Needless to say, everyone longs for the idyllic days of their youth. But even as an untroubled child, she never felt as if she was genuinely connected with her peers or the minutiae of everyday life, feeling estranged in her own skin.  

Seraphina had been a pedantic and assiduous student. Though unforthcoming and friendless, her single-minded approach to her studies had earned Seraphina a decent amount of brownie points with her professors. Even if she could hardly compete with the best in her class, her non-confrontational and disciplined nature meant that, while life was oftentimes like navigating eggshells, she could elude backlash and hostility, albeit at the cost of overlooking her own needs— and pain. She gaslit herself in a fierce attempt to safeguard her sense of peace, clinging to a false sense of security while needlessly pushing herself to the brink to meet their expectations— high risks and minimal rewards, ultimately. And mindlessly shoehorning living and surviving in the same category diluted the inherent struggle that was to live, and unlike most, Seraphina could not bring herself to feel nostalgic for a childhood she had barely experienced.  

It always felt wrong. It always felt like she had been forced into the incorrect form. But she had valiantly denied these feelings for years, steadfastly adhering to her monotonous routine, feigning indifference lest the foundation snapped, and she would have lost herself. She never would have bothered to reach adulthood if she had given in— would not have seen a reason when all that she was meant to acknowledge— to accept was that she wouldn’t be and that everything she believed in was pure blasphemy at best and an irredeemable sin at worst.  

And it traditionally always started with roaming eyes and misunderstandings. It could have been that she was simply an effeminate man who was attracted to other men, and perhaps because it was consistently more admissible, she had next to no qualms about recognizing that part of herself. There was not much for her in the way of local support, whether within or outside of her home, so she typically deferred to the forums on the web for answers to her burning questions and yet, settling on a specific label for herself after spending the better half of her formative years questioning everything proved to be inordinately challenging, to say the least. After all, she did not understand why she liked pillaging her mother’s closet and trying on makeup when no one was looking, or why she felt personally attacked when the people around her mistakenly(?) referred to her as the empty name that was printed on her birth certificate.  

And it would take an egregious amount of time before Seraphina felt liable to confide in someone. But her support system was factually nonexistent and opinions of faceless strangers on the Internet paled in comparison to the censorious gazes you might encounter in your day-to-day life. And truth be told, she has never felt attached to the people she lived with. Their family has always felt disjointed: a classic case of miscommunication and workaholism that inevitably culminated in furthering distance between her mother and father, but she wondered if they were ever compatible with each other in the first place— or if they had been peer-pressured into sealing the deal per se when they unintentionally created a child. Both fostered extremely lucrative careers, so Seraphina never had to worry about starving nor was she ever subjected to any objectionable neglect; but she never cultivated that connection, perceived as little else but an obligation, and after rejection after rejection, she decided to isolate and stop seeking active support or attention when it was readily obvious how vehemently they had regretted her birth.  

... And when Seraphina finally unearthed the truth, she had never been more desperate to sneak out of her bedroom and latch onto— something. Validation, reassurance. She did not remember the last time she had been embraced by her parents. Or when her father had sat her down and provided wholehearted advice. Or when her mother had helped her get ready for school. At that moment, she had dangerously misjudged the distance when she took that disastrous leap of faith and as a result, she plummeted over the edge and into the yawning abyss.  

Her father was a doctor. He was a fairly apathetic man but diligent when it came to his work. She had never seen him so enraged when he cracked her head over the vase. Water and blood sluiced through her hair as she huddled back in the corner, stray shards slicing her skin as she desperately tried to smother her panicked sobs. Her mother had been dismayed by the revelation and did not act until the altercation itself occurred after silently allowing her father to verbally assault her until his fury finally boiled over and flecks of crimson had dribbled over their carpet, and morally, she had no choice but to intervene, then. Seraphina was half certain that the man would have murdered her, otherwise. Seraphina had used that as her chance to bolt out the front door with little else but the clothes on her back and has not looked back since. 

Seraphina had no choice but to drop out of school after the fact and wandered from shelter to shelter until she eventually found a willing employer and worked overtime to ensure that she did not end up back on the streets, but it has not been entirely consistent, to say the least. The last she heard from her family was about three years ago when her father abruptly passed away long after her mother had divorced him, but she did not feel especially inclined to attend the funeral and has since blocked all the relative numbers and moved several times to avoid their scrutiny.  

She paused in the midst of the bustling intersection, foregrounding a parade of blank faces as she faced the faint shape of a pink crescent moon among the hazy clouds. As Seraphina was now, she was but a fading death rattle, having already necrotized, bony fingers clawing through a steep mound of dirt after she had been prematurely buried, and trying to convince herself that she was still alive. 

