Awakening (1)

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Rain tapped steadily against the hospital window, the rhythmic patter soft yet persistent, blending with the faint hum of machines. The world outside was cloaked in a layer of gray and heavy, casting a dim, sterile light into the room. It was March—the beginning of the rainy season—when the earth smelled of wet soil and the air hung thick with moisture.

The ICU was eerily quiet, save for the soft hiss of the ventilator and the steady tick-tick of a wall clock. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, indifferent to the passage of time.

On the hospital bed lay a girl, fragile and still, like a porcelain doll untouched for years. Her skin was pale—almost translucent—green veins faintly visible beneath the surface. Strawberry-blonde hair fanned out across the pillow, dull against the sterile white sheets. Long lashes rested on her cheeks, dark against her sickly complexion, unmoving for what felt like forever. Her lips, faintly pink and slightly parted, showed no sign of life.

Until… a twitch.

A faint flicker of movement. The slightest tremor in her fingers. Then, a quiver of her eyelids, delicate lashes trembling like the wings of a fragile insect. The movement stilled for a heartbeat. Then—

Her eyes snapped open.

Icy blue irises, sharp and vivid, darted wildly around the room. Bright lights. White walls. Machines beeping. Tubes tangled around her body like restraints. Her chest rose in shallow, rapid breaths. Confusion flooded her gaze, quickly giving way to something raw—fear.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The heart monitor's steady rhythm spiked, alarms blaring as her pulse skyrocketed.

The door burst open, and so did her fear.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, their faces partially hidden behind masks. One of them leaned over her, shining a penlight into her eyes.

"Patient responsive. Pupils reactive," he said sharply. "Can you hear me?"

His voice sounded distant, distorted. The girl's eyes darted to his face—Demon, Dylan, Amy. Panic surged. Her heart pounded like a drum in her ears.

She thrashed.

Instinct overrode logic. She ripped at the IV lines, her weak fingers trembling but determined. The oxygen mask felt suffocating. She clawed at it, gasping, choking on nothing.

"Hold her down—she's agitated!" the doctor barked.

Hands gripped her arms, trying to restrain her. She screamed—a raw, hoarse sound that tore from her dry throat. Her vision blurred with tears and rage. She didn't know these people. She didn't know where she was.

"Shh, it's okay. You're safe," a nurse whispered, trying to soothe her, but the words acted as a trigger, igniting an even stronger urge to survive.

"Sedative, now!" the doctor ordered.

She fought harder, wild and desperate, but her body betrayed her—too weak, too frail after months of stillness. The sharp prick of a needle burned briefly in her arm.

Her vision dimmed. The noise faded.

Darkness swallowed her again.

---

Wright Mansion

The maids held their breath, seemingly not daring to breathe too loudly.

They looked everywhere but at the trio they were serving, and once they were done, they immediately retreated.

At the head of the table sat a middle-aged man with blonde hair and green eyes. His expression was stern, his facial features well-sculpted and handsome, though betrayed by the dark circles clinging to them. He was Miller Wright, the head of the house.

His gaze was sharp as he stared at the two women across from him—one was his wife, and the other was his second daughter.

"Apologize properly to your sister once we get there," he told her, his voice filled with authority, clearly indicating that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

The girl being addressed pursed her lips, clearly unwilling.

But when she received a glance from her stepmother, she looked back at her father.

Then, once again, she quickly averted her gaze, tucking behind strands of gorgeous pale blonde hair. "You know I will."

"You better," Miller returned sternly. He knew his second daughter very well—she was sometimes incredibly stubborn, and no matter how much he loved to dote on her, what she had done this time was simply too wrong. It had even led to his eldest daughter falling into a coma for three whole months.

Getting the news of her awakening, he was more than elated—relieved, even. Now, things wouldn't be so bad in the family again. He had really missed her.

"Daddy, are you… missing Quinn that badly?" Amy couldn't help but mumble, a hint of grievance in her tone. "I really didn't do it on purpose! I just wanted to give her a sudden surprise, but I didn't think she'd be so taken aback! That wasn't what I wanted…" Her voice lowered. "Besides, that's not the first time I've done that to her, and she never lost consciousness or anything before. Who knows why it happened this time…"

Miller slapped the table, the muscles in his face twitching with anger. "No excuses."

Amy stilled, not expecting his sudden outburst.

She bit her quivering lips, her eyes welling with tears. Then, without another word, she stood up from the chair, stomped her foot, and walked away.

Olenna looked at her husband. She was a gorgeous Latina with siren eyes. She spoke lightly while cutting her steak. "She's still so young. You don't expect her to understand the consequences of her actions, do you? Now, you've made her angry, and soon, she might feel estranged from her sister."

A frown slowly settled on Miller's face, his hand tightening against the fork.

The relationship between his two daughters wasn't always the best. Sometimes, they got along well—other times, not so much. Their bond was complicated.

After the accident—Amy secretly racing with her friends and knocking over Quinn's car—Quinn had fallen into a coma. Now, three months later, she was finally awake.

All Miller wanted was for Amy to apologize to her sister properly, but now, it had somehow led to her being upset and aggrieved.

Seeing her husband's dark expression, Olenna could already guess his thoughts. She placed her hand on his and nodded gently. "Remember, they're sisters. Sooner or later, they'll get along. Besides, Quinn is the older one, and you know how much she cherishes Amy. She probably wouldn't want her to feel aggrieved or anything. Just leave them be."