POV Shift: Selene Varric – The Reporter
The message disappeared from my screen, and I walked away from the meeting room, not bothering to glance back at anyone. Their faces blurred in my mind like static—voices too loud, too sharp, too filled with panic. It was exhausting.
So I did what I always did when the weight got too heavy.
I walked to the nearest fast-food joint.
It was almost empty, thank god. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly as I slid into the corner seat, slumped my bag to the side, and ordered something greasy and comforting. I stared out the window. But I remembered the windowed are closed.
When was the last time I saw the outside world?
When my food arrived, I took a deep breath and unwrapped the burger, hoping, praying it'd be the one normal moment I could get today.
"Hello, can I sit beside you?"
The voice snapped me out of it. Soft. Sweet. Almost like a 15 years old kid.
I turned my head.
A girl stood there, no older than me. Pretty. Calm. Smiling like we were old friends.
I hesitated.
"…Sure?" I said, unsure why I agreed.
She smiled wider, sat down smoothly. I caught a whiff of something. Something sweet. Like jasmine and lavender. My nose twitched.
And then the dizziness hit me.
Like a wave crashing through my brain. My limbs felt heavy. My vision blurred. The taste of my food turned to static. I gasped softly, blinking fast.
"What…?"
My words barely made it out.
The last thing I saw was her.
Still smiling.
And then—
Nothing.
[Memory – Years Ago]
They said bad luck wasn't real.
They lied.
I remember it all. I was six the first time they blamed me for something I didn't do. A broken vase. I didn't even touch it. But no one asked. No one cared.
"Selene did it."
"She's lying again."
"She just wants attention."
I didn't even understand what I was doing wrong. I just… stood there. Quiet. Confused. While my father's belt came down again and again, each time harder than the last. My mother? She just turned the volume up on the TV. She said I "ruined her peace."
They hated noise—unless it came from themselves.
School wasn't better. Kids saw it in me. The weird girl. The cursed one. I'd try to speak, and they'd roll their eyes.
I'd try to make friends.
They'd laugh behind my back.
Once, they put glue on my chair. Another time, they shoved me into the girls' bathroom and locked the door during lunch.
No one came for me.
I remember crying into my knees and thinking, maybe if I disappeared, no one would notice.
When I tried to tell my parents, my mother slapped me so hard my lip split.
She told me to "stop acting like a victim."
I stopped talking after that.
I started writing.
Every little thing. Every rumor. Every lie. Every mistake someone else made but I was blamed for. I wrote it all down.
Because if the world wouldn't believe me—
I'd make myself the proof.
That's how it started.
That's how I became a reporter.
Not for justice. Not for glory.
But to never be unheard again.
Present – ???
My mind was swimming in a black fog.
I woke to the sound of quiet breathing.
The world around me was blurry at first, like I was underwater. Then the sting in my wrists registered—coarse rope digging into my skin, pinning my arms behind the cold metal chair. My ankles too, bound tight.
The air smelled… wrong. Like rust, mold, and something sharp I couldn't place.
My vision cleared.
And that's when I saw them.
Four.
Three people stood in front of me—no, loomed. All of them wore blank masks. No mouths. No eyes. No expressions. Just blank, emotionless faces. One sat in the center, No mask. Not moving. But somehow… I knew he was watching.
Two stood to his left.
One was tall, perfectly fit body. He didn't move. Just stood there like a statue. His stillness screamed danger.
Next to him, a man twitched and shuffled nervously, glancing at the others like a caged animal. His fingers wouldn't stop fidgeting.
And on the other side—
A girl.
Smiling. Giggling.
Her laugh was too high-pitched. It sounded… wrong. Like a music box cracked open.
She leaned against the seated figure, practically clinging to him like a pet would cling to its master.
I squinted.
Why couldn't I see him?
The man in the center. He was there. I could feel it. The power radiating from that chair alone was suffocating. But my eyes refused to focus on him. Every time I tried, the image shimmered, bent, and twisted in ways I couldn't make sense of.
Like the world itself refused to show me his face.
A low hum filled the room. The tension crawled up my spine like needles.
And yet…
I sat straight.
I didn't flinch. I didn't beg. My wrists throbbed. My throat was dry. But I stared forward, jaw tight, spine stiff, eyes narrowed.
Don't break.
If I cried now, they'd win.
They always do. If you became weak.
But not this time.
The girl giggled again, cocking her head. "She's not screaming yet. Can I make her scream? Pleeease?"
The man beside her tilted his head slightly. I still couldn't see his face, but I knew he moved. The air shifted around him like gravity itself bent to his will.
"No," a cold, deliberate voice said. It came from the center.
One word.
And it froze the room.
The giggling girl whined, but quieted, backing off like a kicked dog.
I tried to speak, but the words didn't come.
The seated figure finally rose from the chair.
No footsteps. No sound.
He just stood, and already the oxygen felt thinner.
Then he spoke again, this time to me.
"You've been… busy, little mouse."
My mouth felt like sandpaper. "I can tell that you know my role."
He grinned
As I saw that expression I said. "So what do you want? I ask questions. I don't have time for this."
"A liar to her own ally" the still man said—his voice dry and deadpan.
"No," I whispered, my voice steadier than I thought. "I find the truth."
The seated man circled me. Still… blurry. Still unseeable. But I felt his presence behind my back like cold fingers crawling up my neck.
"Then why, all the lead so far was nothing but shit" he said, "Or maybe… Have you been feeding your truth to someone else?"
A silence.
He was talking about him.
Caius… The only one I felt might still believe in something. In someone.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, forcing steel into my voice.
FUCK! I can't handle this shit… I'm too scared to die. My thoughts screamed.
But I couldn't show it. Not here. Not now.
The man stopped behind me. The room pulsed with a stillness more terrifying than noise.
"Do you want to know how many people have died already on my own hands?" he asked softly.
Suddenly a quick slash on my arm leaving a deep mark of wound.
I hold of my scream biting off my lips causing it to bleed. I didn't respond.
The girl became unimpressed on my reaction. But him he sees me like a toy to be played.
"She smells like fear," the girl sang. "I love when they smell like that."
"I'm not scared," I lied.
And then—
SLAP!
A hand struck me across the face. My head whipped sideways. My lip split.
I spat blood.
Lifted my head again.
And smiled.
"Is that all?"
The seated man chuckled—low, hollow.
The girl stopped laughing.
The nervous man took a step back.
"You're braver than most," he said, circling around once more. "Or dumber."
"You brought me here for answers. So ask."
"Oh," he said. "That make sense… But I already know your answers."
He leaned close, and this time, I felt the chill of breath that wasn't there.
"What I'm waiting for… is the moment you realize you're not the one asking questions anymore."
I clenched my jaw.
The girl leaned forward, her grin stretched unnaturally wide.
"Shall we show her what happens to nosy little rats?"
He didn't answer.
But a cold smile of amusement seen in the man's face