ARIA POV
The bell shrieked, a sound that usually made everyone jump, but today it just blended into the usual lunchtime noise
Kids poured out of classrooms, laughing, yelling, pushing their way towards the cafeteria or the outdoor benches
I watched them from my usual spot by the window in the empty hallway, a quiet corner nobody else seemed to notice. It was a good place to be invisible
Groups formed quickly, like magnets pulling metal filings together. The popular girls, all shiny hair and loud giggles, huddled near the lockers, probably planning some weekend party
The jocks, big and boisterous, slapped each other on the back, talking about practice. Even the quiet kids found their own small circles, sharing whispered jokes or trading notes for the next class. Everyone had someone. Everyone belonged
Except me
I hugged my worn-out copy of The Princess Who Lived Twice closer, its familiar weight a small comfort
It was my shield, my passport to a different world. When I had my nose in a book, I didn't have to pretend I wasn't watching them, wishing I could be part of something, anything
I just stared out the window, past the dusty glass, at the gray sky and the bare branches of the oak tree, imagining them as something else entirely
Maybe the branches were the fingers of an ancient forest, and the gray sky was just a temporary veil before the sun broke through, revealing a world of magic
A few kids glanced my way, then quickly looked away. It was always like that
They didn't mean to be mean, I don't think. I was just… there. Like a piece of furniture
Easy to ignore. I didn't have the right clothes, or the right jokes, or the right kind of shiny, happy energy that seemed to make people stick together
My friends from elementary school had drifted away years ago, pulled into different orbits, leaving me behind like a forgotten toy
It hurt, sometimes a dull ache right behind my ribs, but mostly I was just used to it
The book in my hands was my real friend. Princess Lyra, the heroine, understood what it felt like to be overlooked, to feel like you didn't quite fit. But she found her place. She found her purpose
She found people who truly saw her. I traced the golden crown on the cover with my thumb, the worn edges smooth under my skin
"I wish I was her" I whispered, so low that only the dust motes dancing in the weak sunlight could hear me
I wished I could wake up one day and be someone else, somewhere else. Someone important. Someone who mattered
The bell for the next class rang, jolting me back to reality. The hallway emptied quickly, leaving me alone again
I sighed, tucked my book into my backpack, and slowly made my way to history class. Another hour of dates and names that felt utterly meaningless compared to the adventures waiting for me between the pages of my book
The walk home was always the hardest part of my day. The school, with all its noise and groups, at least offered the illusion of connection, even if I wasn't part of it
Home though was where the real quiet, the truly heavy quiet, lived. It was a quiet that was always on the verge of breaking, like thin ice over a deep dark pond
As I turned onto our street, the familiar dread started to coil in my stomach
Our house, a small, faded blue box with peeling paint, looked tired. Just like I felt
I pushed open the front door, bracing myself. Usually, the quiet would hit me first, that unsettling calm before the storm. But tonight, it was different
The fighting downstairs was louder than usual. Not just loud, but angry, sharp, like broken glass
Plates clattered, not just a gentle sound, but a harsh, shattering crash that made me flinch. It sounded like something had actually hit the floor
A chair scraped across the floor, a long shriek that made the hair on my arms stand up. It wasn't just moving
it sounded like it was being dragged, or maybe even thrown
My father's voice boomed, a deep, rumbling growl that shook the very foundations of the house
I couldn't make out the exact words, but the tone was unmistakable frustration, anger, despair
Something about bills, I guessed. It was always about money, or the lack of it
"I work myself to the bone,Martha! What more do you want from me?" His voice cracked at the end, a raw sound that made my own throat ache in sympathy, even though I knew the words were just fuel for the fire
My mother's response was sharper, cutting through the walls like a blade
Her voice, usually soft and gentle when she spoke to me was now thin and tight, stretched to its breaking point
"Want? I want a life, Arthur! Not just... this!" Her voice rose to a near scream, a high pitched wail that seemed to vibrate in my bones
None of it surprised me. It was just another Thursday night in the Lanes household, another chapter in the endless, miserable story of their marriage
I didn't even bother taking off my shoes. I just dropped my backpack by the door, its contents clattering softly, and crept up the stairs, each step a careful whisper against the creaking wood
