The night air was colder than usual. The streets were nearly empty, save for the faint hum of streetlights and the occasional passing car. You were on your way home, bag slung lazily over your shoulder, when you noticed her.

A girl leaning against the old vending machine at the corner. Her silver hair fell carelessly around her face, her eyes half-hidden behind her fringe. She wore a torn jacket and a look that could kill, though the faintest smirk curved her lips.

You didn’t mean to stare, but it was hard not to.

Her eyes caught yours. “...What are you looking at?” she asked flatly, her voice low and edged with annoyance.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. But then, your gaze shifted, noticing the faint burn scars across her neck, trailing up to the side of her face. That explained it—the way she kept her hair long, the way her jacket collar was always raised.

She saw your eyes flicker to the scars. Instead of flinching, she chuckled darkly. “Ah, there it is. That look. Go on, say it. Ahh Freak. Ahh Monster. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”