don't lie to yourself. I don't know the reason you came here yesterday. But the reason you came today is because of me."

There was no smugness in her voice. Just certainty. As though she were reading a line from a book she'd memorized.

"Maybe you liked my voice." She added with a faint smirk. "And now you're ruining my bait, so I might as well make use of you."

She stepped closer, her gaze sharp but not unkind. I opened my mouth before I could stop myself. The words stumbled out.

"It's not… Your voice… Just… Act of talking…"

She tilted her head at me, studying me like I was an unsolved riddle. The wind stirred again, light, but sharp, brushing strands of her dark hair across her face.

"You don't know how to talk?" She asked, squinting slightly. "What is it, some kind of physical thing? Mental block? Or are you just shy?"

Her voice wasn't mocking, just…precise. Focused. Like she was genuinely curious but didn't have time for it.

"Nah." She added quickly, waving the thought away. "No way a timid kid would sneak out alone in the middle of the night. Takes guts just to leave your house with all that's been happening."

And then, without waiting for a reply, she turned back to the swing and gave it a push, just hard enough to send it rocking under the pale moonlight, creaking softly as it moved.

She watched it sway for a moment, arms crossed.

"What am I now, your therapist?" She muttered. "That's hilarious. A girl with a vendetta playing life coach to a weird kid holding a knife. Classic."

Despite the sarcasm, there was no venom in her voice. Just exhaustion, and maybe a flicker of amusement, too.

She stepped away from the swing and returned to stand directly in front of me. Her gaze was sharp again, but not unfriendly. She pressed a finger to her chin, tilting her head as if trying to size me up like a detective in a noir film.

"Hm…" She hummed. "I think it's just inexperience. You're not mute. You've spoken before. You can. You just don't."

She leaned forward slightly.

"But why would a boy your age not talk much? Bullied? Maybe your parents suck? Orphan?"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well? Go on. Help out your very professional, emotionally stable, totally licensed therapist."

I opened my mouth slowly. The words took effort, as if pushing through rusted gears.

"It's boring." I said.

She blinked. "What?"

"It is boring." I repeated. My voice firmer this time. Less uncertain.

Her eyes narrowed just slightly. Not in anger, but in something like curiosity…or confusion.

"Talking is boring?" She asked, straightening her posture.

I nodded. She looked at me for a long moment. The swing continued to creak softly behind her, like the ticking of a crooked clock.

"Nothing feels worth saying."

"…That's the weirdest answer I've ever heard." She finally said. "But honestly? Never thought from that angle."

She gave a short laugh. The first real laugh since I'd met her.

"Still." She added. "That's a depressing reason to go mute, don't you think? You're wasting your voice because the world's too dull? That's some high-level disappointment right there."

I shrugged. "Is it?"

She shook her head, then looked up at the sky, as if checking for constellations.

"Well, boring or not." She said. "Talking helps sometimes. Even when you hate it. Even if it's just to hear yourself sound human."

Then she looked back at me, serious again.

"And besides…if there really is something out there hunting people…you might want to scream for help."

Then, with a flick of her wrist, she gestured toward the street behind me like she was shooing off a stray cat.

"Shush. Go back home." She said, as if the conversation had never happened. "Watch your back. Hm?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small flip phone, the kind that clicked when it opened and always felt like it belonged in another decade.

"What? It's already over?" She mumbled. "Huh."

She shut the phone with a snap. "Forget what I said. It's safe now."

"Explain." I said, surprising even myself with how quickly the word came out.

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Ordering me around already? Cool."

Then she shrugged, as if the explanation wasn't worth keeping secret.

"The murders only happen between 3:00 and 4:00 AM. That's the pattern. Strict. Like clockwork. I've been tracking it. Tonight's hour's up. And time flew, thanks to someone ruining my bait."

She gave me a look. Not angry, exactly, more like the playful resentment of someone whose chess game had been knocked over mid-match.

"Don't come back tomorrow."

I blinked, not sure what to say. Then I asked, slowly: "Talk…more?"

Her expression froze for half a second. It was just a flicker. Barely a pause. But I caught it, something soft, hesitant, passing through her eyes.

Then she groaned, rubbing her temples with both hands like I'd just asked her to solve algebra in the middle of the night.

"Ugh. Why do you have to make this harder?"

She turned away, pacing back toward the swing set, then stopped halfway and glanced over her shoulder.

"I'm going home too, alright? We're done here."

But then, as if her own thoughts were interrupting her, she added:

"...Actually. You can stay. Whatever. Have the playground. All to yourself. Talk to the swing. Talk to the moon."

She started walking again, slow, confident steps, before abruptly spinning back around, finger raised.

"Wait. No. On second thought, leave first."

I tilted my head, confused.

"You're not gonna follow me home, right? That's not your whole vibe now, is it? 'Mysterious stalker boy shows up to stare into my soul twice in a row'?"

I didn't reply.

She narrowed her eyes dramatically. "While I do want someone to stalk me...it is not you."

May 17, 2013

Day 3

"Hi."

She jumped.

"Ah!"

The small scream slipped out before she could stop it, sharp and startled. I'd approached from her blind spot. Quietly. Maybe too quietly. It was our third meeting.

She stared at me with wide eyes, breathing hard, one hand on her chest as if trying to push her heartbeat back into place.

"Don't do that." She said, exasperated. "You could've gotten yourself shot."

"Didn't even point the gun…" I replied confused.

"I forgot, okay!" She snapped, more embarrassed than angry.

I tilted my head. "If I was the murderer—"

"I'd be dead?" She cut in, letting out a shaky laugh. "Hah... As if."

But her eyes still flicked to the edges of the playground, scanning the shadows. Just in case.

She exhaled hard, letting her shoulders drop, and rubbed the bridge of her nose like I was a puzzle she was trying not to give up on.

