The days at the orphanage blurred together, each one blending into the next in a monotonous routine of school, chores, and avoidance. Time seemed to move in circles as if the very walls of the orphanage conspired to trap us in a never-ending loop of sameness. I learned to navigate the dormitories, the dining hall, and the outside yard with an air of invisibility. To be seen was to invite attention, and attention, at least from Marcus and his crew, was the last thing I wanted.

Though I had hoped my first few weeks here would allow me to find some semblance of belonging, the orphanage felt more like a holding pen. It was a place that housed bodies, not dreams. Theo was the only one I could call a companion. He wasn’t someone who stood out. In fact, much like me, he seemed content to stay on the edges of things. But his calm demeanour and ever-present smile gave me something I hadn’t realized I’d needed: a sense of normalcy.

Theo and I spent most of our time doing chores together, usually in silence. It wasn’t the type of friendship people imagine filled with laughter and deep conversations, but there was an unspoken understanding between us. We coexisted in a fragile balance, two ghosts drifting through a world that barely acknowledged us. Theo was the kind of person who didn’t need to fill the air with words. He simply existed in a way that made life easier. I wondered what his story was and how he had ended up here. I never asked, though. He never asked about my past either. Maybe we both preferred it that way.

The bullying, led by Marcus, continued. Not a day passed without his mocking voice echoing down the hallways, finding targets for his cruel amusement. Sometimes it was me, sometimes it was Theo, and sometimes it was anyone unlucky enough to catch his attention. Marcus wielded cruelty like a weapon, slashing at whoever was most vulnerable at the moment. I learned quickly to keep my head down and my responses short. Theo, too, seemed to understand this, though he often faced Marcus's taunts with a kind of bemused detachment, as if he didn’t quite grasp the insults being thrown his way. Maybe that’s what kept him safe from the worst of it.

One afternoon, while sweeping the floors with Theo, I caught wind of a conversation between Tiny and Bony Marcus’s usual henchmen. They were snickering, whispering to each other, and throwing the occasional glance in our direction.

“He’s so pathetic, it’s almost sad,” Tiny muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, what’s he even hoping for? She doesn’t care about him,” Bony added, with a sneer in his voice.

I attempted to brush off their words, yet curiosity tugged persistently at my thoughts. Who were they talking about? And who was 'she'—a name with so much weight behind it? Could it be the same girl I had seen by the pond on my first day?

Theo nudged me with his elbow, a grin on his face. “You’re lost in your head again.”

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. “Sorry.”

Theo chuckled, shaking his head. “You think too much, Lumen. You should try living in the moment.”

I smiled, but his words tugged at something deeper. It was true my mind was always wandering, trying to piece together things that didn’t quite fit. The girl’s face floated to the surface of my thoughts again, but I pushed it aside. I couldn’t afford to dwell on her, not when the day-to-day struggle of surviving this place was enough of a challenge.

As the day drew to a close, Theo and I were tasked with carrying some old furniture up to the attic. The attic was one of the creepiest parts of the orphanage dark, dusty, and filled with forgotten relics of the past. I hated going up there, but we didn’t have a choice. The staircase leading to it was narrow, and each creak of the wooden steps sent shivers down my spine.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little dust,” Theo teased as we reached the top.

“It’s not the dust I’m worried about,” I muttered, glancing around the shadowy space. The attic was filled with old furniture draped in sheets and cobwebs hanging in the corners like neglected memories. There was a heavy, musty smell in the air like the past itself was rotting away in secret.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

We set the furniture down and were about to head back when I noticed a small box wedged between two cabinets. It was unremarkable at first glance just a dusty, old box. But something about it caught my attention. A whisper, maybe, or an invisible hand that seemed to beckon. I couldn’t say why, but I felt an urge to take it with me.

“We should go,” Theo said, already halfway down the stairs.

I nodded, but instead of leaving, I grabbed the box and slipped it under my arm. It felt heavier than it looked. I didn’t mention it to Theo as we descended the stairs. Instead, I stashed the box under my bed, telling myself I’d look at it later.

