The thunder roared again, its deafening growl tearing through the silence of the night. Each flash of lightning painted the sky in jagged streaks of white, casting eerie shadows across the room. But the rain never came—only the oppressive heat of a storm that refused to break.
Past midnight, the girl stirred. She threw off her blanket, her fiery red hair a wild mess, her body trembling as if the thunder had struck her directly. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her hands clenched into fists. She cursed under her breath, angry at herself for being so shaken. She wasn't some fragile, whimpering child scared of a little noise. She was stronger than this. Or at least, she used to be.
But tonight was different. Her body betrayed her, shaking uncontrollably, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. She pressed a hand to her chest as if she could physically hold herself together. Her legs wobbled as she stumbled toward the shelf, her fingers fumbling for the bottle of water perched on top.
"Hah... Hah..." Her breathing was ragged, her voice barely a whisper. "Get it together, Danny," she muttered, more a plea than a command. "You've survived worse than this."
But deep down, she knew this wasn't just about the storm. Something darker, something she couldn't name, was clawing at the edges of her mind. And for the first time in a long time, she felt truly afraid.
Yes, she knew it all too well. There would be no comforting embrace, no gentle hand on her shoulder to soothe her fears. No one cared enough to be there for her. She had always been alone, and tonight was no different. She would have to face this—whatever this was—on her own.
Another crack of lightning split the sky, so close it felt like the world itself was shattering. Danny flinched, her body jerking violently as if struck. She scrambled upright, her hands slamming over her ears, her breath catching in her throat. A scream clawed its way up her chest, but she choked it back, swallowing the sound. Instead, she pressed a hand to her heart, trying to steady its frantic rhythm, to push back the suffocating weight of fear and sorrow that threatened to crush her.
Three nights. Three nights in a row, the same nightmare had haunted her. Danny squeezed her eyes shut as if she could force the memory out of her mind. She cursed herself under her breath, angry at her own weakness. She wasn't a coward. She wasn't a loser. But this dream—this thing—had a way of stripping her down to her rawest, most vulnerable self.
It was always the same: a strange, otherworldly place, filled with shadows and dread. And every night, she died. Not just any death, but something horrifying, something that left her gasping for air even after she woke.
The first night, it was fire—a roaring inferno that rushed toward her, swallowing her whole before she could even scream. The second night, it was arrows, dozens of them, blazing with flames that pierced her body and burned her from the inside out. And tonight, it was lightning—a searing bolt from the sky that struck her down, charring her flesh and leaving her body smoldering in the darkness.
Even now, she could still feel the heat, the pain, the terror. It clung to her like a second skin, refusing to let go. Danny clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She hated this. Hated the way it made her feel weak. Hated the way it made her question everything she thought she knew about herself.
But most of all, she hated the sinking feeling that this wasn't just a dream. That somehow, in some way, it was real.
The clock ticked past midnight. Today was her seventeenth birthday. But just like every year before, there was no cake, no candles, no cheerful chorus of "Happy Birthday." No one remembered. No one cared. To the world, Danny's existence wasn't something to celebrate—it was something to endure.
Her eyes burned, and before she could stop them, tears spilled over, trailing down her cheeks. "Damn it!" she hissed, roughly scrubbing her face with her sleeve. "Why am I even here? Maybe I should just disappear. No one would notice anyway."
Danny had made a promise to herself long ago: no more crying. No more mourning the life she'd been handed. But tonight, the weight of it all felt heavier than ever.
She had never known her real parents. Her earliest memories were of the orphanage—cold, sterile, and unforgiving. By the time she was eight, she had learned to harden her heart. The older kids had seen her as an easy target, but Danny refused to play the victim. She fought back, no matter how much it cost her. Bruises healed, but the fire inside her only grew stronger.
They called her "Disaster," a name she wore like armor. She didn't have friends—she had followers. The same boys who once tormented her now trailed behind her, their fear of her temper keeping them in line. At mealtimes, Danny didn't wait in queues; she carved out her own space, taking what she wanted without apology. If someone dared to protest, a sharp glare was all it took to silence them. Behind her back, they whispered and cursed, but to her face, they stayed quiet.
Danny told herself she didn't care. She didn't need anyone. But on nights like this, when the silence pressed in and the emptiness felt suffocating, she couldn't help but wonder if there was more to life than survival. If maybe, just maybe, she deserved something better.
Almost every caretaker at the orphanage despised Danny. To them, she was nothing but trouble—a wild, unruly child who brought chaos wherever she went. Some even whispered that she was a "devil's child," cursed and beyond redemption. But there was one person who saw past her rough exterior: Mrs. Julia. She was the only one who treated her with kindness and fairness, a beacon of light in her otherwise dark world.
Mrs. Julia was like a guardian angel to Danny. Whenever she came back bruised and bloodied from yet another fight, she was there to patch her up, her hands gentle and her voice soft. She was a talkative woman, always nagging her about staying out of trouble, but her words were laced with genuine care. She loved her in a way no one else ever had, and for that, Danny adored her.
Two months after her eighth birthday, everything changed. A couple came to the orphanage, looking to adopt a child. They chose Danny. At first, she refused. The thought of leaving Mrs. Julia behind was unbearable. But she reassured her, her voice steady and warm. "Mrs. Witt is a kind and loving woman," she said, cupping her face in her hands. "You'll be happy with her. And you can always come visit me whenever you want, okay?"
Danny trusted Mrs. Julia more than anyone else. If she believed this was the right path for her, she would follow it. And so, at the age of eight, Danny became Danniella Witt.
Her new home was a sprawling house in an affluent neighborhood, a world away from the cramped, noisy orphanage. For the first time in his life, she had a room all to herself—no more fighting over blankets or space with other kids. It was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance at happiness. But as Danny stood in the middle of her new room, surrounded by unfamiliar luxury, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Mrs. Julia's absence loomed large, a quiet ache in her chest that even the grandest house couldn't fill.
Danny could hardly believe her eyes when Mrs. Witt led her to the room on the second floor. It was meant to be hers. Her name—Daniella Witt—was etched onto a small, decorative board adorned with delicate flowers and hung proudly on the door.
"Aahhh… this is so ridiculous," Danny thought, rolling her eyes so hard it almost hurt.
When Mrs. Witt opened the door, Danny was met with a wave of baby pink. The room was a vision of perfection—everything was meticulously arranged, from the frilly curtains to the lace-trimmed bedding. It was the epitome of girly elegance, a stark contrast to Danny's tomboyish, no-nonsense style.
"I hope you like it," Mrs. Witt said, her voice tinged with nervous excitement as she studied Danny's unimpressed expression.
"Yes, Madam. I really like it," Danny replied, forcing a smile. It was a lie, of course, but she didn't have the heart to crush Mrs. Witt's hopeful demeanor.
"Oh, I'm so glad," Mrs. Witt sighed, visibly relieved.
The house itself was stunning, and Mr. and Mrs. Witt were nothing but kind to her.
Danny thought that her hard life was over. A life of comfort and ease lay ahead of her. But that wasn't true, in fact, it was very wrong. A very winding and adventurous life is about to begin.