Then her expression shifted. A flicker of realization.

"Wait a second." She said. "You started talking this time."

I nodded. She gave me a dramatic slow clap. "Wow. Wow. What an evolution. Each day closer from full sentence territory."

"Sorry." I said, though I didn't quite know why.

"No, don't apologize." She grinned, wiping a bit of hair from her face. "This is great. Who knows, next time, you might even tell me your name."

She paused.

"Unless you're one of those mysterious-no-name-knife-boy types who don't even have names."

I blinked. "Maybe."

She groaned. "Was that a joke… Wow…"

Then, still smiling, she plopped herself down on the swing beside me, the chains rattling gently under her weight. She gave the seat a light kick, letting herself sway back and forth lazily.

"Well." She said, glancing sideways, "since you've already tried to give me a heart attack, you might as well stay. Just…make noise next time, alright? A cough. A footstep. Something."

She gestured to the empty swing beside her with a dramatic flourish.

I sat. Or tried to. The seat slipped under me the moment it started moving, and I instinctively jammed both feet to the ground to steady myself. My arms flailed awkwardly, gripping the chains too late to look graceful. The rubber creaked to a stop. I stared down at my legs, unsure what I did wrong. There was a beat of silence beside me.

"…You've never sat on a swing before."

Her voice was a strange mix of disbelief and wonder. She stared at me like she was staring at an alien.

"Of course you haven't." She added, sighing like it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

Before I could react, she hopped off her swing and stepped behind mine.

"Alright. Just trust me, okay?" She said, grabbing hold of the chains behind me. "Think of me as your older sister."

That comparison made something shift in my chest. I didn't know why. It didn't sit right. Still, I nodded.

"Good. Now." She continued, shifting her stance. "Put your legs up. Grip the chains. Stop trying to anchor yourself like you're about to be swallowed by quicksand."

I obeyed slowly, lifting my feet off the ground. The swing wobbled beneath me, unsure of itself, but I held tight.

"I'll start slow."

The first push was gentle. The second a little firmer. The third carried me just enough to feel the wind pass under my flip-flops.

I didn't speak. I didn't need to. There was something strange about letting go, even for a moment. Something…calming. She watched me closely as she pushed. Judging the weight. The timing.

"Now, let's go higher!" She announced like a stage performer, moving behind me with energy.

I felt the push come harder. My stomach lifted with the arc.

"Don't be scared, alright?" She called. "Wait…" She leaned around to peer at my face. "You're not scared, are you?"

I shook my head.

Her expression changed. Not surprised, not exactly. More like intrigued. Like she was seeing something she hadn't expected to find.

"I see." she said softly. "You're not scared at all…"

Then, as quickly as it came, the seriousness vanished.

"Then let's go for a full circle!"

Before I could even ask what that meant, she backed up, took a short running start, and shoved. The swing surged forward with a whoosh of cold air, higher than I'd ever imagined. My stomach dropped, and for a second I felt weightless, like I had left the earth like an astronaut.

May 18, 2013

Day 4

This time, when I arrived at the playground, she wasn't there.

The night air hung quiet and still, colder than usual. The streetlights in the distance flickered faintly, their glow unable to reach this forgotten pocket of the city. The swing set sat alone beneath the moon, unmoving. Silent.

And yet, I'd heard the lullaby. The same delicate, drifting melody that had called me before. I hadn't imagined it.

I looked around. The shadows behind the trees. The corners near the rusted slide. No signs of her. No footsteps. No voice. Just that quiet song still echoing faintly in my memory.

I approached the swing and sat down. The chains creaked softly under my weight. The seat shifted slightly with the wind, or maybe my uncertainty. My hands gripped the cold metal as I stared at the empty swing beside me.

"Boo!"

Her voice exploded behind me, right as her hands pushed the swing forward with a sharp jolt. The world tilted as I surged through the air. The swing swung back, and she was there, hands on her hips, a smug grin on her face.

"…You didn't even flinch!" She shouted, almost offended. "Are you serious?! Not even a blink?"

I blinked now. Slowly. Deliberately.

She groaned, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"You're not fun! What are you, made of stone?" She snapped, pacing in a small circle behind the swings. "Could you be a dead person, a literal ghost? Am I hallucinating or have I become schizophrenic…"

She stopped in front of me, frowning like a child who didn't get the reaction she wanted from a magic trick.

"I had the perfect jump-scare lined up. I even practiced saying 'boo' without cracking my voice. And you just…sat there. Like it was nothing."

I nodded. She tilted her head, biting her lip in thought.

"Huh…" She muttered. "Weirdo."

She walked away from the swing set, her shoes crunching softly over the gravel as she looked out toward the empty streets. The faint orange glow of the nearest streetlamp barely touched her silhouette.

"There haven't been any murders recently…" She muttered, arms folded across her chest. "Your older sister might not get her revenge if things keep going this way."

Her voice was light, almost joking, but something in it sounded made me feel irritated.

"Age?" I asked.

She blinked, not turning around. "What?"

"Your age?" I repeated, a little louder.

She turned, clearly thrown off. "Huh?"

"Age. Yours." I said again, watching her face.

Her eyes narrowed, confused by the sudden question, but after a pause, she shrugged.

"Eleven. Why?"

Something in her answer made my chest tighten. Eleven. And just like that, I felt...strange. A quiet sadness stirred in me. Not loud or sharp, just enough to steal the next words from my throat. I didn't understand it. Not completely. But the number unsettled something in me.

I looked down at the ground. A lump had begun forming in my throat, though I hadn't spoken enough to deserve one. Just thinking of her being older than me…

"Hey." She said, walking a few steps closer. "What's with that face? Don't tell me you don't believe me." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, fine. I lied. Happy now? I'm ten. Soon-to-be eleven."

