ARIA
As Miss Morrigan continued writing on the board, a shiver ran down my spine—not from the chill of the air conditioning, but from something heavier, something that seemed to press down on my chest. The room felt smaller, almost suffocating, as though it were holding its breath in anticipation of what was about to happen. I could hear my own heart beating, a sharp, erratic rhythm in the quiet hum of fluorescent lights.
She turned toward us, chalk still clutched delicately between her fingers, eyes calm yet razor-sharp. Her gaze swept across the room slowly, methodically, as if reading each of us, weighing our thoughts before she even asked a question.
“So,” she said, her voice low but carrying clearly, “what comes to mind when you hear the word… supernatural?”
The question hit like
