It had been a year since Lenna lost her brother. She never called it an accident—deep down, she believed she'd killed him. The memory clung to her like a shadow, whispering guilt into every moment. His death wasn't just a tragedy; it was the unraveling of her world. Yeah, the kind of world where things go from "this is fine" to "please, someone, hand me the wine" in record time.
The project they'd poured their hearts into, Gene's magnum opus, had become a curse. The explosion destroyed not only their machine but also their future. The data—oh, the data—was corrupted beyond recovery, as if someone hit the "delete all" button on months of hard work. Gene's benefactor—who had once been her brother's pride and reassurance—revealed his true face at the pseudo-funeral, where they buried nothing but grief. A week later, he came knocking. Because, of course, that's what people do when you've just lost a loved one: ask for their money.
Lenna still remembered his cold, calculating gaze. "All that money, gone," he said, his voice devoid of compassion. "You'll repay every cent." Lenna tried to explain—the machine was destroyed, the data irretrievable—but he didn't care. The solution was simple: work for him until the debt was paid. At thirteen years old, Lenna became a prisoner in his world. And here she thought her biggest problem would be figuring out middle school.
She dropped out of SATEG, her dream school, and was forced to work in his company. The benefactor provided food, shelter, and clothing, but at a cost—naturally, it all added to her debt. The harsh fluorescent lights of the office became her sun, the clacking keyboards her lullaby. For two years, Lenna endured, the weight of the debt crushing her small shoulders. Not exactly the glowing, glittering future she had envisioned.
Then, her mother came.
Lenna hadn't expected salvation from the woman who had grown even colder and more distant since Gene's death. For two years, her mother's icy stares spoke more than words—blame, resentment, a fracture too deep to mend. Yet, her mother sold her neuro-technology company, her life's work, to pay Lenna's debt. A sacrifice Lenna didn't think possible. Turns out, "mom" was just a really complicated four-letter word.
But the price of freedom came with consequences. Her mother's health crumbled under the weight of overwork and financial strain. Though they'd begun to rebuild their bond, Lenna watched helplessly as her mother's energy faded, her body succumbing to the stress. Sometimes, saving someone else means completely destroying yourself, apparently.
By then, Lenna had re-enrolled in a normal high school, though she was behind. Catching up was tough, but her sharp mind—Gene used to call her a "genius"—helped her adapt. To ease her mother's burden, Lenna took a job at a maid café. It was humiliating, but hey, it paid well, and she used the money to cover groceries and bills. Not quite what she imagined for her teenage years, but it was life. At least she wasn't spending all her time wondering where her next meal would come from.
Then, one night, her mother collapsed.
The scene played in Lenna's mind on an endless loop: her mother, crumpled on the floor, pale and lifeless. The ambulance sirens. The sterile, suffocating smell of the hospital. The doctor's words: "Her body is exhausted to the brink of death." Yeah, the kind of news no one wants to hear, ever.
Panic consumed Lenna. She worked more jobs, skipping school to pay for her mother's treatment. Her best friend Erika noticed her declining health and absence, but believed Lenna's flimsy reassurances. Oh, the charm of teenage denial.
Her efforts bore fruit. Her mother woke up, weak but alive. When Lenna sat by her bedside, her mother smiled faintly. "Live your life to the fullest," she whispered. "Forgive me for I've wronged you."
Lenna wept. She apologized for Gene, for everything. Her mother's voice was soft but firm. "It's not your fault. Forget about it. Move on. I love you." For the first time in years, Lenna felt like her mother truly saw her. It was a fleeting moment of peace—until the following morning when her mother passed away.
Lenna's world collapsed. Guilt clawed at her heart, whispering that this, too, was her fault. She dropped out of school, settled every debt, and cut all ties. She decided to end it. Because at this point, why not? Life seemed like one long, unfunny punchline.
