VESPERA : WHERE LIGHT FADES

It was a radiant sunny day when Vespera hauled the last box into her new apartment. The taunts still prickled like nettles—her father and shifter mother ribbing her over her human friend Claudine. They weren't harsh; they simply fretted that fragile Claudine might get ensnared in harm's way because of Vespera. Oh my, they've been needling me for ages. Time to message her. She fished out her phone, thumbs dancing across the screen: [See? They think I'd harm you. Am I their daughter, or are you?]Her device hummed —Claudine: [Haha, I might as well be!] [Ohh, you all frustrate me to no end.] Whatever. She sank onto a box and delved into the novel clutched in her hand—a intoxicating tale of forbidden love between a brooding werewolf and a defiant human, their worlds colliding in sparks of passion and peril. Vespera was open-minded to her core, her spirit alight with anticipation: mingling with fresh faces, mastering new languages, chasing whims once maturity sharpened her wings. Yet beneath it all lingered a little girl's wide-eyed wonder. It was the first day of secondary school—sophomore year. Independence bloomed fiercely now, having shifted from her parents' gilded cage to this humble haven. Her family was lavishly wealthy, their opulence a suffocating shroud that trapped her amid shallow sycophants she despised. Here, anonymity cloaked her riches; she craved real friends, untainted by silver spoons. That sun-kissed morning, curiosity drew her to explore the building. She wandered the lush garden adjoining it, dew-kissed petals brushing her ankles. Amid the blooms lounged a boy, perhaps her age. He was perfection incarnate. His nose, elegantly chiseled; his ears, flawlessly attuned to his sculpted face—the most exquisitely proportioned visage she'd ever beheld. Lean yet commanding in his manhood, crowned with hair of deepest midnight. He laughed—a rich, magnetic cascade—surrounded by peers his age, enthroned on a garden chair like a prince holding court. But Vespera was no damsel to tumble for charm.She disdained conversing with the beautiful—boys especially—despite her own allure. Pretty ones, her grandmother had warned with a knowing glint, were the slyest predators of all, cunning veiled in allure. She glided past the cluster, their gazes snagging like hooks. Whispers rippled in her wake. "Is she new here?" "Oh." "Correct—she is. Never seen her before." Among them, Liam stood apart, the most poised and mature. She discovered this upon entering class: he was her senior, two years her elder, his presence a quiet storm. He was a smug charmer, convinced he was the handsomest devil and wittiest rogue alive—and damn if he didn't entertain. To Vespera, it gleamed like polished farce. Yet the throng orbiting him drank it in, hailing their prince as the epitome of charm and gentlemanly grace. She scoffed inwardly—mere spectacle, a glittering sham of showmanship not worth a second glance. However, adrift in a daze, Vespera curled on the sofa, plunging into the novel's pivotal crescendo—a werewolf's raw vow to his human beloved. She chugged soft drinks and crunched popcorn with fervor, the fizzy tang and salty bursts her only solace. Tissues scattered like confetti around her; after each kernel plucked from the bowl, she'd wipe her fingers with precise ritual, chasing fleeting comfort. Today had been the shittiest yet—Liam shoving her roughly, no apology forthcoming, his princely mask cracking to indifference. Her mobile lay flung on the floor, screen scratched and mocking; that piece of s**t wouldn't even care. He glanced back once more but said nothing. Vespera's face twisted in bitter resolve as she scooped up her mangled phone—screen shattered, deep scratches marring its face. Ohh, he was the anchor for the sophomore year's student performances, always in a whirlwind of hurry. The show unfolded flawlessly, applause rippling like waves. But she didn't forget—that piece of s**t owed her. After the polished finale, he sauntered toward her. She met his gaze, unflinching. "Ugh, sorry about earlier—I was in a hurry," he said, sheepish charm flickering. "It's alright, Mr. ?" She gestured for his name. "I'm Liam, but I'm your sen—" "Ugh, whatever, Mr. Liam. Provide cash for my phone repair," she shot back, bitterness lacing every word. "Oh? How much?" "You better take it and find out yourself. Return it tomorrow." "Excuse me? Tomorrow's too soon!" "None of my business, Mr. Liam." She scoffed, a sly smile curling her lips. "Well then—meet me in the cafeteria With my phone." Damn it. She's rude, Liam thought to himself. But pretty. Too pretty. So she's the one Dad was talking about.