Most people had normal fears. Heights. The dark. Public speaking.
Lira, on the other hand, had a very special problem.
Whenever she was startled—even by something as harmless as a moth—the air around her erupted with a WHOOOSH of hair, exploding outward like a lion's mane. Her frill reflex. The doctors called it "a rare lizard-like defense mechanism." Lira just called it embarrassing.
Take today, for example.
It was a perfectly ordinary morning in the little town of Bramwell, where everyone knew everyone's secrets and ignored them politely. Lira was on her way to buy bread from the bakery when—
"LIRA, DUCK!" a voice shouted.
She froze. A shadow loomed over her. She looked up—
A crow. Just a crow.
Her hair exploded outward in a massive brown halo, puffing up so big that an old man walking past actually fell backward into a cabbage cart.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" Lira screamed at the crow. The crow screamed back. Then both of them fled in opposite directions.
The townspeople just sighed. It was not the first time Bramwell's baker had lost his cabbages to Lira's overreactions.
"Y-you really need to get that under control," muttered a boy her age named Finn, jogging over with a grin. He was the only one who actually liked Lira's condition. He called it "free entertainment."
"It's not funny," Lira pouted, smoothing her hair back down like nothing had happened. "My frill reflex is a serious problem."
Finn smirked. "Nah. It's comedy gold. Last week, you scared a pickpocket so bad he confessed before anyone accused him."
Lira sighed. True, but still.
Just as she was about to argue back, the ground trembled. Everyone in the street froze.
From the nearby woods came a low, groaning howl. Something long and bony skittered between the trees. Something too big to be a wolf, too wrong to be a deer.
The villagers muttered nervously. Someone crossed themselves. Someone else whispered, "Not again…"
Finn's grin faltered. "Uh. Lira. That sounded like one of those things."
Lira's stomach dropped. The "things." The horrors that had been creeping closer to Bramwell each night, with eyes like lanterns and claws that scraped on stone.
And sure enough, as if summoned by dread itself, a creature lumbered out of the forest. Its body was like a stitched-together scarecrow, head tilting unnaturally, empty sockets glowing faint orange.
The crowd screamed. The thing hissed.
And Lira—of course—
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Her frill blasted out like a shockwave. The monster actually froze mid-step, startled. Its glowing eyes flickered like broken lanterns.
For a moment, it looked like she might've scared it away.
Then it tilted its head at her, slow and deliberate.
"Oh no," Finn whispered. "It thinks you're challenging it."
"What?!" Lira's voice cracked.
The scarecrow-thing screeched and lunged.
And just like that, Bramwell's most easily-startled girl was forced into her first real adventure—one where her ridiculous, frilled-out reactions might actually save lives. Or, just as likely, get everyone killed in hilarious, horrifying ways.