My room was the only place I could truly breathe. The door closed behind me with a soft click, shutting out most of the noise, though the angry vibrations still hummed faintly through the floor
I pulled the blanket, my old, faded floral one, over my head, burying myself in its familiar scent of dust and safety
I pressed my worn out copy of The Princess Who Lived Twice closer to my chest, its pages soft and yielding against my skin
I'd read the book five times , maybe six. Maybe more
I could recite full chapters by memory, the words a soothing chant in my head, drowning out the harsh reality of my home
Still, I kept coming back to it. It was the only place I felt safe. Heard. Seen. In the world of Lyra, things made sense
There was good and evil, clear choices, and a path to happiness. Here, there was just… noise
My room was quiet except for the distant chaos downstairs, now a muffled, angry thrum, and the soft turning of pages
My bookshelf, crammed with stories, was my real family. Each book was a friend who never argued, never disappointed, and always welcomed me into their world
My blanket, thin and threadbare though it was, felt like my only shield against the emotional shrapnel flying through the house
My friends had faded into background noise long ago, either too busy fighting among themselves over silly high school dramas or too tired to care about the quiet girl who always had her nose in a book and my parents…
well, they hadn't looked me in the eye in months unless it was to tell me to stay out of the way to fetch something or to remind me of a chore I'd forgotten
Their gazes, when they did land on me, were always distant, clouded by their own anxieties and resentments
I was just another piece of furniture in their increasingly turbulent landscape
The lights flickered once, a brief, ominous dip that mirrored the instability of my home life. Then again, a second warning
The old wiring, just like everything else in this house, was giving up
"I wish I was her" I whispered, my voice barely a breath against the fabric of the blanket
My finger, rough from biting my nails, traced the intricate golden print on the book's cover – a delicate crown resting on a bed of swirling vines
The "her" I meant was the book's heroine, Princess Lyra. She was a quiet, ordinary girl, much like myself, who woke up one day not as a royal, but as a commoner who became a royal in a world brimming with magic, ancient mysteries, and a love so profound it could heal kingdom
A girl who mattered. A girl whose existence had purpose beyond simply existing
I closed the book gently, the soft thud a final punctuation mark to my waking thoughts, and let it rest on my chest, its weight a comforting presence
My eyes were heavy, the lids feeling like lead weights. My head ached, a dull throb behind my temples, a direct consequence of the incessant shouting below
The air in my room felt thick with unspoken words with the residue of arguments that had been brewing for years
I longed for quiet, for peace, for a world where the air didn't hum with tension
"I wish I was anyone else… anywhere else" I murmured, the words a desperate plea sent out into the silent, suffocating darkness of my room
The blanket was warm, a small pocket of comfort in a world that felt cold and indifferent
The world outside my bed was not and slowly, I drifted into sleep clutching the dream of a different life
I woke up to silence. But not the kind I was used to—the heavy, anxious stillness after a storm of yelling
No. This was a different silence. Soft. Calm. Beautiful
I blinked once. Then again. My bed felt softer, like I was floating. The ceiling above me wasn't cracked and off-white—it was painted with golden stars on a pale blue sky
I sat up too fast. Blue curtains hung from carved wooden beams, gently swaying in a breeze that didn't exist
The air smelled like fresh lavender and warm linen. The bed was enormous, wrapped in silk and trimmed in silver
I looked down. The flannel pajamas were gone. In their place… was a blue gown. Flowing. Elegant. Too expensive for anyone I'd ever known
Footsteps rushed toward me
"She's awake!" a woman's voice cried, trembling
A moment later, a lady dressed in layers of pale gold fabric dropped to her knees beside the bed, eyes wide and tearful
"My princess… you're awake"
My mouth opened, but no words came out. My heartbeat echoed in my ears
No. No. This can't be—
The lady reached for my hand, eyes shining
"We were so afraid you wouldn't wake up. You've been asleep for days"
"Princess?" I whispered
The woman gasped
"You remember nothing?"
My pulse raced
I looked around again—the dress, the room, the formal woman with tear-streaked cheeks
My hand trembled as it reached for the edge of the bed. Then my gaze caught the open book on the velvet chair beside me
The Princess Who Lived Twice. My copy. From home
My fingers gripped the sheets. A slow realization curled in my chest, too wild to believe, too vivid to deny
I wasn't in my room anymore. I wasn't Aria Lane anymore. I was the girl in the story
I was Princess Lyra?????