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Guilt Is Like A Mirror

Author: Monellawrites
last update Last Updated: 2025-11-12 20:35:53

Mina

Grief made mornings feel heavier. My sister was already gone, off to early cheer practice or whatever social club she’d thrown herself into this week.

I sat on the edge of my own bed, my journal balanced on my knees, the same one I’d filled for years with words I couldn’t say aloud. I wrote because silence needed a place to go.

Today, the ink looked darker. Rain, Emory, Mother.

The three names I couldn’t separate. Three ghosts I still carried like bone splinters under my skin.

They told us at the start of term that we were supposed to “move forward.” That grief was a season, not a sentence. But no one tells you what to do when the season doesn’t end.

And now, there was her.

Isolde Vale.

The girl who reminded Emory of Rain. The girl who painted Rain’s face without ever knowing how she looked like before she… well, dissolved. But most of all, the girl who turned Emory silent again.

I wanted to hate her. I wanted to believe she was a trick of the universe, a cruel ec
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  • The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake   The Seed of the Past

    AriaElias had summoned us into the study, and thunder was already rolling now in the far away, low and slow, almost like a heartbeat.Kol sat down opposite me at the long table, he leant his cane against his chair. He had ceased to use it many months ago, though recently it had reappeared not as a need, but as a memory. The symbol of what he survived, what still lingered in him. Elias was also standing at the desk, and one of the files lay open before him. He looked tired, not physically though. “I’ve been documenting everything,” he said quietly. “Just in case things go south.” Kol frowned. “South?” Elias didn’t hesitate. “They already are.” He slid the file toward us. It wasn’t thick, but it felt heavy when I picked it up. Inside were printed documents, names, dates, digital screenshots, fragments of corrupted files. The one at the top read: ISOLDE VALE, REDWOOD PACK DISTRICT RECORDS Status: Transfer under observation Medical Notes: Three-month hospitalisation fo

  • The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake   Guilt Is Like A Mirror

    MinaGrief made mornings feel heavier. My sister was already gone, off to early cheer practice or whatever social club she’d thrown herself into this week. I sat on the edge of my own bed, my journal balanced on my knees, the same one I’d filled for years with words I couldn’t say aloud. I wrote because silence needed a place to go. Today, the ink looked darker. Rain, Emory, Mother. The three names I couldn’t separate. Three ghosts I still carried like bone splinters under my skin. They told us at the start of term that we were supposed to “move forward.” That grief was a season, not a sentence. But no one tells you what to do when the season doesn’t end. And now, there was her. Isolde Vale. The girl who reminded Emory of Rain. The girl who painted Rain’s face without ever knowing how she looked like before she… well, dissolved. But most of all, the girl who turned Emory silent again. I wanted to hate her. I wanted to believe she was a trick of the universe, a cruel ec

  • The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake   Art Room Ghosts

    IsoldeI was in the art room, and around me, people painted, chattering, and laughing. But I wasn’t laughing, I never did. It wasn’t that I disliked people, it was just that I didn’t know how to fit inside all their noise. And so I took a seat near the windows, like always. I didn’t touch my canvas, my brush was hovering just above it, and the tip trembled.Mr. Helman passed behind me, his shoes clicked softly against the floor. “Still nothing, Miss Vale?” “Still thinking,” I said. He smiled, the kind of smile people give when they think you’ll outgrow your silence, “You always are.” He moved on. The assignment was simple enough, paint what memory feels like. Everyone else had started with safe things, family portraits, seaside sunsets, old photographs turned into oil. But when I tried to remember anything clear, there was only blur, forests I could not name, rooms too quiet, the smell of antiseptic and something like iron. And light. But it was not white, and neithe

  • The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake   Redwood Doesn’t Forget

    EliasThe rain had ended two nights ago, but the air still smelled of wet bark and old secrets. I sat alone in my office at the Lannister estate, the glow of my laptop screen painting the room in cold, artificial light. The rest of the house had long gone to sleep, Aria finally convincing Kol to rest. In school, the twins probably tucked into their dorm beds, Emory most likely awake in his room pretending not to dream about ghosts. But I wasn’t ready for sleep, not when the past had started whispering again. Redwood. The name had appeared too many times in my search for Isolde Vale. It was simply another pack district, rich, secretive, in the very depths of the northern woodland. But I had seen too much of the world to believe that the smoothest spots were always the worst. The cursor was impatiently flicking at the top of the screen as I scrolled up and down the access keys. The data servers of the Council were not as complicated as most people thought if you know what names to

  • The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake   Electric current

    AuthorRain had always been fond of storms. During her life she had said that thunder was a kind of a forgetfulness on the part of the sky. The storm had come back now, however, it was remembering her.The air over the academy was covered with dark storm clouds. Students ran into the courtyard, and pulled their hoods over, and laughed, half-nervous, as lightning flashed somewhere way out on the other side of the ridge.The fluorescent lights fluttered once in the west wing. Then again. A storm warning echoed through the intercom:“All students, please remain indoors until further notice. Maintenance will monitor electrical stability.”No one listened, not really. Teenagers were built to outlast warnings.But Emory felt it before the storm even touched the building, the low hum in his chest, like his heartbeat syncing with something outside him. The metallic taste on his tongue. The way every breath felt too heavy, too aware.He sat at the back of Literature class, pretending to read,

  • The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake   The Counsellor’s Office

    AuthorThe academy prided itself on progress. On healing. On rebuilding from what it used to be. But the thing is… progress has a peculiar shape, it often looks like pretending nothing ever happened.Six months after the “incident,” as the administration called it, the boarding school introduced a new initiative: Mandatory Mental Wellness Sessions for all returning students. The phrasing was clinical, wrapped in bright posters and soothing colours. But everyone knew it was about them, the survivors of that winter night when fire bloomed on the horizon and the world turned red for reasons no one could explain.To Emory Lannister it was but another lesson that healing was a term to people who had never lived to the end of things.The office of the counsellor was at the extreme end of the administration wing beyond bulletin boards with inspirational quotations. Breathe. You're safe here. What we bury still grows.Emory paused at the door. This was dimly reflected in the glass panel. His

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