"When?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She hesitated.

"…Why do you want to know?" She asked, a little wary now. "What is this, an interrogation? What, are you going to file a report on me? You might as well give me a gift or something, if you're so curious."

"Why?" I asked again.

She crossed her arms tighter, then gave an exaggerated huff.

"Because — it's — in — three days!" She snapped.

My mouth opened slightly. My thoughts were moving slowly, but they were building into something I didn't yet understand.

"How is that possible…?" I asked.

She stared at me, genuinely confused now. "How is what possible? Are you that illiterate?" Her tone was defensive, but underneath it was a thin thread of unease. "I mean, come on." She continued. "Nine months after you-know-what, a baby's born. Everyone has a birthday, it's normal. What, did you think I just appeared?" She looked at me again, eyes squinting. "…Okay, fine. When's your birthday?"

I didn't hesitate. "May 21. Born in 2002."

She blinked once. Then again. "…Huh?" She said, her voice flattening. "How did you know…?"

"Since I was born?" I replied, unsure why that was confusing.

Her mouth opened, then closed. She took a step back, eyes narrowing as she replayed my words in her head. The wind tugged at her shirt slightly as silence crept between us.

Then, suddenly, she froze. A flicker of realization passed through her like lightning.

"…Wait a second."

Her eyes widened. She looked at me differently now, closer. Sharper. The swing behind me creaked once, but neither of us moved.

"That's the same as…" Her voice trailed off, but I knew she understood. I didn't need to say it.

Both of us had been born on the same day. May 21, 2002.

"…You've got to be kidding me."

She stared at me, her mouth slightly open, then abruptly looked away, as if locking her gaze with mine for too long might be weird.

"Then forget about gifts." She said flatly. "If you give me something, I'd have to give you something too."

There was something bitter in the way she said it. As if she'd never liked the idea of celebrating. As if fairness, to her, was more of a burden than a comfort. She stood up from the swing, her hands brushing the dust off her skirt. The chains clinked behind her, swaying gently, marking the end of the conversation.

"Being bait isn't working." She muttered, almost to herself. "Not even a whisper of danger. Guess the killer's gotten bored of this part of the city."

She turned halfway, just enough to glance at me again.

"I'm going home early tonight. You should do the same."

And like her… I went home.

May 19, 2013

Day 5

"Hello." I said as I stepped into the playground, my voice soft but clear. I made sure she saw me coming.

She looked up from the swing where she sat, one leg lazily pushing against the ground.

"Hi…" She replied, a little slower than usual, almost surprised I spoke first.

I walked closer and nodded toward the seat beside her.

"So much for giving up this spot." I said.

She blinked. Then slowly grinned.

"…Wait. Was that a full sentence? With irony?" She narrowed her eyes, leaning closer like she was inspecting me for signs of possession. "Did finding out we're literally the same age completely shatter your shyness?"

I shrugged. "So much for being the older sister figure."

She gasped, then laughed, sharp, playful sound that echoed faintly in the still night air.

"You trained only those sentences, didn't you?" She said, pointing a finger at me accusingly.

Her grin stretched wide, cat-like and cunning. "You were practicing in the mirror, huh? Like: 'Okay, tonight I'll say something cool. Something clever.' You totally rehearsed that one."

I looked away, but I didn't deny it.

She took it as confirmation, throwing her head back in victory. "I knew it!" she declared. "Next thing I know, you'll be making jokes."

"I thought that was a joke." I said.

She froze. Blinked. Then burst into laughter again.

"Okay, okay, touche. You're getting dangerous now. Say three more words in a row and you might replace me as queen of the night."

I sat down on the swing next to her. This time, I didn't lose my balance. I had learned how it moved.

She rocked gently beside me, her voice quieter now. "You're opening up fast…"

"You're interesting..."

She glanced over at me. For a moment, she didn't smile. She just looked.

"…Well." She said. "Guess that makes me special."

I had been rehearsing this moment for days, whispering it under my breath, mouthing it in mirrors, turning it over in my thoughts like a fragile gem. And now, here it was. The chance. My heart pounded.

Finally, the words pushed their way out.

"…What's your name?" I asked, the question tumbling out softer than I intended. My voice cracked slightly at the end.

She blinked, then smiled, as if she'd been waiting for me to say that all along.

"████████." She said. Or at least, that's what it sounded like. Her voice dipped into some strange muffle, like her name had been stolen by the wind the moment it left her lips.

I leaned forward instinctively, trying to catch the sound again, but she was already brushing a hand behind her ear, scratching her hair with an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry." She added, her gaze flicking to the side. "Your turn?"

"███████."

Her eyes lit up with a mix of recognition and amusement. "Huh. That kind of fits your vibe, honestly," she said, tilting her head like she was appraising the sound of it. "Goth but related to royalty. I like it. Be at ease, my honored guest."

I blinked at that.

She seemed to know her stuff, there was an almost academic smugness in the way she said it. Like she'd traced the roots of my name all the way down to its ancient soil and found it meaningful.

I raised an eyebrow and gave her a teasing smile. "While angel doesn't fit you."

Her eyes narrowed, mock offended. "Damn. Are you saying I'm more demon?"

She said it with a playful scoff, but there was a flicker of curiosity behind the joke, like she was testing how I saw her.

I shrugged dramatically. "Maybe just a little fallen. The cool kind…"

She burst into laughter, eyes lighting up. "Fine, fine."

"Ele."

The name slips from my mouth, soft but certain. The syllable hovers in the night air between us, delicate like a secret just barely spoken aloud.

She tilts her head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"A nickname…" I reply, a bit quieter now, feeling the warmth already creeping into my cheeks.

She raises an eyebrow. "That's not the part people like to use. Most go for the other half. You know, less confusing, more predictable."

I shrug, forcing myself to hold her gaze. "Makes it more personal."

