"Absynthe is a fraud. Did you hear what she did?"
The whispers slithered through the rooftops, carried by the wind, hissing like venom before she even had the chance to brace herself.
"She cheated on her exam." The voices dripped with malice, each syllable woven with cruel confidence, spreading like wildfire before she could stop them.
Her phone buzzed. The glow of the notification was like a branding mark, the proof of a strike before she could even lift her defenses. Amy Nyan's girl group had made their move.
> "Did you hear? Absynthe cheated on her test today. Her little crew is full of frauds. She doesn't deserve her reputation." > "The oh-so-handsome Sinister Seraphis must be so disappointed. If she really is his sister. Who knows? Maybe that was a lie too." > "She should be removed from the school ranks. Sorry, but cheaters don't deserve to be School Rep. The system is flawed!"
Each word hit like a blade, sharp and unforgiving, amplified by the cold glow of her screen. The air felt thicker, the stares burned more than the words themselves.
************************************************************************************
Absynthe sat motionless, shoulders stiff, hands resting on her lap. Across from her, Synthena remained silent—her presence a quiet reassurance, but even she couldn't silence the weight pressing in on the room.
The whispers weren't just noise. They were knives, biting through the classroom, cutting deep into her skin.
Her black strands slipped over her face, a shield, hiding most of her expression. But the single white strand remained visible—a stark reminder that she could never fully conceal the truth.
Synthena wanted to speak, to cut through the noise, but her mouth stayed shut—uncertain, restrained, as if she feared her voice wouldn't change anything.
Beyond the classroom doors, Obsidion and Travis lingered, unseen but watching.
Travis peered through the crack in the door, eyes narrowed, lips pressed in unreadable thought as he observed the murmuring crowd.
Obsidion stood behind him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. But the usual bubbly, mischievous Obsidion was nowhere to be seen. His red bangs hung over his shadowed face, posture closed off. He couldn't bear to watch Absynthe's despair—the sight of her silent suffering cut deeper than he cared to admit.
"What are you two doing here?"
Absynthe's teacher had noticed them. His voice carried an air of authority, his gaze settling on the two lingering figures at the door.
Travis straightened immediately, slipping into his usual calm demeanor, his posture unshaken.
"Ahh, we're just passing through," he responded smoothly, offering just enough to avoid further questioning.
Obsidion, still leaning against the wall, barely reacted. His arms remained crossed, his mind fixed on Absynthe, indifferent to the teacher's remark.
"Well, go on. Get to class," the teacher demanded.
Travis let out a subtle breath, sinking his hands into his pockets, turning away from the classroom as he walked off—a quiet retreat, resuming his usual distant posture.
Yet the teacher's sharp gaze settled on Obsidion, who hadn't moved.
"Class. Now."
Obsidion tore himself away from the wall, frustration brewing beneath his shadowed expression. His red bangs hung over his eyes, his steps heavy with unspoken rage.
Just as he passed the classroom door, he glanced inside one last time.
His stare lingered on Absynthe, the weight of everything settling in his chest.
"I'll find out who did this to you, Absynthe," he thought, a silent vow burning in his mind.
"I promise."
He stormed off, his determination growing with every step.
**********************************************************************************
Celestia lingered behind, watching the teacher enter the classroom ahead of her. Shadows clung to her features, but beneath them, her eyes gleamed with jealous victory.
She observed Obsidion and Travis as they wandered off, a wicked smile curling at her lips, her posture too relaxed—as if she were enjoying the show.
But as she reveled in the moment, she failed to notice Travis watching her.
His gaze sharpened.
Something was off. He felt it. The weight settled in his gut, creeping up his spine like an unseen force.
Still walking, hands sunk into his pockets, his thoughts tangled. He had seen that look before.
A flash of memory. Heat clinging to his skin. Distant voices whispering. A name spoken behind closed doors.
A child, a boy—hair slicked back, dark like midnight, his smile defiant, unwavering.
The same look. The same presence.
Travis blinked, pulled back, but suspicion clung to him like static in the air.
"I know what that face means..." he thought, gaze hardening. "Did you have something to do with this?"
