Chapter 6: When the Sky Starts to Bleed

Chapter 6: When the Sky Starts to Bleed

The morning dragged itself out like the sky was caught between a sigh and a storm. Rain fell in slow, uneven drops, wetting the cracked sidewalks and washing the city in a soft gray haze. Aria pulled her umbrella low over her head, its worn nylon barely keeping the chill off. The streets were almost empty, quiet except for the steady tap of rain on pavement and the distant hum of a city reluctant to wake.

She moved with a weight pressing down on her chest — like the sky was folding in on itself and she was caught in the middle. She didn't know where she was going. Not really. Her boots splashed through puddles, careless and cold, as if the water couldn't reach inside her.

Passing the old bookstore next to the café — a place usually closed on Mondays — Aria blinked. The door was cracked open, just enough for a shadow to slip through. She stopped, heart skipping. The air smelled of damp paper and something sharper underneath. Metal? Static?

"Mrs. Yune?" she called softly, stepping closer. No answer.

Something moved at the back — a quiet shuffle, not footsteps but like turning pages. The windows were shut tight. No breeze stirred the thick air.

Aria's fingers tightened on her umbrella handle. She hesitated, then pushed the door open wider and stepped inside. The warmth was gone, replaced by an unnatural cold that seemed to cling to the spine of the bookshelves. Her phone light danced across stacks of faded spines and brittle pages. The quiet felt watchful.

She poured herself a small cup of tea from her thermos, the steam fogging her glasses. Her breath caught when the overhead light flickered and died, leaving the shop in shadow except for the weak glow from outside.

She left quickly, the silence pressing down on her as the door clicked shut.

By the afternoon, the market was buzzing — but not in the usual way. The energy was off. People moved like they were wading through fog, eyes unfocused, conversations hushed like everyone was waiting for something bad to happen but didn't want to say it out loud.

The air felt too still for a city that never stopped moving. Even the smells were strange — not the usual blend of roasted corn, oil, fresh garlic, and street food smoke. There was something underneath it now. A sour tang. Like ozone and copper.

Aria moved slowly between the booths, one hand gripping the strap of her bag, the other loosely brushing items as she passed. Tomatoes in crates, glistening like rubies. Handmade soaps stacked like candy. A box of bracelets — rough leather and knotted string — caught her attention for a second, but she couldn't focus.

Nothing felt real. Like she was walking through a dream someone else had started and forgotten to finish.

At a fruit stall, she stopped. Her fingers hovered over a tray of peaches. The color was right — sunset orange with a blush of red — but as she touched one, something shifted under her skin. Not inside her — inside the fruit.

Tiny threads. Moving.

She jerked her hand back like she'd been burned.

The vendor, a middle - aged man with a thick gray beard and a windbreaker zipped up to his chin, looked up from his tablet. His eyes narrowed under a furrowed brow.

"You okay?" he asked, voice flat but not unkind.

"Yeah," Aria said, faking a quick smile. "Just… startled myself."

He gave her a once - over. "You look pale."

She pulled her sleeve down, trying to hide the tremble in her hand. "Didn't sleep much."

The vendor shrugged and went back to scrolling. "No one sleeps anymore."

Aria turned away, heart thumping harder than it should've from something so small. But her breath came tight now. That movement — inside the peach — it wasn't right. It wasn't hallucination. She'd felt it. Like veins flexing. Like something aware.

She didn't even get a chance to second-guess it.

A scream ripped through the market, high and shrill, sharp as broken glass.

Everyone froze.

The sound had come from near the fountain at the center of the square. Aria pushed forward, ducking between two startled tourists and stepping around a kid who'd dropped his ice cream.

There — a woman. Early thirties maybe, wrapped in a long beige coat, her knees hitting the concrete as she fell. Her whole body twisted, spine arching at an angle that should've snapped bone. Her arms flailed once, then locked rigid at her sides.

Someone shouted, "Call an ambulance!"

Another voice — panicked, younger — "Don't touch her!"

But Aria couldn't move. She was rooted. Because the woman's eyes had snapped open, and they were locked on her. Directly. Like she'd been looking for her all along.

Her eyes weren't brown or green or even white.

They were pitch black.

Not glazed over — full. Endless. Like staring into the ocean at night with no stars.

Aria's breath caught in her throat.

The woman's mouth opened and a low sound gurgled out — not words. Not a scream. Something wet and slow, like she was drowning on dry land. Then came the blood. Thick and dark. It poured from her lips like it had been waiting, sliding down her chin in a slow, steady stream.

Someone gasped behind Aria.

"Oh my god," a man said softly.

A vendor dropped a box of apples. They hit the pavement with soft, wet thuds.

And still the woman stared — straight at Aria.