She blinks, clearly not expecting that answer. For a brief moment, she doesn't say anything. The wind brushes a few strands of her dark hair across her cheek. Then, she smirks.

"Cute." Her voice draws the word out like it's a dagger wrapped in silk.

I immediately looked away, the heat rising in my cheeks betraying me before I could pretend otherwise. My face was burning, and she knew it. Of course she did.

"Well, Ele..." She said, rolling the nickname around in her mouth like a piece of candy she wasn't sure she liked yet. "It does have a nice ring to it."

There was a pause, and I could feel her smirking without even looking.

"But at that point." She continued. "You could just shorten it to L. I am looking for a serial killer after all."

"It's pronounced as Ellie." I murmured, still not looking at her.

She blinked. For once, she was the one caught off guard. Her lips parted like she had a retort ready, but it didn't come out. Instead, her expression shifted, just a flicker, from amusement to something softer.

"Ele, huh?" She finally said. "That's… Unfair, your name sucks at being turned into a nickname. Unless I want to poison myself or something."

May 20, 2013

Day 6

The lullaby stretched across the entire city like a mist, thin, distant, yet unmistakably there. As always, it began the moment the clock struck 3:00 AM. It came with the same gentle rhythm, like breath through wind chimes, echoing through the curfew-silenced streets. And just like every night before, it stopped the moment I stepped onto the empty playground. Why only I could hear it?

And that night, I couldn't hold back the question any longer.

"Is the one singing…you?" I asked, my voice hushed.

She turned toward me, brows furrowed. "Singing?" She repeated, as if the word itself didn't quite belong here. "What are you talking about?"

I tried to explain it, the way the lullaby had first called me, the way it seemed to reach through blocks and buildings and fences to pull me here. I described the eerie sweetness of it, how it echoed from nowhere, how it stopped the moment I arrived. As best as I could, of course.

She listened, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed loosely, brows knitted in thought.

"So…what you're telling me is…" She looked at the sky like trying to calculate something. "A magical, invisible song dragged you all the way across town?" Her smirk was half-mocking, but not unkind.

I nodded.

"Damn." She said. "I don't know what to say. That's either the weirdest justification I've ever heard, or…something else."

I looked at her, expression unreadable. Then, softly, I asked. "Sing something."

She blinked. "What?"

"Sing something." I repeated, more insistently this time.

"Ehh?! You can't just drop that out of nowhere!" She cried, taking a step back like I'd asked her to jump off a building. "With you watching? No way."

"Please."

My voice must've sounded more serious than I meant it to. She looked at me for a moment, really looked. Then sighed, brushing a hand through her hair.

"Geez. You're really not going to let this go, huh?" She muttered. "Fine, fine. But just a little."

She folded her arms, tapping her foot like she was flipping through songs in her head.

"What kind of song, anyway? Pop? Funk? Rock?"

"Anything."

That made her pause. Her gaze dropped to the ground.

"Okay…" She whispered.

She closed her eyes. And then, slowly, like she was drawing it up from somewhere she hadn't gone in a long time, she began to sing.

It was quiet at first. Off-key. Tentative. But real. Real in a way that made the air feel thinner, like the night itself had paused to listen. A song without words. Just a melody. Wistful. Wandering. Hovering somewhere between a child's hum and a memory too old to belong to either of us. The kind of tune you wake up trying to remember, only to wonder if you ever really heard it at all.

I didn't move. Not a breath, not a blink. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. The city, for once, didn't seem to exist beyond the edge of the playground.

And when she stopped, I couldn't help it. The words fell from my mouth, filled with something between revelation and awe.

"That's it… That's exactly what I've been hearing."

She blinked. "W-What?"

"The lullaby. The one that plays every night at three. It always sounded like you, kind of like you, but now…" I stepped closer, heart racing. "Now that you sang in rhythm there's no doubt. It is you."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "Did you just say all that in one go?" she asked, almost reflexively, like trying to cope with two shocks at once.

But then she frowned, flustered. "Wait…that can't be right. I-I wasn't even really singing. That was just… I don't know…humming, I guess. Barely above a whisper."

"Really?" I asked, watching her carefully.

She rubbed the back of her neck, then glanced to the side as a blush began rising on her cheeks. "Ugh…okay. Maybe I do hum that tune every time I walk here. But it's super quiet. Like, not-even-a-cat-could-hear-it quiet. It's not like I'm performing for the whole city."

"And yet." I said, quietly. "I heard it. Every night. From the other side of town."

She looked up at me again, suddenly serious. "No way."

"There's no mistaking it now." I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "I don't care how soft it was. That song, your song, is the only reason I ever came here in the first place." I exhaled slowly, as if saying it out loud confirmed what I'd already known deep down. "I knew it."

She stared at me like I'd handed her a glowing secret she hadn't realized she was keeping. Her mouth hung open for a moment, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Surprise? Wonder? Fear?

Then she blinked hard, shaking off the moment with a scoff.

"So…what? You're saying it's that bad?" She asked, recovering her usual bite. "It just rips through space-time so violently you're psychically summoned to come stop me before I bring shame to music as a concept?"

I almost laughed. "No." I said. "It's beautiful."

Her mouth closed. Just for a second, she looked caught off guard again.

"Where's it even from?" I asked softly.

She gave me a strange look, one eyebrow raised. "It's not from anywhere. It's not even finished. I haven't written lyrics or anything." She scratched the side of her head, almost embarrassed. "I just…hum it. Sometimes. When I think no one's listening."

I nodded slowly, watching her. "It sounds like something older. Like it came from a dream."

She blinked again, eyes narrowing. "Okay, what is with you tonight? You're being weirdly poetic. Usually I have to tease you for like twenty minutes just to get one-word answers."

"I'm trying." I spoke.

