Trouble. Always before dawn.

Outside, the desert wind wailed, dragging sand across the palace walls like nails on stone. The air felt charged, unsettled.

I swung my legs off the bed, caught between grogginess and dread.

I reached for the small mirror on my bedside table, letting torchlight fall across its uneven silver. A single fracture cut through my reflection, slicing my face in two. Long ago, it was my most prized possession, a symbol of unshaken confidence. Now, it felt like a window into the doubts I tried so hard to hide.

The pounding grew louder.

“Your Majesty!”

The voice strained, words tripping over urgency.

“There’s been a breach! An intruder was apprehended!”

I rose, swallowing the dryness in my throat.

“I’ll come at once,” I said, though my heart still pounded.

When I set the mirror aside, the fracture caught the lamplight, and for a mome…

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Then comes the thunder, a deep, gut-punching boom that feels personal, like the sky itself wants me down. My Lockheed Electra shudders, every rivet trembling. The harness digs hard into my shoulders, the straps biting as I grip the controls tighter.

The rain is merciless.

It hammers the windshield in sharp, angry bursts, snaking across the glass like something alive. Each droplet joins a furious tide, the hiss of it louder than my thoughts.

Instruments betray me—altimeter spinning like it’s lost its mind, compass swinging wildly, useless. Outside, the ocean hides in the dark, a black void. Lightning spits across the waves now and then, revealing brief glimpses of foaming crests, sinister and fleeting.

I can’t see the horizon. I can’t find the line between sky and sea.

Cold snakes its way through me—not just from the stor…

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Forklifts darted through the chaos, nimble and predatory, their beeps sharp enough to slice through the noise.

I forced another part into place, the torque gun rattling like a beast in my hands. The repetition was a thief, stealing the feeling from my fingers, until the steel felt like nothing at all.

The factory floor, spotless and exact, hummed with its usual mechanical grind. Today, though, that order felt suffocating, like a cage pretending to be structure.

My mind slipped away. It always did.

Today, it clung to the post I’d tossed into the void last night.

People said sharing your cracks made others feel closer. That opening up was the glue, the bridge, the cure. But as the hours dragged me along, doubt chewed at me.

A slow, grinding ache, like metal tearing itself apart.

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Sound vanished into it, like the world had forgotten how to echo. Streetlights flickered weakly, their halos trembling as if they, too, wanted to disappear.

The air pressed down, thick and suffocating.

Every breath felt like a question without an answer.

The sounds of my footsteps were swallowed whole. The silence wasn’t empty—it was watching.

I stopped. Exhaled.

My breath formed a ghost and vanished just as fast.

A chill climbed my spine, sharp and insistent, not from the cold but from the weight of something unseen. Someone unseen. It wasn’t paranoia; it was primal.

A gut feeling that tightened like a vice.

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Just one post, and I’d be back.

My thumb hovered over the screen—frozen by doubt.

It had been months since I last posted. Everything felt different now. Back then, ideas buzzed like fireflies in my mind—bright, fleeting sparks begging to be caught.

Creating used to feel natural, like breathing. It wasn’t work. It was life.

And yet now, it all felt... distant. Faded. Like staring at an old photograph and wondering if that person was ever really me.

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Each inhale felt foreign, dragging through the stale air like it didn’t belong in my lungs. It clung to me, sticky and unwelcome, like humidity that wouldn’t let go.

Movement felt impossible, and yet, the stillness demanded it.

Do something. Anything.

But I stayed curled in the armchair, knees pulled tight, the blanket wound around me like armor that had seen better battles. If I stayed like this—just one more second—I could trick myself into believing I wasn’t unraveling.

That things were fine. Or close enough to fake.

Sandalwood drifted faintly through the room, but it didn’t do what it was supposed to. No calm. No peace. Just stale memories trapped in the scent, the kind that linger like regrets you thought you’d outgrown.

Burning it was pointless.

As if inhaling incense could s…

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Meanwhile, I sat inside, stuck. My apartment reeked of old coffee, crumpled paper, and the kind of dust that settles quietly, waiting for someone to care.

But no one did.

The laptop’s glow hit my face like an interrogation light.

Blink. Blink.

The cursor flickered, smug as hell. It knew I was stalled.

It had patience. I didn’t.

My chest was tight. Like a balloon stretched too far, just begging to pop. I had to nail this. Every piece of it. No room for error. No plan B.

Messing this up wasn’t an option.

Failure lurked, pouring its poison right into my ear.

I shut my eyes, clenching hard, as if squeezing them closed would stop the spiral.

Yeah, no. That never worked. It never does.

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It hadn’t let up.

Through a cracked window, it drummed steady on the glass—not loud, just persistent. Like the sky muttering warnings no one could quite catch.

Inside, the apartment felt colder than usual. Not the kind of cold blankets fix, but the kind that worms under your skin and stays. I was curled up on the couch, knees drawn in tight, clutching an old coffee mug that had lost its warmth hours ago.

The chipped rim pressed against my thumb as I traced it in slow circles.

I knew every crack, every stain.

I’d thought about tossing it before, but there was something comforting about holding onto things that were a little busted. Familiar, in a way that felt hard to let go of.

The phone buzzed on the cushion beside me, sharp and annoying, demanding attention. A message. I ignored it.

My chest tightened just thinking about what it might say—someone checking in, someone I probably should respond to. But even the idea of ty…

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