"Do you know her?" someone asked. A woman next to Aria, eyes darting from her face to the one on the ground.

"No," Aria whispered, backing up. "No, I've never —"

But that wasn't true. Not entirely. There was something in the woman's face. Not recognition, but familiarity. The way her eyes clung to Aria. Like a thread. Like she saw something in her that no one else did.

The woman's body seized again, then slumped sideways, her cheek smacking the concrete with a wet crack.

Then it was chaos.

Someone screamed again. Phones came out. A vendor was yelling for security. A kid started crying. People pulled back, wide - eyed, backing up in clumps like a school of fish sensing blood in the water.

Aria stumbled back a few steps, breath short.

She should've run. Her body was screaming for her to run.

But she didn't. She crouched down — instinct, maybe. Not too close, just enough to see if the woman was still breathing. Blood had soaked into her collar. Her hand twitched.

"Hey — hey, stay with me," Aria said quietly. "I don't know what's happening, but —"

The woman's eyes snapped open again. Black and endless.

"Bloom," she whispered. Or maybe it was just the air hissing through her teeth. Aria couldn't be sure.

The woman's body went still.

A few people had pushed in closer now, slowly, nervously. A man in a vendor apron touched the woman's wrist and shook his head.

"She's gone," he muttered, stepping back fast.

Aria stood up fast, legs shaking. Her fingers were cold and numb, even though the afternoon air was muggy.

Her phone buzzed hard in her jacket. She pulled it out, hand trembling.

Jules: Something's off. You feel it too?

Aria: I'm at the market. A woman just… collapsed. Something's wrong. Really wrong.

Three dots. Then nothing.

The mirror crack back home. The flowers pulsing. The static in the air.

And now this.

She wasn't imagining it. Something was waking up — something ancient and too close. The air around her felt thick, like she was moving through water. She couldn't shake the look in that woman's eyes.

Not fear.

Recognition.

And something else — hunger.

Aria turned and pushed through the crowd, leaving the market behind, ignoring the sound of sirens growing closer. She needed to get off the grid. Back to her apartment. Back to the place where the red flowers bloomed. Where the mirror whispered.

The city didn't feel like it was holding its breath anymore.

It felt like it was watching.

Aria's legs moved before her mind caught up. She backed away, heart pounding, pulse roaring in her ears. The crowd was frozen, filming, whispering, but no one moved to help.

She turned and ran.

Home.

The city blurred past in rain - streaked lights as she crossed the street, her umbrella barely shielding her from the storm's sudden bite.

Inside, she dropped her bag and froze.

Three crimson petals hovered behind her poetry books. No stem, no vase — just petals curling like smoke, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Jules:

"Still waiting. Safe zone's open. Niko's with me. Come. Please."

Aria stared at the screen, swallowed the lump in her throat, and didn't answer.

Instead, her gaze flicked to the mirror — fogged, but dry. Written on it, smudged and fading:

She awakens where others fall.

She didn't touch the words.

Later, she pulled out her phone again. The urge to text Jules to say she was coming crashed against the knot in her stomach. She thought about the café, about the friends she could have met — but something stopped her.

Instead, she typed:

"I'm not coming yet. Need more time."

She pressed send.

Then, a pang of guilt hit.

Piper.

The cat that wasn't hers, but was. Dominic's cat. Dominic who hadn't picked Piper up since their breakup, who said he'd come for her when he had time.

She'd forgotten to get Piper.

The thought scraped at her mind like sandpaper.

She tucked the phone away.

The afternoon stretched thin.

The sky darkened, blood - red bleeding through clouds.

That night, sleep was fire.

The dream ripped her under — no calm descent, only flames.

A city burning. Ash falling like snow. Shadows where people used to be. Buildings tumbling like toys.

In the center stood a girl, barefoot in the soot. Her white dress stained red at the hem.

The girl's gaze found Aria's, sharp and unyielding.

When the girl spoke, the voice wasn't hers but poured like smoke into Aria's mind:

Run, little bloom. Or become the fire.

Aria woke gasping, drenched in sweat.

Tears blurred her vision.

Outside, the sky bled red.

She rose, heart pounding.

The fourth bloom opened quietly behind the poetry books.

Her phone lit up again.

Jules:

"We're moving. Now. We can't wait anymore."

Aria's fingers moved fast:

"I'm not ready. Stay safe."

She sent it and stood still.

The storm raged outside, rain slashing at the windows like knives.

Another message:

Niko:

"Storm's coming. Don't get caught out."

She pulled her hood over her head, tightened her coat.

Looked toward the subway entrance, then back to her apartment.

The train doors hissed shut somewhere below.

But Aria didn't move.

She stayed.

Alone.

Waiting.

Caught between fear and something fiercer — a slow, growing resolve.