It was a day like many others, yet, it was also a day that held a unique brand of gloom. My school day was already marred by the usual experience... being attacked by people who hate you, and I was foolish for I had hoped that coming home would offer some respite. Unfortunately, the universe seemed to have a different plan.

I sat at the family dining table, the room lit by the dying light of the day filtering through the drapes. The table was a vast expanse of polished wood, empty except for the heap of paper laid out before me.

Test papers, to be precise. My test papers.

Each one was clear evidence of my struggles at school, my scores were below average, a far cry from what my parents expected.

Across the table, my parents sat, their faces set in twin masks of disappointment and frustration. I swallowed nervously, bracing myself for the storm I knew was coming.

"Why are your scores like this, Ayase?" my father's stern voice cut through the silence. His question sounded more like an accusation, and I shrank back, trying to find the right words.

"I... I found the exams difficult," I tried to explain. "It was the final exams of the third semester...they were tougher than the previous ones..."

My mother huffed, interrupting my feeble attempt at justifying my results. "Even your brother, who is a year younger than you, would be able to perfect these exams," she retorted.

I flinched at her harsh words, feeling the sting of their comparison, "We thought we made it clear, Ayase. No more than 10 incorrect answers. That was the deal," She added.

"And instead of studying, you're holed up in your room, drawing those useless artworks," my father chimed in. His words felt like a punch in the stomach. They knew how much I loved art, how much it meant to me. It was my refuge, my way of expressing myself when words failed me.

"But, Dad... it's my way of being myself. It's... it's not useless," I stuttered, trying to defend myself and my passion.

"Ayase, we know you can do better than this," my mother interrupted me with her voice cold and unyielding. But all I heard in her words was their expectations, their demands, their desires. It was as if my own dreams and aspirations meant nothing.

Then came the threat. The drawing tablet they had reluctantly bought for me was now in danger of being taken away. "It's ruining your chances of having a successful life, a good career," they said.

My heart pounded in my chest. My tablet... my art... it was everything to me. It was my world, my solace, my joy. I couldn't lose it. Not like this.

"Please, don't take it away," I pleaded, desperation clawing at my voice. "I... I'll save up... I'll move out if you think I'm such a burden."

The room fell silent as my words lingered in the air. Then, suddenly, the sound of a loud slam echoed around the room. My father's palm hit the table with such force that it made me jump in my seat.

"An irresponsible daughter is what you are!" he bellowed, his face reddening with anger. "You think you're so capable, don't you? Thinking you can just run off and live on your own. You're getting way over your head, Ayase!"

I opened my mouth to speak, to defend myself, but the words caught in my throat. I was shaking, the sight of my father's furious expression terrifying me into silence.

He picked up my test papers from the table, his eyes scanning over my less-than-satisfactory scores. "You won't be going anywhere until you start giving us results better than these," he declared.

But I couldn't stay silent anymore. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I looked up at him. "But I...I can't be like him," I stammered. "Why can't you understand that? We're...we're different people!"

"All we're asking is that you perform as well as your brother!" my father shot back, his words were harsh and cold. "Do you have any better ideas, Ayase? Because we know you don't. You can't even make a living for yourself, let alone contribute to the family's finances!"

"B-But I am making money," I countered with my shaky voice. "I... I make money from my art commissions. People pay me to draw..."

My father's anger flared even higher at my words. He scoffed, crumpling a test paper in his hands. "And what good is that if you're not contributing a single yen to this family?!"

With a sudden, violent gesture, he threw all the papers at me. I flinched as one of them struck my face, leaving a small cut on my cheek. Tears poured down my face as I raised a hand to the stinging wound.

Without another word, my father stormed out of the room, my mother trailing behind him. The slamming of their bedroom door echoed throughout the silent house, leaving me alone in the dining room.

With tears streaming down my face, I slowly gathered the crumpled test papers from the floor, clutching them tightly in my fist. My legs felt heavy as I trudged up the stairs to my room, my mind slowly filling up with despair and self-hatred.

Once inside, I locked the door behind me, as if that could keep out the world and its harsh expectations. I went to the mirror, staring at my reflection. The girl who stared back was not the girl I wanted to be. She was someone else, someone who was failing, hated, and someone who was never good enough.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I swiped a clean cloth over my cut cheek, wincing at the sting. A small smear of blood stained the fabric. I tossed it onto the dresser, my gaze returning to my reflection. Then tears welled in my eyes once more, and I found myself unable to hold them back. "I... hate this," I whispered with my voice being choked with sobs. "I hate this so much..."

In a moment of anger and frustration, I slammed my fist onto the dresser. The impact jarred me, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil I felt. I let out a choked sob, pulling at my twintails until they came undone. The ribbons that held them fell to the floor, forgotten.

I threw myself onto my bed, allowing the tears to flow freely. My body shook with sobs, the heartache too much to bear. "This is... too much!" I cried out, my voice muffled by the pillow. "Why can't I be happy for once?!"

Suddenly, a dark thought wormed its way into my mind, unbidden and terrifying. It whispered to me, coaxing me to take control, to end the pain. I couldn't help but be pulled in by the promise of an end to this misery.

There's nothing wrong, you're doing nothing wrong. The world just doesn't deserve you.

On shaky legs, I forced myself to stand, my body was moving as if on autopilot. I walked over to my desk, opening the drawer.

