The sun hung low over the dead grass, casting long shadows across the lifeless farmland. A house stood in the centre of the vast emptiness — twisted, silent, and sick with age. The paint peeled like sunburnt skin, and its broken windows blinked like dead eyes.
Inside, a girl lay curled in a dusty sleeping bag on the splintered floor. Ashley Jackson.
Seventeen. Haunted. Alone.
The wind whistled through a cracked window, brushing her tangled black hair against her cheek. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open — stark white, pupil-less, glowing faintly in the morning light. She sat up slowly, her dark purple hoodie slipping off one shoulder, exposing a long scar that ran down her collarbone like a curse etched into her skin.
She rose to her feet with a quiet groan and walked barefoot across the creaking floorboards toward the front door. Her breath misted as if the house were colder than the air outside.
As she opened the door, it groaned like a dying thing. The wind carried the scent of ash and earth.
At her feet lay a sealed envelope.
No one had been here in weeks. She knew that. She checked every night. She stared at it with suspicion — then bent down and picked it up. It was aged parchment. Elegant, with gold-trimmed edges. Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned it over.
In black ink, it read:
"You have been selected to join the Academy."
Ashley blinked. "The hell…?"
She opened the envelope slowly. Inside was a note — not typed, but handwritten in beautiful, almost ancient script. It said:
You are not cursed. You are chosen. You are not alone. Follow the signs. We will find you soon.
Ashley lowered the note, her white eyes reflecting the light like mirrors. She didn't smile. She didn't speak.
She just turned away from the door.
"Yeah…" she muttered, "I'll check it out later."
She tossed the note onto a dusty table and walked back to her sleeping bag. As she curled back under the thin, worn blanket, her mind began to drift again — but not into dreams.
Into memories.
Seventeen Years Ago
"Push! PUSH!"
The doctor's voice echoed through the room like a war cry. The mother, drenched in sweat, screamed and pushed with all the strength she had left. The father stood by her side, gripping her hand tight, his face pale with fear and hope.
"You're almost there, baby — you're doing it!" he urged.
Tears spilled from the mother's eyes as she gave one final push.
Then — the room filled with the shrill cry of a new born.
The baby girl was placed into her mother's trembling arms. She looked down at her with awe and love, whispering, "We did it… we really did it."
The father leaned in, kissing both his wife and the baby's forehead. "She's beautiful," he whispered.
But then — the crying stopped.
Silence.
Confused, the nurse leaned forward. "She… she's not breathing."
A stethoscope was pressed to her chest. Faces twisted. Alarms stayed silent.
The doctor looked up, solemn. "She's gone."
"No… no!" the mother sobbed, clutching the lifeless child. "No, please!"
The father stood still, frozen in disbelief.
The argument came later — grief making monsters of them both.
Two hours passed.
And then — the impossible.
The baby wailed again.
Her eyes snapped open — not blue, not brown. Not human.
White.
Pale, glowing, unnatural.
They watched in horror as the whites consumed the iris, the iris turned black, and then slowly — white again. A cycle of unnatural evolution.
The parents didn't speak. They just stepped back By morning, she was left at a doorstep.
An adoption centre. A cold note. No names Just a baby girl… with dead-white eyes.
Twelve Years Later
Her name had been changed.
From Elizabeth to Ashley Jackson.
Her new parents — young, kind, and full of hope — saw past her silence. Past her eyes. They saw possibility.
"Ashley," the father had said with a soft smile, "means strength. You're strong, little one."
They raised her like their own. Gave her a room filled with light. Toys. Books. Love.
And she loved them too.
Until the car crash.
She remembered the twist of metal, the sound of screaming tires, her own hands trying to reach for them—
Then silence, Smoke, Blood. And her… untouched No bruises. No cuts. Not even a scrape.
The police said it was a miracle.
But when she spoke in the hospital, she said only one thing:
"There was a monster. It came from the shadow. From my shadow."
They sent her to a psychiatric facility.
She was fourteen. The doctors were calm. They smiled too much.
"There's no such thing as monsters, Ashley."
"They're just fears."
"They're in your head." But the shadows on her wall whispered differently.
Her Seventeenth Birthday
The room was quiet.
A nurse brought her a cupcake with a single candle.
"We didn't forget," she smiled. "Happy Birthday, Ashley. "Ashley didn't respond. She just stared at the flame. Remembering.
"Happy birthday to you…"Her adoptive parents' voices echoed in her mind.
She stood up suddenly. Her hands trembled. Her body shook. She clutched the wall, eyes wide. Gasping.
The room spun Her body convulsed And then — her feet left the floor.
She rose — choking, clawing at the air, limbs twitching as if strung by invisible hands. Her back slammed against the ceiling board. The sound of snapping wood filled the room.
Nurses screamed She dropped But she didn't fall like a girl.
She landed like a predator — one knee down, one hand clenched Her white eyes glowed like burning frost.
"Die."
From her shadow came smoke.
Not natural smoke — but thick, inky shadows.
They slithered from her hands, her feet, her spine. The air turned cold. The lights flickered.
And then the screaming started.
Ashley didn't stop it, She walked through the wreckage. Past the shattered glass. Past the blood.
She stole a car. And never looked back.
Now
Ashley lay still, her fingers clutching the edge of her blanket.
The envelope lay on the table beside her.
You are not cursed. You are chosen.
She stared at the ceiling for a long time.
Then whispered, "huh, interesting "
And closed her eyes.