"Trying to what?"

"To speak. Properly. So, you don't have to do all the talking anymore."

For once, she didn't say anything. She just looked at me, her expression caught between a smile and something softer, something almost too fragile for her usual mask of sarcasm.

"…Well." she muttered at last, crossing her arms tightly, as if sealing that softness back inside. "Now I really can't sing in front of you anymore."

"Why not?" I asked.

She hesitated. For a moment, her lips parted as if to deflect with another joke. But instead, she sighed and glanced at the concrete beneath her feet.

"Because no one ever liked it when I sang." She admitted. "Not my parents. Not any of the families they were friends with. Not the kids at school. They always laughed or just got annoyed. I mean, that lullaby's just my favorite to hum now, but I used to sing all kinds of stuff. In the shower, usually. Some alternative rock, a bit of metal…" Her voice trailed off with a small shrug. "I guess I screamed too much. Maybe I scared them considering the lyrics…"

"Sounds like they just had bad taste." I replied. "Or maybe the echo and running water messed with the acoustics. Not your fault."

She shot me a glare, cheeks faintly red. "Stop complimenting me! I'm trying to vent here." Then her eyes dropped slightly. "Besides it doesn't matter anymore. I stopped singing. There's no one left to yell at me."

"Why?" I asked, though something in my chest already tightened with the answer I suspected.

"Because my parents are dead, ███████. That's why." Her voice came out flat. Hard. Like a weight dropped from a great height.

"I'm sorry…" I murmured, the words leaving before I had time to think.

She waved the apology off like it was a fly.

"Nah. I had to tell you eventually." She leaned back, staring up at the stars, though her expression looked more like someone trying to find a crack in the sky. "The serial killer got them. That's why I'm out here. That's why I want revenge."

"It must hurt." I said. "Losing someone that…close."

Her eyes slid toward me. Blank, cold, and sharp all at once.

"Don't misunderstand it, ███████." She paused. "I'm just pissed someone else beat me to it."

There was no laugh in her voice this time. No edge of a joke. Just…emptiness.

Her gaze didn't waver as she continued.

"They weren't evil. Just awful. My mom cheated all the time, and my dad… He wasn't blind, but he pretended to be. And when they fought, she hit him. Clawed at him. He never hit back, just screamed like a beast. Like his throat was made to snap instead of speaking."

She bit her lip. "They had their good sides too, you know? They tried in their way. They called me a genius. Wanted me to succeed where they failed. But it wasn't love, it was self-idealization, shoved into every corner of my life."

She huffed bitterly.

"I once asked for a simple chess set as a birthday gift. You know what they got me? The most expensive, wooden-inlaid luxury board they could find. It was too nice to even bring to school. I never even played it."

I was quiet for a moment. Then I asked the question that hung unspoken between us.

"Then why kill them?"

She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

"Because I'm evil, ███████. I just…am. I hate people. I hate this town. I hate the way everyone lies about their feelings and pretends to be kind while rotting inside. I don't even need a reason." Her voice lowered. "Sometimes it's just how someone's born."

"…Good." I said.

She blinked. "What?"

"I'm glad you're evil too."

Her mouth twitched. "You're not going to tell me you're the serial killer, are you?"

"Of course not."

She gave a short, amused snort, but her eyes studied me carefully now. "Pfft. You? Evil? Come on."

"I'm being serious." I said. "Humans bore me. They talk too much about nothing. They pretend to care. But they don't really see anything. I can't even bring myself to speak to most of them."

"And that makes you evil?"

"It makes me…like you. You wouldn't kill your parents without cause. Even if you hated and loved them both at once, even if it hurt, you still came out here for vengeance. That means something."

She stared at me, her expression unreadable, the silence long and strange.

Then she cracked a crooked smile. "Damn. I liked you better when you were just the quiet, mysterious younger brother type."

I squinted. "We're…literally…the same…age."

"Good to have you back, ███████!"

May 21, 2013

Day 7

Tonight, for the first time in a week, the lullaby didn't come.

No soft hum curling beneath the wind. No distant melody threading through the cracks in the silence. Just stillness. Deep and plain and cold.

Maybe she got embarrassed. Even so, I got out of bed,. There was no need for the lullaby to pull me anymore. Her presence alone had become enough.

The streets were quieter than usual. Not just empty, hollow. Like a place waiting for someone who forgot to arrive.

I walked through the ghost-lit city, the curfew signs hanging crooked like forgotten warnings. Not even the wind moved. Not even a dog barked in the distance. Just the click of my shoes, the rhythm of my breath, and the quiet certainty that I'd find her at the playground, like always.

But when I got there… It was empty.

The swing hung still. No shoes in the sand. No laugh. No teasing voice. No silhouette on the slide, arms crossed, waiting for me to speak first. I stood in the center, eyes scanning the shadows, waiting for her to step out from behind the metal bars or drop down from the monkey bars with a sarcastic remark.

But nothing came.

I checked every corner. The slide. The tunnel. Even behind the benches, half-expecting her to jump out with that smug grin. But there was nothing.

No presence. No echo. Not even a trace. The only sound was my own heartbeat, suddenly far too loud, thudding like a warning inside my chest. A hollow kind of panic crept in, something quieter than fear but colder than silence.

But then, like breath slipping through a keyhole, I heard it. Faint at first. That familiar, wordless lullaby. It returned.

It didn't come from the playground this time. Not from the swings. Not from the usual corner of this strange routine we'd carved for ourselves. It was farther. Somewhere else.

Without thinking, I turned my head. The song flowed through the air like scent trails from a memory, impossible to grasp but impossible not to follow. And I followed.

I walked, not out of curiosity, but with the certainty that I would find her. Like my body already knew the path, even if my feet had never touched it before.

