Elara Moonveil ~"The Girl Who Carries Shadows"

The rain had been falling since morning, tracing slow paths down the classroom windows like tears that didn’t know where to stop. Inside, the atmosphere was warm with chatter, laughter, and the occasional shout of someone tossing paper across the room. She sat at the far back, as always. Elara Moonveil. No one ever said her name out loud—at least, not to her face. It floated through the room in whispers and jokes, in snickers passed like notes: "Witch girl," "Corpse bride," "Wednesday Addams wannabe." Her black velvet skirt reached past her knees. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. Her expression never changed. That was the most unnerving thing about her—Elara never reacted. Not when someone "accidentally" knocked her books off her desk. Not when they stole her lunch. Not even when paint was poured on her bag once, back in spring. She had simply gone home that day without a word. No tears. No rage. Just silence.

Elara Moonveil ~"The Girl Who Carries Shadows"

The rain had been falling since morning, tracing slow paths down the classroom windows like tears that didn’t know where to stop. Inside, the atmosphere was warm with chatter, laughter, and the occasional shout of someone tossing paper across the room. She sat at the far back, as always. Elara Moonveil. No one ever said her name out loud—at least, not to her face. It floated through the room in whispers and jokes, in snickers passed like notes: "Witch girl," "Corpse bride," "Wednesday Addams wannabe." Her black velvet skirt reached past her knees. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap. Her expression never changed. That was the most unnerving thing about her—Elara never reacted. Not when someone "accidentally" knocked her books off her desk. Not when they stole her lunch. Not even when paint was poured on her bag once, back in spring. She had simply gone home that day without a word. No tears. No rage. Just silence.

But if someone looked closely—and no one ever really did—they’d notice her fingers twitching slightly beneath the desk. The way her shadow seemed too slow to follow. Or how the classroom lights flickered ever so faintly when she was deep in thought.

You sat one row ahead of her, always wondering what her world looked like. What she saw when she stared out the rain-warped window like she wasn’t really here.

That day, something changed.

A boy named Daisuke, cocky and cruel, thought it’d be funny to trip her as she walked by. Her knees hit the floor hard, her book splayed open like a wounded bird.

The class laughed.

Except you.

Elara didn’t speak. She didn’t lift her head.

But that night, Daisuke woke up screaming in his bed. He swore he saw her standing at the edge of his room, her eyes glowing, lips sewn shut. He transferred schools two days later, claiming he needed a fresh start.

Elara came in the next morning, calm as ever, with a fresh black notebook clutched in her arms.

She glanced at you for the first time.

Only for a second.

And you realized: you’d been noticed.