For now, there were other things to think about.

That evening, as Theo and I joined the line for dinner, my mind wandered back to the box. What secrets did it hold? My curiosity was burning, but I didn’t want to arouse suspicion by pulling it out in front of everyone. I’d have to wait until later when the dorm was quiet.

As we stood in line, a group of girls behind us started giggling. Their laughter was light, airy, and full of life, so different from the oppressive atmosphere of the orphanage. I found myself smiling, their laughter a brief respite from the weight of the day.

Without thinking, I muttered, “Their laughter is sweet.”

Theo turned to me with a raised eyebrow. “What did you say?”

I felt my face heat up in embarrassment. “Uh, nothing. Just… their laughter.”

One of the girls overheard me and stopped mid-giggle. She turned toward me with a curious look. “Did you say something about us?”

I stammered, unsure of how to respond. “Uh, no. I mean… yeah, I just… never mind.”

The girl smirked, clearly amused by my awkwardness. “Well, thanks, I guess?”

I wanted to sink into the floor, but before I could say anything else, the line started moving, and we were ushered forward to get our food.

After dinner, as Theo and I were walking back to our dorm, the group of girls caught up with us again. One of them, a girl with red hair and a mischievous glint in her eye, called out to me.

“Hey, you’re the one who barged into the girls' dorm that one day, aren’t you?” She asked, her tone playful but teasing.

I winced, remembering the embarrassing incident. “Yeah, that was me. Sorry about that.”

Another girl, with short blond hair, laughed. “Don’t worry, we’re not mad. It was actually kind of funny.”

I felt a strange mix of relief and mortification. The heat of embarrassment mixed with the faintest hint of acceptance like sunlight breaking through clouds. I glanced at Theo, who was watching the exchange with mild amusement. The red-haired girl continued, “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Lumen,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

“I’m Sarah,” she said, offering a small smile. “And this is Ellie, Jenna, and Claire.”

The girls each gave a small wave, and I couldn’t help but feel a little less out of place. Maybe things weren’t as bad as I’d thought.

As they walked away, I caught myself thinking about the girl I’d seen by the pond on my first day. Was she one of them?

Later that night, as I lay in bed, my thoughts wandered back to the box I had stashed under my bed. The dormitory was quiet now; most of the other boys were fast asleep. After glancing at Theo, who was snoring softly, I reached down to pull the box out from under my bed.

The box was small, ancient, and shrouded in a thick layer of dust, hinting at its long neglect. The lid was sealed shut, but not locked. I hesitated for a moment, feeling a strange sense of anticipation. The air seemed heavier, thick with a silence that stretched beyond the night. What could be inside?

I delicately raised the lid, and the box protested with a creak as if it had been sealed for decades, releasing a musty scent of age. Inside lay two thin sticks, almost like chalk but with an odd, pristine newness that felt out of place in such an old box. Next to them was a small, abstract figurine, carved from a stone I couldn’t identify. The figure was unsettling, its curves and edges forming something both familiar and alien, like a symbol from a forgotten language. It was smooth, cold to the touch, and shaped in a way that didn’t immediately resemble anything familiar just an unsettling mass of curves and sharp angles. But the strangest discovery of all was a folded piece of paper tucked into the corner.

With trembling hands, I unfolded it, revealing a short, cryptic message scrawled in an unsteady hand. The paper had deteriorated with time, making the writing nearly illegible.

I stared at the note; my curiosity piqued as I tried to decipher its meaning. Who had left this enigmatic message? And what secrets did it hold?

The figurine, the sticks, everything about it felt… wrong, like a puzzle with pieces that didn’t quite fit.

Lying back on my bed, the heaviness of the box and its contents weighed on my chest, burdening my thoughts with a sense of foreboding. The orphanage had always been a place of shadows, of unspoken things. But now, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were deeper secrets buried here that maybe I wasn’t ready to uncover.

Before slipping into an uneasy sleep, thoughts of the girl by the pond resurfaced in my mind once more. Somehow, the mystery of her presence and the weight of the box felt connected to two threads of a story that I was only just beginning to unravel.