The streets began to change. Buildings softened. Concrete gave way to cracked sidewalks and hedges. The neatness of the middle-class district was strange to me, houses too clean, lamps too warm, windows glowing with polite yellow light. It felt like passing through someone else's dream.

But the lullaby pulled me onward. Always onward.

Beyond the houses. Beyond the trimmed grass and quiet fences. Soon, I was at the edge of town. The asphalt ended. Dirt paths took its place. A breath of wind tugged at the trees ahead, swaying them like silent sentinels.

I slipped under a half-collapsed fence, its wooden slats brittle with age. My shoes crunched over dry leaves. I walked through a thinning line of trees until I saw it:

A treehouse.

It stood cradled in the arms of a broad old tree, nestled high above the earth like a forgotten secret. The boards weren't new, but they were cared for, patched in places, reinforced where it mattered. Someone had been maintaining it. Recently. This wasn't an abandoned plaything. It was a hideout.

She was there.

Perched high within the wooden skeleton of the treehouse, silhouetted by moonlight and wrapped in shadows that clung to her like a second skin. The girl with eyes like black diamonds.

Her hair spilled freely over her shoulders, long, silken, luminous, each strand catching the moonlight like it was spun from night itself. The breeze stirred it gently, as though the stars were trying to comb through it with silver fingers. She sat cross-legged in the window, eyes closed, head tilted ever so slightly to the side, as if listening to some distant world beyond this one.

And from her lips came the melody.

Soft. Fragile. Wordless at first, like memory itself learning how to speak.

The very same lullaby that had found me in the dead of night, drifting through the city like fog, guiding me here through every streetlight and shadow. The tune I had thought came from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

But now, it had a face. It was her. It had always been her.

I didn't dare speak. I didn't even breathe too loudly. I stood motionless, cloaked in the trees below, feeling like I'd stumbled upon something sacred. It felt more intimate than anything I'd ever seen.

Like it was only for me to hear.

Not just a hum this time, but actual lyrics. Words. Ancient-sounding, strange and lovely, as though she were unlocking the song's true shape for the very first time.

Her voice floated downward, soft and dusky:

"I was born where silence never dared♪

In a house where the stars never truly cared♪

Others laughed when I fell, cried when I stood♪

So I learned to be quiet. I learned to be good♪

They fought like thunder through paper-thin walls♪

Spoke love with knives and hurricane calls♪

And when they were gone, I felt nothing ahead♪

No sorrow, no peace. Just a weight like wrath♪

I hated the ghosts, but I missed the sound♪

Of voices that cracked but still hung around♪

Was I glad they were gone, or just needed to feel♪

Even now, I don't know what blooms is real♪

But one night I sang with the evil inside♪

And silence itself sent someone to my side♪

You, too strange to be safe, too still to pretend♪

No fear when I told you how things would end♪

I thought you were dull, a shadow, a child♪

Just another human when you replied♪

But now when you smile, I feel so contrary♪

I don't hate your voice…when you call me Ele♪

So, rest where the noise can't find its way♪

Where broken things drift but are welcome to stay♪

You heard my song when the stars withdrew♪

Finding me alone amidst so many islands♪

The boy with eyes like twin black diamonds♪"

She sang with her eyes closed the entire time, as if opening them, meeting my gaze, might shatter something delicate inside her. Like if she saw me watching, really watching, she'd lose the strength to keep going. So, she didn't. She stayed in her own world, voice trembling and true, carrying each word like it had waited years to be spoken.

And when the final line left her lips, she didn't stop. Not right away.

Her voice softened into a hum, letting the melody stretch just a little longer, like the moment itself wasn't ready to end. Like the lullaby still had something left to say even without words. Each note was quieter than the last, fading into the night like ripples in water, until even the humming dissolved into silence.

But not emptiness.

Because in that silence, I felt something still lingering between us, tender and invisible, like a thread spun from breath and starlight, pulling me closer, though neither of us moved. It was as if the air itself had become aware of us, thick with meaning we hadn't yet dared to name.

Then she opened her eyes. Slowly. Cautiously.

Those eyes locked with mine, I saw her without any of the masks she wore when she teased, when she joked, when she pretended not to care. Her expression wasn't proud. It wasn't nervous, either. It was…uncertain. Guarded. Like she didn't know whether to brace for mockery or silence or something worse.

She wasn't looking for approval. She wasn't asking to be praised.

And yet, something in her gaze trembled, like the moment might unravel if I said the wrong thing. Like the song had cost her something to give, and now she stood unsure if it had been a mistake to offer it at all.

But no, that wasn't quite right either.

This wasn't about showing me something precious to her and hoping I would find value in it.

It was something else. Something she would never, ever say aloud. Because to speak it would make it real.

So instead, she sang it. Wrapped it in melody. Set it adrift in the safety of night, where it couldn't be touched or judged or misunderstood.

Her expression wasn't guarded anymore. Not sharp, not teasing. It was stripped bare, all the small defenses I'd learned to expect from her gone as if the song had taken them with it.

I didn't know what to say. I'd rehearsed a hundred questions in my head over the past week, but none of them felt right in this moment. Words would only break it.

"…So, it was true. You could hear…" Her voice was quiet, almost flat, but not without weight. There was something threaded through those words, something that pressed against my chest, heavy and unspoken.

I nodded.

"Did you like it?"

Another nod.

She let out a slow exhale, her gaze lowering toward the ground far below the treehouse window. Her hair shifted slightly in the breeze, hiding her eyes for a moment. "I see."

She turned away without another word, disappearing into the dim interior of the treehouse. I lingered at the window, half-expecting her to close it, to shut me out completely now that the moment had passed.

But instead, her voice called from within. "Climb."

I blinked, as I made my way through the wooden ladder.

