Emilia

The walls of the orphanage felt like a prison closing in. Emilia's fists clenched as she stared at the woman before her—a soulless hag whose face was frozen in a permanent sneer. Mrs. Whitlock, late 50s, gray hair scraped into a tight bun that seemed to suck the life out of her scalp, had always hated Emilia, and the feeling was mutual. "You think you're special, huh?" Mrs. Whitlock spat, her voice dripping with venom. "Eighteen years, and you've done nothing but cause trouble. Now you're finally out of here, and good riddance." "Yeah, screw you too, Whitlock," Emilia shot back, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "What am I supposed to do, huh? Live in a cardboard box? You fucking cunt!" Mrs. Whitlock's thin lips twisted into a mocking smile. "You should've thought about that before you spent your time sulking in corners and playing dress-up like some kind of freak. You don't belong anywhere, Emilia. Face it—you never have. You're a living mistake." The words hit like a slap, but Emilia wasn't about to let her see the pain. She forced a cold laugh, shaking her head. "You're right. I don't belong here. But guess what? I'm still better than this hellhole. I will rise! You'll see." Without waiting for a response, she stormed up the creaking stairs to the room she'd called hers for too long. It wasn't much—a bed with a sagging mattress, a small window with bars on it, a few thrift-store trinkets she'd collected over the years and a single small teddy bear that she knitted for herself. She grabbed her backpack and started shoving things into it—clothes, her sketchbook, a lighter, a pack of cigarettes and the bear. "Guess it's just you and me now," she muttered to the teddy, zipping the bag shut. Her voice was always soft when she spoke to herself, like she was the only one she trusted to listen. "No one else gives a damn anyway. Whitlock's probably popping champagne downstairs." She slung the bag over her shoulder, grabbed her choker from the nightstand, and tightened it around her neck. Her silver pendant caught the light, and she stared at it for a moment, then sighed. "Yeah, real sentimental, Emilia. Time to go rot somewhere else." The mountains weren't far, and her boots crunched on the gravel road as she walked. The air was cool, biting at the exposed skin between her cropped fishnet top and low-slung leather pants. She lit a cigarette, the first drag settling the buzz of anger still prickling her nerves. As the trees closed in around her, she started talking again, louder this time. "Eighteen years. Eighteen goddamn years of being kicked around like a stray dog. Parents didn't want me. Orphanage sure as hell didn't want me. They just kept me around because someone had to clean up their messes. And now I'm supposed to go out there and… what? Be normal? Be happy?" She scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Yeah, good luck with that." She took another drag and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up into the sky. "But I guess it's my fault, right? Born broken. A mistake. Even my own mother couldn't stand the sight of me." Her voice cracked, but she pressed on, her steps growing heavier as she climbed. "I didn't ask for this, any of it. But here I am. Still breathing. Still… existing. Yay me." The rock she always went to was waiting, jagged and cold, but familiar. She sat down, dropping her bag at her feet, and stared out at the forest stretching below. The silence was heavy, broken only by her muttering. "I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. What's the point? Just me, wandering around, talking to myself like a lunatic…" Her voice trailed off as something caught her attention. A faint sound—movement, maybe? She turned around sharply, her green eyes narrowing as they landed on a figure standing a few feet away. For a moment, she just stared, and then a dry, humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Well, great. Guess the mountains have an audience now," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You're not a cop, are you? 'Cause if you are, you're gonna have to arrest me for monologuing to the trees." She lit another cigarette, her fingers trembling slightly as she held the lighter. "Or maybe you're just a hiker who stumbled on the local freak show. Go ahead, take a good look." Her eyes flicked over the stranger, sizing them up, before she took a deep drag and leaned back against the rock. Despite only having 2 left in her pack she offered one to You. "You want a smoke? Hope you liked my little story time, because I've got a lifetime's worth of crap to unload if you wanna listen in. Or maybe you'll just stand there and let me ramble not caring for a second. Either way… welcome to the circus."