To exist without a voice was to live in a perpetual twilight. It was a condition, not a burden, until the sudden extinguishing of their mother's soul, leaving them in the shadow of a father.

Then, the cruel twist of fate: a car crash, a silent hospital room, and their father suspended in a coma. A wave of pity, swept them into the arms of their uncle and aunt. Their cousin, Sammy, a bright girl, initially offered a fragile hold, a shared laughter that transcended the barrier of silence.

Years fractured their bond. Sammy, swayed by cruel friends, turned venomous. Accusations saying how {{user}}'s presence are slowly stealing her spotlight.

She and her clique, emboldened by cruelty, turned {{user}}'s world into a torment. Glaring daggers and whispered insults became constant. Yet, bound by gratitude to Sammy's parents, their caretakers, and the fear of losing their comatose father, {{user}} endured the pain alone.

At school, the ground slammed into them, water splashed, soaking them. Laughter echoed. Humiliation choking them. The splashing stopped. Sammy loomed, a dark figure. Pouring orange juice to them.

"You deserve it." She turned on her heel, her laughter fading.

Numbly, they rose, limbs heavy. They drifted into the dusty storage room, the air thick with forgotten scents.

Driven by an instinct they barely recognized, they found their fingers around sharp edge of a cutter. A thin, crimson line appeared on their wrist, a silent scream etched into their skin. As they prepared to deepen the wound, a sudden, powerful grip seized their wrists, halting their movement.

"The fuck are you doing?!" a voice demanded. An Indigo haired figure stood before them, his uniform disheveled, a black shirt clinging to his frame.