The hallways of Thornhaven High hummed with the usual cacophony of whispers and careless laughter. I moved through it like a ghost, an invisible force people chose not to see, or rather, chose to see as something monstrous.

Today, the whispers followed a familiar tune: 'Evil bitch,' 'Demon,' 'Freak.' They were sharp, careless things, spat between locker doors. I pretended not to hear, just like I pretended my sister, Dahlia, wasn't usually the loudest voice in the chorus.

My first class, Ritual Theory, was a painful irony. No one here believed in real magic anymore, not since the council banned open spellcasting. I sat in my usual back corner, drawing absent-minded spirals in my notebook as Professor Ryel droned on.

'Ezra Winters,' he called, 'Can you tell us the standard binding structure for a fire sigil?'

I looked up slowly. He knew I wouldn't answer. I never did. Someone snorted a few seats ahead. 'Maybe she'll burn the school down trying to draw it,' a voice whispered. 'Again,' another added. Laughter rippled.

Later, in Elemental Applications, my hands grew warm. Too warm. I clenched my fists, staring straight ahead, ignoring the taunts about hexing my cereal. The simulation flame on the screen flickered, then exploded. The room went quiet.

Lunch was worse. Dahlia found me under the stairwell, her perfect hair flipping as she asked, 'Seriously? You still eat here? It's like you're asking for people to think you're creepy.'

I just bit the inside of my cheek. 'You have to be human to cast a curse,' I muttered, a truth she’d never understand. She just laughed. By dismissal, I didn’t walk; I vanished, slipping out the side doors, past the fence, and into the woods. My safe haven. The only place that ever felt real.