Luna didn't understand the power at first.
After the cloaked figure granted her wish, nothing seemed different. She still woke up cold. Still searched trash bins for scraps. Still curled beneath roofs during storms. But slowly—quietly—something inside her changed.
When she passed by crying strangers, a strange heat spread across her chest.
When she heard arguments, her skin prickled.
When she walked near hospitals, her knees trembled as if the ground itself was filled with pain.
And every time she felt these things, the air around her shimmered with soft pink light, visible only to her. Pain—other people's pain— flowed into her like invisible rivers.
At first, Luna thought she was sick.
But the warmth that filled her heart afterward… it felt like purpose.
She soon discovered something else.
When she hummed—just hummed, without lyrics—those around her relaxed.
When she sang softly, people's shoulders loosened and their breathing steadied.
And when she sang fully, pouring her soul into her voice…
People smiled.
Even strangers who didn't know her name.
Luna realized the truth:
Her voice released the pain she absorbed.
Her body collected it.
Her songs erased it.
She tested her gift carefully, watching how her humming calmed angry crowds, how her singing soothed crying children, how even stray animals approached her as if comforted.
Her power was real.
And so were the consequences.
The first time she absorbed too much, she collapsed.
It happened outside a train station where a man shouted at his boss on the phone while a woman nearby sobbed quietly, her hands shaking. Luna felt their pain like knives stabbing through her ribs. She didn't know how to block it yet; she didn't know how to limit it.
It all rushed into her at once.
A deafening pressure filled her skull. Her breathing grew sharp and shallow. Black blotches flickered at the edge of her vision. Her legs buckled, and she crashed to the pavement, her fingers clawing weakly at the ground.
She thought she was dying.
Her body didn't feel like hers—
it felt like a vessel crammed with emotions too heavy for anyone to carry.
Her skin burned. Her heart pulsed erratically. She gagged on the overwhelming weight of despair and fear inside her.
Later that night, hiding behind a silent convenience store, she discovered the next part of her curse.
She stumbled to an abandoned restroom near the park fountain. There was no mirror, just cracked tiles and dripping pipes. She leaned over the stained sink and turned the water on.
The moment the water touched her skin—
blackness oozed out.
Thick, ink-like fluid slid down her arms, dripping from her neck, pouring from every pore. It spiraled through the water and pooled at her feet like spilled night.
She stared in horror.
It wasn't blood.
It wasn't dirt.
It was suffering—
concentrated, physical, poisonous.
She scrubbed desperately, shaking as more of the dark ink slid off her body, dissolving into the drain with a foul heaviness that made her stomach twist.
When the last of it washed away, she felt lighter.
Not healed—never healed—
but able to breathe again.
That night became routine.
Whenever she absorbed too much sorrow, her body filled with blackness.
And only water could wash it out.
Showers became her only sanctuary.
The place where she cried.
The place where she whispered apologies to the world.
"I'll carry your pain," she murmured each night.
"I'll take it all. I promised."
But every day it became harder.
Every day her power grew.
Every day the world's sorrow felt heavier.
And yet… she never stopped.
Luna began to practice singing whenever she could.
Behind dumpster walls.
Under bridges.
In empty lots at night.
Her voice improved quickly—not because she wanted to be a performer, but because singing was the only way to release the emotions suffocating her.
Each time she sang, soft pink light wrapped around her body, fluttering like tiny wings. After a song, she felt tired but relieved. Her burden—at least for a moment—lifted.
But the more she collected…
the stronger her voice became.
People started noticing.
A shopkeeper once poked his head around the corner and shouted,
"Who's singing? It sounds… beautiful."
A woman passing by stopped crying immediately, staring around in confusion.
A child tugged his mother's hand, saying,
"Mom, the sad feeling went away!"
Luna hid before anyone saw her.
She was terrified of being known.
But she also felt something warm in her chest.
For the first time, she felt needed.
It happened on a windy evening.
Luna had found an old, unused public shower at the edge of an abandoned sports complex. The pipes still worked, though the water was always cold. Tonight, she needed it more than ever—she had absorbed too much sorrow wandering through the city center.
She stepped under the water, teeth chattering, and immediately the black ink began pouring out of her body in waves. It smeared across her skin like living shadow, swirling down the drain like charred smoke.
She leaned against the wall, weak, trembling.
And then—
A voice behind her said quietly:
"…Are you okay?"
She froze.
Standing by the broken doorway was a young man in a clean suit, holding a silk umbrella. His expression wasn't disgusted. It wasn't scared. It wasn't confused.
It was gentle.
He looked at her as though she weren't a monster—
but a girl who needed help.
"I—I'm sorry!" Luna stuttered, covering herself as best she could. "Please don't come closer. It's dangerous—this isn't—it's not normal—"
The man stepped forward slowly, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.
"My name is Aiden Hale," he said softly.
"And I don't know what's happening to you… but I won't hurt you. Let me help."
Luna's breath caught.
Someone had finally discovered her secret.
And for the first time since she lost her family…
someone was looking at her with compassion.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Not cruelty.
Just kindness.
She didn't know whether to run or cry.
But she would soon learn that meeting Aiden would change everything—
her life, her future, and the destiny of her power.
Forever.