Page 6 of Hidden Echoes

My eyes—blue and green, like shards of ice meeting moss—feel darker than I remember, framed by deep shadows that weren’t there before. They’re sharp now, almost piercing, as if trying to see through me.

I reach up, brushing trembling fingers over my skin. It’s pale, nearly translucent, as though I’ve spent too long hidden from the world. My cheeks are hollow, my jawline sharper than I recall. But then, I barely remember anything about myself from before.

My gaze travels upward, and there it is—the lock of white in my hair, a stark streak against the darker strands. Piebaldism, Paulina called it once, though her explanation was clinical, devoid of sentiment. Father didn’t care to explain it. He only called it a blemish, something to cover, something to make me less noticeable.

But now, it stands out starkly, cutting through the wild mess of hair that falls around my face. It’s untamed, much like me, and a part of me wonders if this streak is the truest thing about my reflection.

This is me.

But it’s also not.

The girl in the mirror is a product of her cage. I stare at the doctor and for a moment I am mesmerized. Her serpentine eyes and heart-shaped mouth are a perfect match for her delicate yet lethal face.

She is beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell the blonde doctor, because it’s true. She is indeed beautiful. Her eyes curve into a gentle smile and I stare into her orbs for a few seconds, momentarily distracted by her reflection.

I can see him, through her eyes.

My little angel.

I catch myself staring too long, my chest tightening with a feeling I can’t quite name. It’s foreign and warm, like a fluttering deep inside that spreads through me before I can stop it.

I’ve never seen anyone like him. Ever.

I want to keep looking, to trace every detail of his face with my eyes—the slight curve of his lips, the way his jawline is just sharp enough to make him seem both soft and strong. I wonder what it would feel like to touch his hair, to let the soft curls wrap around my fingers.

For the first time, I’m not thinking about control, about reading someone to gain the upper hand. I’m just... here, caught in his orbit, feeling like the world narrowed to him and the way he somehow makes it seem a little brighter.

I feel weird and I’m not sure I like it.

“You must be feeling very confused wondering how you ended up here,” she assumes, but I smile.

“Not really,” I mutter. Confusion is definitely not what I’m feeling right now.

I wasn't raised to feel these things out of curiosity. Father would be angry simply for my appearance to show it. And so would my master. But there isn’t much room for feelings when you’ve been molded into a hollow shell, raised to be the quiet, obedient girl with nothing inside. Just empty. Just dead. Feelings were a luxury I was never meant to have—a weakness carved out of me long before I could understand what it meant to truly be alive.

He always wanted me sweet. Lethal. A weapon to be used against his enemies when needed.

But in reality, I gained a completely fucked up brain. Making me somewhat useless to their plans.

I was bored, I always get bored when it comes to business.

“No?” The restless voice doesn’t come from Charlie but from the boy next to her, my little angel.

"No."

“Can you check on her? She might have some after-effects from the accident.”

“I feel fine,” I tell him, and then look into his lost green eyes. They’re beautiful but look tired. “You don’t look well. Can I help you with something?”

“You’re the person in the hospital bed. Why are you asking if I need help?” He looks at me, somewhat amused.

Shit, I have a crush.

Katie said she had never felt a crush on a man. But there was this girl Ellie, who she admired a lot. She had a crush. But sometimes I imagine that Ellie is a made-up person in her head, I've been there.

I can't help the way his confused looks make me blush.

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