She returned to the site of the explosion, the place where her brother had died. A high electric fence surrounded the area, warning of residual radiation, but Lenna didn't care. She packed her laptop and tools, hacking into the security system with ease. The gate slid open, and she slipped inside, the air thick with foreboding.
As she approached the epicenter, a sharp pain exploded in her left eye—the one injured in the blast. Her head spun, the world blurring until darkness consumed her.
In that void, a figure emerged—a girl with pointed ears, silver hair, and dusky skin. Her sapphire eyes shimmered with despair. "Who are you?" Lenna asked, her voice echoing in the emptiness.
"Violet Sylphyie," the girl replied. "An elf. A slave to humans. Rejected by my kind." Her story mirrored Lenna's grief—loss, abandonment, a yearning for release.
Lenna shared her own story, her pain spilling out in broken fragments. Violet listened, then spoke. "Don't give up. Rebuild your life. Find happiness."
It was ironic advice, coming from someone who had given up herself. Lenna urged Violet to try as well.
Lenna woke with a jolt, her head spinning, the remnants of a dream—or perhaps something more—clinging to her like a heavy fog. She could still see Violet's face, hear her voice. "Don't give up. Rebuild your life. Find happiness." The words echoed in her mind, bittersweet and strange. Coming from someone who had surrendered to despair.
She stumbled forward, her legs unsteady, the ground uneven beneath her feet. The fence loomed ahead, crackling faintly with electric menace. Her vision blurred, her breaths ragged. She barely registered the object that caught her foot until it was too late. She tripped, tumbling forward.
Time seemed to stretch as she hurtled toward the electrified barrier. Pain exploded across her body the instant her skin met the fence—a searing, blinding agony that turned hot, then unbearably cold. Her thoughts scattered, yet one image burned clear and sharp in her mind: Gene, smiling as he worked on his machine, and their mother, her tired but gentle eyes filled with fulfillment.
Will I see them again? The thought slipped through her mind like a whispered prayer before the cold overtook her, pulling her into an all-encompassing darkness.
When Lenna opened her eyes, she expected to see the fence, the ground, or maybe the stark fluorescent glare of a hospital ceiling. Instead, she was greeted by shadows.
The air was damp and heavy, carrying the acrid scent of mold and metal. Her limbs ached, her skin prickling from the lingering memory of the electric shock. She sat up slowly, her movements tentative as her fingers brushed against cold, rough stone. A single faint flame flickered to the outside, casting uneven shadows across the walls of what appeared to be a cell. The bars were thick, rusted, and unyielding, encasing her in a narrow space that felt as oppressive as the weight in her chest.
Her heart pounded as realization set in. She wasn't at the explosion site anymore. Nor was she in any place familiar.
Her voice broke the silence, small and timid. "Where am I?"
The only reply was the faint clink of metal, echoing ominously in the dark. She instinctively reached up, her fingers brushing against cold, unyielding steel around her neck. A shiver shot down her spine as she felt the smooth, tight band—a choker, no, a collar.
"What is this?" she exclaimed, her voice louder this time, but it sounded wrong, alien. The tone was lighter, higher-pitched, and unfamiliar. A knot of unease twisted in her stomach as she clutched her throat.
She folded her knees to her chest, trying to calm her racing thoughts. The faint warmth of her breath against her arms was the only thing grounding her, but even that felt strange. Her limbs were thinner, her body smaller, and when she caught a glimpse of her hands in the dim light, her breath hitched. Her skin was darker—not a tan, but a rich, earthy tone that wasn't hers.
Her heart raced faster, her thoughts spinning. She couldn't shake the sensation of being in someone else's body, trapped in a reality that wasn't her own. The flicker of hope Violet had instilled in her felt like a cruel joke now, a light teasing her only to snuff itself out in the overwhelming shadow of uncertainty.
But even amidst her fear and confusion, that faint ember of determination remained. Whatever this was, wherever she was, she was alive. For now, that was enough. She closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and whispered to herself, "I'll figure this out. I have to."