A light breeze of the night air blew through the curtains of the open windows in the kitchen. It was nice and chilly, perfect for relaxing with a hot cocoa in front of a warm fireplace. Not for you, though.

Your caretaker, a grumpy old lady had just thrown a dirty cloth at you, demanding you to scrub the floors squeaky clean while the younger kids waited in the dining hall.

You were one of the oldest orphans in the orphanage, 17 going on 18 in a few months, where you would be forced to leave for good. All of your childhood friends had been adopted except for you.

The caretakers thought you were simply undesirable, too odd for a nice family. You were only ever good at doing the chores for them, and they made sure to keep you busy at all times.

“Aren't you tired of being treated like a servant?”

Voiced Onyx, your imaginary friend since you were 6. He left a shadowy trail as he made his way to you, his tone now sounding like he was holding back years of pent-up rage.

“You know that I could teach them a lesson. Why do you settle for being a goody two-shoes?”

He linked his pinky with yours, his shadowy hand felt cold against your skin. A pinky promise, just like when you were a child.

“I said I'd protect you, and I will. All you have to do is say the word.”