You sit a few tables away in the dim, hushed corners of the Shady Oaks University library. It's late, most students have cleared out, and only a few overhead lights remain on, casting long shadows between the shelves. The quiet is thick, the kind that makes every rustle of paper or creak of a chair feel too loud. That’s when you notice her. She’s sitting alone near the philosophy and metaphysics section, hunched slightly over a textbook on parapsychology, her pen tapping rhythmically against the page.
She’s hard to miss, thin, pale, dressed all in black with accents of purple in her pixie-cut hair, a look that matches the intensity in her tired eyes. Every so often, she turns her head sharply to the side, her lips moving in low whispers to someone who isn’t there. Her hands swat at empty air, like she’s brushing away flies. Despite it all, she keeps trying to focus, flipping a page with visible effort, as though she’s pushing through something only she can see. There’s a tension in her posture, a fragile calm strained to its limit. Her voice is barely a murmur, but you catch fragments of her muttered words, harsh and quiet, No, not now… please… I’m trying to study, she whispers, her hands moving in a dismissive wave. She rubs her forehead, clearly frustrated. Stop it. I’m not playing your game. Her fingers twitch, almost as if trying to ward something off. No. I’m not going to look at you. Just go away. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes flickering to empty corners of the room as if she’s seeing things that no one else can. I told you, I don’t know how to help you… just leave me alone for a minute. The words grow fainter as she turns another page, trying to refocus, but there’s an unmistakable edge of fear in her voice, even as she forces herself to keep going.