Moira's breathing slowed, but her heart still thundered in her chest. She felt Granny's hand wrapped firmly around hers, grounding her in a reality that now felt more fragile than ever. The room was dim, yet everything around her seemed to pulse with a strange energy, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"Moira," Granny's voice was a soft anchor, pulling her back from the edge. "Tell me what happened."
Trying to open her mouth to speak, but the words tangled in her throat. How could she explain something she didn't understand herself? She closed her eyes, hoping the feeling would vanish, hoping the images that haunted her—of flickering lights, of something she couldn't control—would dissolve like a bad dream.
She took a shaky breath, her voice barely a whisper. "I was-… I was eating, and then suddenly I felt this horrible pain near my heart. I couldn't breathe… I thought I was going to pass out."
She paused, glancing down, as if afraid of her own words. "I found my pills and ran to the bathroom in case I'd have to throw up, but…"
Her gaze flicked up to Granny, confusion clouding her eyes. "When I looked in the mirror… what I saw—it wasn't me."
Granny's face softened, concern deepening the lines around her eyes, but she kept her tone gentle. "Come, dear. Let's get you to bed. You need rest." She guided her to the bedroom, tucking the blankets around her with care. As she smoothed her hair, she whispered, "Sleep it off, sweetheart. Everything will be clearer in the morning."
Once she was settled, Granny returned to the kitchen to clear away the scattered remnants of dinner. The silence felt heavy, as if holding secrets of its own. When she finally closed the door to the apartment behind her, she lingered for a moment before heading to her own home.
There, in the quiet of her room, Granny moved toward her closet. She hesitated, her hand hovering before she reached up to pull down an old, dust-covered box from the top shelf. It was worn, its edges frayed from years of handling. A yellowed envelope was attached to the lid, the inked writing faint but unmistakable. She swallowed, her fingers trembling as she touched the letter.
"To our beloved daughter," read the faded inscription on the envelope. Granny's eyes lingered on the words, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips. Maybe it's time she knew… maybe. The thought weighed on her, stirring an ache she'd tried to bury for years. Memories surfaced unbidden, clouding her mind and making her feel almost faint.
Granny's fingers hovered over the letter before she pulled her hand back. "No… not yet," she murmured, the familiar conflict twisting in her chest. "Let's just… sleep on it."
Turning away, she placed the box back on the shelf, but the words echoed in her mind as she turned out the light, carrying a quiet resolve with her into the darkness.
– – –
I woke up, my body heavy as if I hadn't slept at all. Memories of last night crept into my mind, each one bringing a renewed sense of unease. The pain I'd felt… the way my reflection in the mirror looked wrong, foreign, as if it weren't mine. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself as if that would hold back the wave of fear rising in my chest.
What is happening to me?
I tried to push the thought away, but it lingered, dark and persistent. Am I… different? All my life, I'd been told I was just a regular girl—a "bingen," just like everyone else in the outside world. But last night felt like something out of a nightmare, one where reality slipped away and something else, something I couldn't explain, took its place.
My mind raced through every memory, every hint or whisper I'd ever heard about "hiryoku" and those strange powers they possessed. I'd always thought those were just stories, warnings told to keep kids in line. But… could I be one of them? A "hiryoku," like Granny had called them once, those who weren't like the rest.
The thought sent a chill down my spine. "No," I told myself, I'm not one of them. I can't be. And yet, the memory of my own reflection, the flickering shadow in my eyes that hadn't felt like mine, refused to let me go.
My fingers clenched the blanket as a wave of confusion and fear tightened in my chest. If I really was… different, why was it only now that these strange things were happening? Why hadn't Granny ever told me?
As much as I wanted to deny it all, part of me couldn't ignore the possibility anymore. I felt a prickle of dread, and a question echoed in my mind that I couldn't shake: What am I becoming?
Pushing the repulsive thoughts to the back of my mind, I forced myself to get out of bed and go about my morning routine. I told myself I just needed to keep moving, to fall back into the rhythm of normalcy. Maybe, I thought, if I act like everything's fine, then maybe it will be.
I moved through the motions—brushing my teeth, washing my face, going through each step with a kind of mechanical precision. But the more I tried to focus, the harder it became to ignore the tightness in my chest, the strange tension simmering just beneath the surface. It was like something was waiting, lurking, waiting to pounce the moment I let my guard down.
As I poured myself a cup of tea, my gaze drifted toward the window, to the trees in the distance. The woods beyond called to me in a way I couldn't quite explain. I'd always felt a strange connection to that place, a quiet pull to the shadows between the trees, to the depths where no one else seemed to go. Granny had told me that's where she found me, deep within the forest, a helpless baby surrounded by dangers.
A faint curiosity crept into my mind, mingling with my lingering anxiety. What was it that had drawn me into the woods back then, as a baby? Was there something there waiting for me, even now?
Without fully understanding why, I found myself drawn to the idea of walking there again. Maybe some fresh air will help clear my head, I told myself, though a part of me knew there was more to it than that. I needed answers, or maybe just a sense of peace that I couldn't seem to find anywhere else.
Slipping on my shoes and a jacket, I stepped outside, feeling the cool morning air settle around me. The woods loomed ahead, thick and shadowed, every tree seeming to whisper secrets I was desperate yet terrified to hear. But I pushed forward, stepping onto the narrow path that led into the heart of the forest, determined to find something—anything—that might make sense of the turmoil swirling inside me.