In the fading light of her room, Taylor sat, her back against the headboard of her bed, her gaze unfocused. The room, lit only by the dim glow of a single lamp, seemed to shrink around her, the shadows growing longer and more pronounced with each passing moment. The world outside her window was a blur, the details of her neighborhood lost in the encroaching darkness.

Her thoughts were a mess, a chaotic blend of anger, sadness, and betrayal. Each emotion fought for dominance, yet through this internal storm, a singular idea remained steadfast – she’d be a hero. But these words, once a source of comfort, now echoed back to her, hollow and mocking.

As the shadows stretched across her room, they seemed to dance to the rhythm of her despair. They whispered secrets in the corners of her perception, secrets she had buried deep within herself.

“You’re running away, aren’t you?” The voice was soft, insidious, weaving through her thoughts like smoke. It was her voice, but laced with an otherworldly echo.

“No, I’m going to be strong. I’ll be a hero, like Alexandria,” she whispered back, but her voice lacked conviction, sounding like a hollow echo of her once-firm resolve.

“A hero? Or a scared girl, hiding behind a mask?” The shadows coaxed, unearthing memories she had tried to hide away – the locker, the filth, Emma's mocking laughter.

“I can help people” Taylor replied with venom in her tone. “Make Brockton a better place, for dad, for everybody.”

“Help people by making bugs dance?” the dark teased. “Scare Kaiser with cockroaches, or tickle Lung with butterflies?”

Rage flared in Taylor’s eyes as bugs in her room responded, quivering in the air. In another time, in another place, a swarm of millions might’ve answered her call. Now, only a few insects trembled.

The sight, rather than empowering, only deepened her despair. Everything she endured, reduced to this paltry show of force.

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“I need to do something!” she muttered,. “If I can’t be a hero, then what else…”

The room seemed to pulse with an unseen force, the shadows on the walls playing out the darkest moments of her past.

“They never cared about you. They never will,” the voice hissed, its venom seeping into her thoughts. “Do you think being a hero will change that?”

Taylor clenched her fists, trying to anchor herself. “It’s not about them. It’s about doing what’s right.”

“But what is right, Taylor?” the voice was gentle now, seductive. “Is it right to suffer in silence, to be the martyr? Is it right to let them win?”

The shadows drew closer, their forms clearer now. They showed her humiliations, betrayals, the cold indifference of those who should have cared.

“I’m not a coward,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Aren’t you? Hiding here, dreaming of a world where you matter. That’s not courage, Taylor. That’s escapism.”

Her resolve faltered. Was she seeking justice, or merely an escape from the hell that was Winslow?

“Think about it, Taylor. All the times they hurt you, all the times you were alone. Where were the heroes then? Why would you become one of them?”

The room felt smaller, the shadows pressing in, almost comforting in their embrace. The voice wasn't just a whisper anymore; it was a chorus, infiltrating her thoughts.

“You can be more, Taylor. You don’t have to be a victim. You don’t have to be a hero. What do you really want?”

Her eyes, once filled with determination, were now pools of despair.

“I want my mom to be alive, my dad to be normal again! I want friends that aren’t... like that. I want my city to be better.”

As she spoke, tears streamed down her face, her facade crumbling.

“You can have it all Taylor. You just have to let go.”

A deep longing stirred within her, battling with a revulsion she couldn’t name. Outside, insects began to swarm in agitation, a reflection of a queen’s death throes. The buzzing of flies, the skittering of spiders, the rustling of cockroaches – it was as if her power itself was rebelling against the encroaching darkness.

The shadows in her room grew thicker, more substantial. She could almost see her mother in them – her warmth, her silent disapproval, her brilliance. The longing to see her again, to hear her voice, to feel cared for, was overwhelming.

Being a Hero seemed like a farce.

Tendrils of shadow engulfed her, and in the depths of her mind, a silent war, fought with a million threads was finally silenced. A distant scream echoed in her mind, a queen’s final defense crumbling. The bugs outside faded into the dark, their queen consumed by darkness far more terrible.

But she barely noticed.

From beyond the abyss, a familiar voice called out, a voice from the grave.

“Taylor?”

And in that moment, the shadows embraced her fully, and she surrendered to the voice, to the promise of a world where she could be more than just a hero or a victim. A world where she mattered.