The inside of her hideout was small but lived in. A thin mattress stretched along one side, its dark blanket rumpled and creased with use. A few books leaned in a crooked stack against the wall, their covers faded, corners softened by too many rereads. There was no decoration beyond necessity, yet the air felt faintly warm, like it remembered her.

But her earlier order hadn't been for me to just step inside. I realized that the moment I saw her again. She was already back at the same window, crouched low, her hands gripping the frame. And then, before I could say anything, she left through it, vanishing from sight.

For a heartbeat, I thought she'd jumped.

Then I heard it: the faint scrape of her shoes against wood, the muted creak of boards shifting under weight. I stepped forward and leaned out the window just in time to see her scaling the exterior wall of the treehouse, moving upward toward the roof with quick, deliberate motions.

The way she kept her back half-turned to me, eyes fixed on the climb, told me what this really was. Not a dare. Not a challenge. She was retreating. Hiding, too embarrassed by the memory of her singing to face me head-on. She probably assumed I'd stay where I was, that I wouldn't follow.

Her mistake.

Heights never frightened me. In fact, the sight of the roofline above us only steadied my thoughts, gave them shape. I studied the wall for less than a moment before I saw where to place my hands, where to hook my foot against the rough wood.

The boards were cool beneath my fingers, rough enough to bite into the skin. The higher I climbed, the more the ground seemed to fold away beneath me, until the treehouse felt like an island suspended in air. Her movements above slowed when she heard me, the faint sound of my grip shifting against the wood.

I didn't rush. Step, grip, pull. The branches stirred against my shoulder. Moonlight slipped through the leaves in fragments, touching my skin like broken glass. And above, her silhouette paused, turning just enough for me to catch the faintest flash of surprise in her eyes.

"One day you can't even know how to swing properly, the other you can climb like a pro…"

I swung my leg over the lip of the roof and pulled myself up beside her. The surface was flat but worn, its boards silvered by years of sun and rain. The air was clearer up here, sharper, and the tree's highest branches swayed softly around us like dark curtains. From this height, the town below looked almost asleep for real, no shadows shifting in alleys, no faint hum of distant engines. Just stillness.

She sat cross-legged near the peak, her back to me, arms resting loosely over her knees. The moonlight caught the curve of her cheek as she glanced sideways, not enough to fully face me.

"You weren't supposed to climb, you fool."

I didn't answer right away. My gaze wandered past her, over the jagged patchwork of rooftops in the distance. The faint orange glow of streetlamps bled into the dark like smudged paint on black canvas. Somewhere below, a moth batted against the side of the treehouse, its soft thuds lost in the night air. The breeze carried the smell of wood sap, old leaves, and something faintly metallic,, like the taste of rain before it falls.

Finally, I asked. "How am I even able to hear you humming from anywhere in the city?"

Her head tilted just slightly, the shadow of a grin tugging at her lips. "Good question." She picked at a loose splinter on the roof's edge, her tone deliberately casual. "Just to make sure, you can't hear anything else I say out loud, right? Because, due to…being alone a lot, I might have talked with myself about certain…topics." She cleared her throat in a way that was far too dramatic to be natural. "Ahem."

I narrowed my eyes. "No… What topics, though?"

Ignoring my question entirely, she pressed on. "What did you think of my song?"

I hesitated. "No words can explain it."

"That's because you don't have anything to say." She shot back, leaning forward as if she'd caught me in some grand lie. "Review it properly!"

I exhaled slowly, letting my eyes drift toward the horizon before I answered. "Hm… The way you sang was like a lullaby sent by the night itself, something that felt like it had been here long before either of us were born. There was a weight in it, but not the kind that crushed you. More like it anchored you, kept you from drifting too far."

Her expression flickered, but she didn't speak.

"It had emotion in every line." I continued. "Clear enough to feel even if I didn't know your story. I don't know the technical names for the singing techniques you used, but they were near perfect. Not entirely perfect, just enough mistakes to make it sound human. Alive."

I watched her shift slightly, her hands curling over her knees as if to keep still.

"My heart…" I hesitated, swallowing before I went on. "It gripped at every line. Not because I pitied you, but because I could feel how alone you must've been through everything you sang about. Like I was hearing an echo of years you'd never told anyone about."

She didn't interrupt, but her gaze dropped to the roof between us.

"And even so…" I allowed a small breath of warmth into my voice. "…I was happy when you mentioned me. It wasn't just a song about yourself anymore, it was about us. About this strange, impossible thing we have here. This song…" I met her eyes, even though she tried to look away. "…This song was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."

I'd expected her cheeks to flush at my compliments. Maybe a glance away, maybe that rare little smirk she got when she didn't want to admit she was pleased.

But instead, her face was still. Empty.

"That's only because you like me." Her voice cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and sudden. "Anything you hear from me, you'd turn into a masterpiece. Not because it is one, because you like me."

The way she said it wasn't soft. It wasn't shy. It was almost an accusation, like I'd been caught in the act of something shameful.

She rose to her feet, the roof creaking faintly under her weight, and stepped toward the edge. The moonlight slid across her hair, casting her face into deeper shadow.

"There's no definite answer to anything in this world." She continued, her tone gaining force. "Every human being has their own subjectivity, their own bias, deciding what they want to like or dislike. I know my singing is average. Maybe even below average. But because you like me, you dress it up in these…pretty, empty lines."

She began pacing along the roof's edge, careful but unhurried, her silhouette framed by the branches swaying in the night wind.

"It sucks, really." She said flatly. "Knowing that even if you truly wanted to, you could never be honest with me. Not completely. Because you've already decided. That subjectivity, yours, it'll cling to everything I do. The clothes I wear. The way I comb my hair. Every little thing. The same way people have always looked for reasons to tear me apart, you'll always look for reasons to praise me. And neither of you are telling the truth."

She stopped to glance down at the drop below, then kept walking, her voice low but steady.