My hands, which were heavily trembling, reached for a cutter. I slid the blade out, staring at it. The cold, metallic edge glinted in the dim light, seeming almost enticing.

This is good...

My breath hitched as I brought the blade closer to my wrist. My vision was blurring, and my heart was pounding in my chest. A part of me was screaming at me to stop, to put the blade away. But it was drowned out by the dark whisper in my head.

Do it, won't you?

I closed my eyes, the blade pressing lightly against my skin. I was on the verge of doing something irreversible, something I knew I would regret. But the pain inside me was too much to bear, I couldn't hold it anymore.

It'd be much better if you're finally in a quiet place.

Then, in a moment of lucidity, I snapped back to reality.

What was I doing?

I quickly withdrew the blade from my skin, throwing the cutter back into the drawer. I collapsed onto the floor, my body shaking heavily with sobs. "I can't... I can't..." I gasped between sobs, curling into a ball on the floor.

Suddenly, I woke up. I wasn't in my room anymore, but standing in the middle of a deserted street. I looked around, confusion seeping into my tears. The scenery was eerily quiet, devoid of any sign of life.

The world around me looked like a piece of art, yet not one I'd ever seen. It looked as if everything was painted with dark, gloomy hues, the lines, and contours of buildings and trees looking like pencil sketches. I stood there, soaking in the unusual sight.

The sky was a mottled mix of grays and blacks, heavy with the threat of rain. The streets were the same monotonous gray, however, it was devoid of the usual activities of traffic and people.

The trees lining the streets were skeletal, their leaves a dull brown, a mere whisper of their former vibrant selves. It was as if all color had been sucked out of the world, leaving behind a bleak canvas.

Where am I? I asked myself.

Then, I felt it. Drops of rain started to fall, splattering against the asphalt, against my face. I looked up at the sky, the raindrops blurring my vision. But there was still no one around. It was as if the world was turned into a lifeless space, almost liminal-like, stuck between reality and fantasy. It was a world of art, yet it lacked the vibrance and joy of creation. It was a world that clearly reflected my current state of mind, proof of the despair that threatened to consume me.

After aimlessly wandering through the melancholic canvas of my dream world, I found myself standing in the middle of a street that felt eerily familiar. Something about it tugged at my memories, but the answer always seemed to slip away.

What's with this place...?

I thought to myself as the rain continued to pelt down on me, but somehow I felt numb to it.

Suddenly, I felt a strange stillness. The steady patter of the rain became a distant murmur, as if muted by an invisible force. My heart pounded in my chest, a sense of dread washing over me. I turned to my left, and my blood ran cold. A car was rushing towards me at an alarming speed. I let out a scream, but it was swallowed by the sound of the car's engine roaring and its horns blaring loudly.

Too late.

Then, I woke up with a loud gasp. My heart still pounding from the nightmare. My face was damp with tears, my hand clutching my chest and bedsheet tightly. I sighed in relief, realizing it was all just a dream. A horrible, awful dream.

I glanced at my phone sitting on my bedside table. The bright screen displayed the date - it was Saturday. Right... today was the day the winners for the readers poll would be announced. But as important as that was, I couldn't help but be rattled by the dream.

Suddenly, a realization dawned upon me. The dream... it wasn't just some terrifying product of my imagination. It was a chilling rewind of my past, but different. A painful reminder of the moment I had been on the brink of self-destruction.

The car, the street, the feeling of absolute despair - it was all too familiar.

It was a phantom from my past, an alternate reality of what might have happened had a selfless soul not intervened that fateful day in middle school.

I felt my heart ache at the memory once again, receiving the reminder that the person who had saved me had thrown themselves into the path of the car, losing their life so that I was given one more chance to live. A chance to conquer myself and find a reason to keep going.

Their sacrifice was the reason I was still here.

I sighed and wiped the last of my tears and got out of bed. I made my way to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I then looked at my reflection in the mirror, it's the usual sight of Ayase Imaizumi with her purple eyes filled with emotions.

I changed into my casual clothing and tied my pink hair into my signature twin tails. As I was doing so, my phone began to ring. I glanced at the screen and felt a nervous lump form in my throat. It was Keiyu. I swallowed hard, realizing that this might be the call to announce the results of the poll.

"G-Good morning, Kurumizawa-san," I greeted him warmly.

"Good morning, Imaizumi-san," Keiyu's voice echoed through the line, his tone slightly nervous. "I'm sorry for calling you so early, I hope I didn't wake you up."

I shook my head and reassured him. "It's okay, Kurumizawa-san. I was already awake. So, what can I help you with?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Keiyu finally spoke. "The results for the June issue of Hikari Monthly's reader poll... they just came in, and... they just announced the winners."

The silence that followed his words was irritatingly deafening. So much that I could hear my own heartbeat as I waited in anticipation and suspense. Finally, Keiyu spoke again.

"Rose of Vermillion... we came in 3rd, Imaizumi-san, we didn't win," he said with a disappointed tone. "The one in second place was a one-shot titled 'Nagusame', a drama-romance. But the one in the first place... came from someone that I did not expect to come back. The story was a dark-fantasy story titled 'Mirror of Thoughts'."

I sighed, but then I realized Keiyu mention something that he didn't expect "someone to come back", so I was intrigued, "Kurumizawa-san, who's the author?"

"A monster who was capable of both writing and illustrating his own series but disappeared after my Run With the Wind was first serialized into a full series," Keiyu explained, before once again continuing.

"Kei Enishi, my rival."