Behind him, Obsidion stormed forward, frustration radiating off him, unaware of the silent battle unfolding behind him.
Just as Travis turned away, his silver eyes gleamed with suspicion. He took one last glance back, catching the shadow of Celestia's figure, her presence lingering just beyond his reach.
The scene shifted—Travis now faced the reader, his posture calm, unreadable.
Yet, his eyes betrayed him—they remained fixed just behind him, watching, knowing, calculating.
And then...
A quiet, maniacal giggle slipped past Celestia's lips—barely audible, yet unsettling in its restraint.
She muttered to herself, words tangled in a whispered hiss, the tip of her thumbnail pressed against her teeth—a sharp habit, an instinctive gesture teetering between amusement and calculation.
The air shifted.
Just slightly.
The temperature felt off.
A flicker. A pause. A moment where everything held its breath—waiting.
Celestia's eyes widened, gleaming with unnerving delight, her twisted smile stretching at the corners, something almost inhuman in the way her features refused to soften.
Her laughter grew, not in volume, but in presence—an invisible force creeping through the air, pressing against the walls, against the silence.
It swelled without sound, without weight, yet its grip was suffocating—until, slowly, it faded, swallowed into an unnatural silence.
**************************************************************************
Absynthe's routine walk stretched into eternity, the hallways elongating, pressing her into an unforgiving crawl through whispers and judgment.
Books clutched tightly against her chest, she forced herself forward, willing her feet to move. A shield. A desperate defense against the voices closing in.
But no matter how tightly she held on, the world pressed harder.
Judgmental giggles rose like waves, whispers multiplying, each lie growing sharper, more twisted, more demented than the last.
Her breath hitched, her pulse hammering in her throat, each step dragging through thick air, suffocating in the weight of unspoken accusations.
Her legs picked up pace—faster, faster—anything to outrun the words.
"Look at her running.""Who does she think she is?""School rep? The system really is flawed."
Each hiss pounded against her skull, seeping into her thoughts, crawling under her skin.
Her grip faltered.
Her books tumbled to the ground, the slap of paper against tile barely registering through the ringing in her ears.
She blinked rapidly, a sharp sting building behind her eyes. No—no, not now. Not here.
Hands flew to her ears, desperate, trembling—as if she could block them out completely.
And then—she ran.
She barely saw the path ahead, only the blinding rush toward escape.
Near the exit, Synthena stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hands.
The moment Absynthe came into view, her attention snapped immediately to her best friend—arms clamped over her ears, legs moving too fast, too recklessly.
Something was wrong.
"Abby, watch out!" Synthena shouted, eyes widening as she spotted the obstruction just ahead—before Absynthe could even see what was coming.
**************************************************************************
Absynthe crashed into them—the worst possible group.
Four figures stood before her, each exuding their own brand of dominance, cruelty, and wicked delight.
✅ Amy Nyan – The ringleader, calculating, precise, always hunting for her next victim.
✅ Sophia Lemure – Bubbly yet vicious, hiding her sadism behind a mask of sweetness.
✅ Cienne Rose – Ruthless, sharp, unrelenting, her words laced with poison.
✅ Lukeyan Farman – The group's masculine anchor, their silent enforcer, the intimidation behind their schemes.
They were notorious, their reputations woven into the very fabric of the school. Trouble followed them not because they needed it—but because they thrived on it.
It didn't matter who the target was. It didn't matter how petty the drama. As long as they could witness the misery in others, they were satisfied.
A crew of pure sadism, masked beneath social power.
And now—they had Absynthe in their sight.
"Watch it."
Amy barely gave the words weight before her attention locked onto Absynthe. Recognition dawned, twisting into mocking amusement.
"Ohh, it's you…"
Her laughter smudged with confidence, dripping with cruelty.
Absynthe's mind raced. How are they even popular with that attitude? It had to be built on fear, not admiration.
Her frustration spiked.
"You!" she snapped, aggression lacing her voice. "Why did you do it?!"
Still flat on the ground, she demanded answers from below, her glare fierce—but their looming figures made it impossible to ignore the power imbalance.
