"CLIMBING. Criss-cross, applesauce. AM I NOT WANTED?"

7:10am

The morning air in Jasper, Nevada, was dry and cool, the kind that settled into the skin but never quite refreshed. The town was quiet—too quiet. The roads stretched endlessly in either direction, lined with buildings that looked worn by time. The desert wind whispered through empty lots, rattling loose signs and sending small eddies of dust spiraling into the sky.

The alarm rang. A sharp, repetitive beeping that sliced through the silence of her room.

Y/n didn't move at first. She lay stiffly on her bed, eyes already open, staring at the ceiling as if she had been waiting for the sound. The sheets were barely disturbed—she slept unnaturally still, only shifting when absolutely necessary.

A slow, deliberate movement. She lifted a hand, pressing her fingers lightly to her temple, then dragged them down to her chin, adjusting her head. The joint at the base of her skull ached slightly. It always did in the morning.

Her body moved in segments, each action feeling disconnected from the last. She placed her feet on the floor—bare, pale toes curling slightly against the cold wood. She remained like that for several seconds, head tilted slightly in thought.

The mirror near her dresser reflected a ghost of a girl—wide, vacant eyes staring back at her, head tilted in that signature, unnatural way. She studied herself for a moment, tilting her head further before bringing up a hand to support it.

"Sheepish nod," she whispered. She nodded once.

Clothing. That was next.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of her shirt—slow, methodical. Dressing was a process, a series of precise actions that she had memorized. Button. Pull. Adjust. Repeat. She moved like a doll being positioned, her joints stiff until they found their place.

By the time she reached the bathroom, the world was beginning to wake. The faint sound of cars outside. A dog barking somewhere in the distance. She turned the faucet, watching the water swirl in the sink before dipping her hands under it. The sensation was neither pleasant nor unpleasant. Just there.

Rinse. Brush. Spit. Repeat. She observed the foamy white liquid swirl down the drain, tilting her head slightly at the sight.

She wiped her mouth.

"Disgusted expression.." she noted, not enjoying the taste of the toothpaste.

By the time she was finished, her bag was slung over her shoulder, her head still lightly cradled in one hand as she stepped toward the door.

A moment of stillness. A deep inhale, though she didn't need to remind herself this time.

"Time for school, incompetent."

And she's off.

Y/n walked in an awkward, unsteady rhythm, her steps light and deliberate. Each movement seemed calculated, measured as if she had to remind herself how to do something as simple as walking.

Her head drooped slightly forward, her neck unable to hold it fully upright. She lifted a hand—pale fingers pressing against her chin to support the weight of her skull. The pressure helped. She adjusted her grip slightly, tilting her head as she observed the road ahead.

"Don't trip, silly." she muttered under her breath as she avoided a crack in the pavement.

The world around her was distant, like watching a movie play in slow motion. The occasional car passed by, the rumbling of engines blending with the soft howling of the wind. People were scarce, but those she did pass gave her sidelong glances—subtle, fleeting. She could feel their eyes on her, their curiosity mixing with discomfort.

She did not react.

A gas station came into view, its neon sign flickering weakly against the dull morning light. A man leaned against the entrance, sipping from a foam cup, his gaze following her as she passed.

Y/n barely turned her head but whispered to herself, "Brief eye contact."

She met his gaze for a fraction of a second—too short to be considered normal, too long to be entirely dismissive. The man stiffened slightly before looking away, shifting uncomfortably.

Y/n continued on.

By the time she reached the school gates, students were already filing in, their conversations merging into a low, incoherent hum. The sight was overwhelming—clusters of people, rapid movements, the sensory overload of too many voices at once. She paused just outside the entrance, adjusting the weight of her head in her palm.

"Deep breath.." she murmured, even though she did not need the reminder.

She took a step forward.

Another.

And then, she walked into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of normalcy—yet standing apart all the same.

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