... But in truth, Seraphina might have died the instant she realized that her family’s love was nothing but a contrived lie. But as it was unlikely that she would ever find pity or fortune later down the line, she decided at that moment that the only way to protect oneself was to disavow pointless optimism and disconnect from her emotions altogether, adapting a mindset not unlike that of prey in the wild, focused entirely on survival. And yet, at the same time, she might have already abandoned the idea that she could ever be saved in the first place. A puzzling paradox indeed, albeit no more curious than her stubbornness to see the dawn notwithstanding when, again— it would be far easier to give up on everything.  

Well, it isn’t as if she can let herself die before she has read the next volume of the Dark Ode series. Which is precisely what Seraphina intended to check in on when she entered the bookstore: a catchy melody announcing her ingression, and her attention was instantaneously redirected to the flashy display spotlighting the new releases. Her heart nearly punched out of her chest in excitement when she noted the familiar cover, buttressed by erotic, rosy detailing and a pair of black-clad forms enwrapped in one another. Namely, it featured a fair-skinned man with silky black hair and penetrative scarlet eyes, plump eyes smudged with blood. The heroine had her back turned to the proverbial camera; her brown hair sluicing down her skimpily-clad shoulders with pale hands tucked possessively around the small of her arched back.  

Dark Ode, with the subtitle, Ravenous Love. Seraphina squealed, unwittingly attracting the attention of a nearby window-shopper as she enthusiastically hugged the novel to her chest and leaped up and down like it was her very salvation. She was not overtly embarrassed about the fact that she had a secret affinity for cliche vampire fiction because adulthood meant that she was allowed to indulge in bizarre hobbies and the criticism of others was peripheral to her enjoyment. But in her defense, the Dark Ode franchise knew how to distinguish itself from its hypothetical competitors with its gripping characters, extensive worldbuilding, word choice, and subversions. Even if the relationship between the two leads was a bit questionable, perhaps even somewhat problematic, personally, if it was Seraphina in her shoes if it meant infinite wealth, her very own castle, and an undeniably attractive man with a luscious voice waxing poetic about your delectable blood— well, she could think of worst ways to retire, sprawled in a silk gown along a lavish settee.  

Seraphina deferred to the adjoining cafe and ordered herself some iced coffee and a cinnamon roll to nibble on while she previewed the first chapter, instantaneously riveted. It was foreshadowed in the last edition that they would start digging into the backstory of the main love interest, Regulus: a former spawn who recently ousted his former master and climbed up the ranks of the vampiric hierarchy, a broody egotist who initially despised the heroine, but she has managed to soften out his rougher edges throughout the course of the story. She could already feel a tear coming on when she was snagged by a particular line of dialogue, Regulus telling the heroine that he would give her the world if she demanded it and pleaded with her to forgive and not forsake him after he brutishly slaughtered that town at the end of the last book to fulfill his newfound power trip now that he has ascended, and it could very well be that her taste in men might be a bit controversial than she would like to admit. But knowing their blindsided heroine, she will probably defend the man when the chevaliers from the church come knocking on his front door with silver stakes and holy water at the ready.  

And all Seraphina could think was— gosh, they were so committed to each other!— while unsubtly banishing the wetness from her eyes with a flick of her thumb. She might be a bit of a lost cause, but in her defense, though an avid appreciator of romance, while she has definitely been flirted with, it was obviously under the assumption that she was a reserved young man with a minor fascination with the occult. Although she generally preferred men and that in itself was not an impossible feat, she was too— conscious to comfortably enter the dating sphere, so she decidedly filled the gaping void via projection. What she did not realize is that she has unintentionally convinced herself that she could only ever be worthy of a fictional man. Unfortunately, she must instead cope with reality.  

As she single-handedly juggled flipping the pagefaces while she treated herself to a sip, the sinking realization that she would likely have to leave without soliciting a copy proper began to dawn on her given that her wallet was practically on death’s door. She memorized her place and sat the thick novel on the tabletop as she extracted her smartphone to overlook her inbox but alas, it was still a veritable wasteland. Seraphina sighed exaggeratedly and went to click the device shut, but before she could unzip her bag, it suddenly flashed awake, spooking the girl as she fumbled aimlessly with it, briefly forgetting how to operate the thing. She did not bother to read the number before she swiped to answer it, and she did not realize how scratchy her voice was with disuse until she heard it aloud. “Ah... hello?”  

A bit disoriented, Seraphina did her best to follow along with the steep influx of information she thereafter received, attempting to contribute with halfhearted hums of acknowledgment. She barely understood what she was agreeing to until the call spontaneously concluded, and she was left staring at her reflection in the darkened screen and the realization swept up to deluge her like a sudden downpour.  

“... Oh, that’s how it is.”  

Seraphina dumped the half-consumed remnants of her brief meal, and in an act of impulsion, she ultimately decided to purchase the volume with what little she had to her name. She stashed it in her bag and spent the remainder on the bus fare. She heretofore lived on the outskirts of the city and therefore, while she ordinarily walked to save money on transportation, it did not seem that plausible given the timeframe she was given after she had promised to meet up with the social workers by three at the latest.