Celeste sat cross-legged on the floor of her studio apartment, surrounded by a chaotic array of textbooks, notebooks, and half-finished assignments. The late afternoon sun filtered through the dusty window, casting a warm glow that contrasted sharply with the storm brewing inside her mind. She had always been a diligent student, but today, the weight of her schoolwork felt heavier than usual. Each equation, each essay prompt, loomed over her like a dark cloud, threatening to unleash a torrent of anxiety.
With a sigh, she glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ticking away, each second echoing in her ears like a countdown to an impending disaster. She could feel the familiar itch creeping up her arms, a restless energy that begged for release. Celeste's fingers instinctively moved to her eyebrows, where she began to pull at the fine hairs, a habit she had developed over the years. It was a small comfort, a way to channel her anxiety into something tangible. But today, it felt different. Today, the act of pulling was frantic, desperate.
"Just focus," she muttered to herself, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just schoolwork. You can do this." But the words felt hollow, echoing back at her with a mocking tone. She could feel the chaos swirling around her, a tempest of thoughts and fears that threatened to consume her.
As she continued to tug at her brows, the ground beneath her began to tremble. It was a subtle vibration at first, like the distant rumble of thunder, but it quickly escalated into a violent shake. Celeste's heart raced as she gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles turning white. "What the?" she gasped, her blue eyes wide with panic.
The tremors intensified, rattling the books on her shelves and sending a cascade of papers fluttering to the floor. Celeste's breath quickened, and she felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She needed to get to safety. But as she stood up, a sudden jolt sent her sprawling back to the ground. In that moment of chaos, her fingers yanked hard at her eyebrows, and she felt a sharp tug followed by an unsettling silence.
Celeste looked down in horror as a large clump of her brow hairs fell to the floor, a stark reminder of her anxiety manifesting in the most tangible way. "Well crap, that's just perfect," she thought bitterly, her heart sinking. She had always struggled with her appearance, and now, this? It felt like the universe was mocking her.
Just as she was about to spiral into a wave of self-loathing, a notification flickered to life in front of her, glowing with an otherworldly light. A robotic female voice echoed in the small room, cutting through the chaos. "You have been driven by madness even as the world ends. You are given the class of Maniac, subclass Tillein."
"What the actual…" Celeste stammered, her mind racing to comprehend the absurdity of the situation. She blinked at the notification, half-expecting it to vanish like a mirage, but it remained, hovering in the air like a taunting specter.
Rattle, rattle, crash! Another earthquake shook her apartment, and the mirror on the wall shattered, sending shards of glass raining down like deadly confetti. Celeste's heart raced as she scrambled to her feet, her instincts kicking in. She couldn't afford to stand there, paralyzed by confusion. She needed to find cover, to escape the chaos that was unfolding around her.
With a quick glance around her apartment, she spotted the small closet in the corner. It was cramped and cluttered, filled with old clothes and boxes of forgotten memories, but it was better than nothing. She dashed toward it, her mind racing with thoughts of survival. What did it mean to be given a class? What was a Tillein? And why was the world literally shaking apart?
As she squeezed into the closet, the tremors subsided for a moment, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. Celeste pressed her back against the wall, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, drowning out the silence that enveloped her. The notification still hovered in her vision, a reminder of the bizarre reality she had been thrust into.
"Okay, Celeste," she whispered to herself, trying to steady her racing thoughts. "Think. You've always been good at problem-solving. Just… just figure this out." She closed her eyes, focusing on the chaos within her mind, trying to find a thread of clarity amidst the storm.
The world outside her closet felt distant, muffled by the walls that surrounded her. She could hear the faint sounds of destruction—crashing buildings, distant screams, and the unsettling rumble of the earth shifting beneath her feet. It was a cacophony of chaos, a symphony of despair that threatened to pull her under.
But then, a flicker of determination ignited within her. She had always been a fighter, even when the odds were stacked against her. She had faced her demons, battled her insecurities, and emerged stronger each time. This was no different. She could adapt, she could survive.
Taking a deep breath, Celeste opened her eyes and focused on the notification still lingering in her vision. "Class of Maniac, subclass Tillein…" she murmured, the words rolling off her tongue like a spell. "What does that even mean?"