"No one can tell me the truth. Not even me. Some nights I think I sound good. Other nights, I hate every note that comes out of my mouth. That's life. That's how it works. Everything we judge is warped by something inside us."

Her words burrowed deep, not because they were cruel, but because they felt like they'd been sharpened long before tonight, honed by years of testing them against herself.

"In this world." She said, turning slightly so that the faint silver in her eyes caught the light. "There is no inherent value to anything. Everything is just…meaningless that way. So maybe I get embarrassed when you compliment me, but deep down, I know you'd accept anything I do. You've already fallen, haven't you?"

She stopped walking. Those empty, cold black diamond eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment it felt like the air between us had frozen solid. There was no warmth there, only something sharp and unyielding, the kind of gaze that didn't just look at you, but through you. Like she was measuring how deep the fall had gone.

"You don't understand, do you?" My voice came out low, but steady.

Her gaze didn't move.

"Human beings are made of pride." I continued. "It's not something they learn, it's baked into them. They're social creatures, wired for tribes, for groups, for belonging. And in those groups, they think in hierarchies. Always. Who's above? Who's below? Which ones are better? Which ones are worse?"

The night air stirred, tugging faintly at the branches above, but she stayed perfectly still.

"And once that thinking's in place, every act they do, every word, every decision, feeds that one drive: to get higher. To prove they have more value. To step on someone else's ego just to feel taller. It's comparison that shapes their so-called subjectivity. Not truth. Not fairness. Just this constant, grinding instinct to measure themselves against others."

I could see the faint glint of her eyes in the moonlight, unblinking, locked on me.

"In school, in work, in sports, it's the same game. Beast devours beast. And they smile while they do it, like it's noble." I paused, letting my voice drop even lower. "To me, the way someone looks at you when they think they're better than you, that's one of the most disgusting expressions a human face can make."

Her stare was the same, but something about it felt heavier now, as if she was weighing every word.

"Maybe that's one of the reasons I've never liked interacting with people." I spoke. "They're all playing that same game, even when they pretend not to."

I let my eyes meet hers fully now. "Honestly, I thought you were different, Ele. I thought you weren't like them."

Her posture didn't shift, but the silence between us felt sharper, like the roof itself was holding its breath.

"Until you started looking at me like I was a child you needed to teach. Like I was someone below you. Maybe that was your view of me from the start, and I just didn't see it. Maybe I was too smitten with the lullaby to notice what was really there."

The words lingered in the cold air between us, and for a moment, neither of us moved. Her eyes, those black diamonds, didn't soften, didn't break. They only reflected me back, and I couldn't tell if she was about to speak…or let the silence answer for her.

"Hah." Her laugh was short and edged, more like a breath forced through her teeth than amusement. "So, that's why you were so eager to prove you were older than me." Her eyes narrowed, the glint in them almost mocking. "Aren't you the same? Wanting me to just be the romantic interest of the hero? Don't think I haven't noticed, you've always disapproved of my vengeance, of my own objectives!"

"You misunderstood." I said, my voice steady as I began to move toward her. The roof creaked faintly beneath my steps, each one deliberate. "I never wanted to prove I was better than you. That's something you think you can do. Even when you climbed up here tonight. Even when you sang from somewhere else just to see if I could find you. Weren't you testing me?"

A smirk curved at her lips, sharper than before. "Good. Now you've noticed it. Yes. I've always wanted it."

I stopped just short of her, the night air between us tense, almost brittle. "Then it seems you still don't understand."

Her head tilted slightly, like she was daring me to explain.

"My subjectivity, my bias, it's not about proving I'm better than you. And it's not about lowering myself, complimenting everything you do just to stay beneath you in some imagined hierarchy." My gaze locked with hers, unblinking. "No. I only ever wanted to be equal to you."

"Huh?" Her brows drew together, the sharpness in her tone dulled by genuine confusion.

"And could you stop." I said, stepping closer. "With all this overcomplicated talk, when it's really just you trying your hardest to find reasons not to be happy that I liked your singing?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Yeah." I pressed on. "I liked your singing. Stop acting like it always needs to be some scale from one to ten stars, where I'm secretly lying to spare your feelings. Forget that. Think about it in binary. Either I don't like it, or I like it. And I damn liked it."

For the first time tonight, she didn't have a comeback ready. "...Okay…"

And then I saw it, the faintest flush rising to her cheeks. It wasn't much, but under the cold wash of moonlight, it stood out like a secret she couldn't hide.

I let a small smile tug at my lips. "After all, today's our birthday, isn't it? We were always supposed to be equal. I'll compliment you when I feel like it, and you're free to do the same."

Her gaze flicked away for just a second, then back to me. "Y-You were really cool…when you climbed after me…" She muttered, the words spilling out too fast, as if the longer she hesitated the harder they'd be to say.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Now who's having trouble speaking?"

Her blush deepened instantly. "You fool!" She snapped, swinging lightly at my arm. It was more of a tap than a hit, but she made a show of turning away as if she'd just dealt some devastating blow.

I leaned back on my hands, grinning. "Admit it, you were always trying to test me. To see if I could match you. Wasn't that it?"

Her eyes flickered, just for a moment, before she gave the smallest nod. "Y-Yeah… And your rebuttal just now was another test you won, okay?"

Before I could answer, she stepped forward and closed the space between us, wrapping her arms around me in a quick, almost clumsy hug. But she didn't let go right away.

For a second, my breath caught, not because the embrace was tight, but because of how rare it was. How unguarded. Her hair brushed against my cheek, carrying the faint scent of wind and something that reminded me of rain-soaked leaves.

The branches above swayed in the night breeze, scattering shards of moonlight across the roof in shifting, silver patterns. Somewhere below, the city kept sleeping, unaware of the fragile truce reached here in the dark.