Sophia tilted her head, feigning confusion, reveling in Absynthe's fallen state.
"What makes you think we'll tell you… huh?"
Without warning, Sophia shoved her face closer, suffocating her space, asserting dominance over her collapsed frame.
Absynthe's confidence wavered.
They chuckled, the sound twisting the air, waiting for her reaction—waiting for her to break.
But her voice wouldn't come.
Then, Lukeyan's deep, mocking tone sliced through the tension.
"Speak up! We can't hear all the way down there."
His smirk curled, taunting.
"Did the cat catch your tongue?"
His words hit with deliberate cruelty, his amusement drenched in dominance.
Synthena sprinted to Absynthe's side, arms wrapping protectively around her.
"Why don't you back up? Leave her alone!" Synthena snapped, voice edged with defiance.
Amy Nyan's smirk widened, her amusement undisturbed.
"Oh, look. Another one."
She flicked her gaze over Synthena, mocking, dismissive.
"Did you come to defend your useless friend?"
The group echoed her laughter, the sound syncing in cruel unison, amplifying the weight pressing down on Absynthe.
Synthena held on tighter, protective, unyielding.
Then—it happened.
Another strand of hair faded into pure white, weaving through her dark locks—a mark of pain, a mark of betrayal.
And they weren't alone.
The lingering students, watching from the sidelines, did nothing.
Instead, they cheered the spectacle—quiet, but deafening.
Absynthe's heart pounded, noticing them. The onlookers. The silent audience. The ones who let this happen.
The room became a chorus of quiet destruction, voices melding into the whispers of the crowd.
Her hands flew to her ears, pressing hard, breath uneven.
Shut it out. Shut it out.
The voices punched through her defenses, burrowing deep, their silhouettes warping in her mind, twisting reality into something grim, unbearable.
Everything blurred.
The world blurred.
Synthena blurred.
She was fading, swallowed by isolation, the tension coiling around her, choking out reason.
Her eyes filled with despair, memories fracturing, deconstructing—moment by moment.
And then—it happened again.
More strands of black dissolved into pale white, consuming her hair, nearly overtaking it entirely.
A voice—sharp, fierce, unrelenting—charged forward, slicing through the tension.
Obsidion stepped in, arms raised in a protective barrier.
Behind him, Travis stood firm, watching, waiting, ready to intervene.
And then—they stood together.
Absynthe and Synthena lifted their heads, standing firm despite everything.
Amy's crew hesitated.
They could see it now. Outnumbered. Outmatched. Outmaneuvered.
Amy's eyes narrowed, irritation flashing in her gaze.
She hated losing control.
"Forget it."
The words left her sharp, dismissive.
Obsidion remained a wall, unwavering.
Amy laughed, twisting into something dark, detached.
"You should ask your little blonde friend."
She chuckled, turning away.
And within that parting gap—Celestia stood alone.
Her arms hung limp, her posture unbothered.
Absynthe's aura shifted, realization sinking cold, undeniable.
It was her.
Celestia—once friend, now foe.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
The last few strands of black in her hair faded completely, replaced by blasted white, the ultimate mark of her betrayal.
She growled, low, guttural, raw.
Celestia didn't flinch.
She turned away, walking toward the exit, completely dismissing the chaos she'd caused.
Absynthe's eyes burned, locked onto her.
Her growl deepened, fractured beyond repair.
Her tarnished reputation—a fate sealed.
"I will never forgive you, Celestia."
***************************************************************************** Absynthe stood like stone, her presence looming behind Celestia, who sat frozen before the glow of her monitors. Tension thickened the air, pressing into every breath. Her teeth clenched—her fists tighter still. > > Behind them, Synthena hesitated—her shoulders slumped, eyes torn between rage and sorrow. Was her pity for the betrayed—or for the betrayer? > > The silence burned. Absynthe could taste the weight of it, suffocating, unbearable. > > Finally, her voice shattered the air, raw, unwavering. > > "I'll ask you one more time—WHY?!" > > WHY?! DID YOU DO IT!