The Witch Who Wore Lightning

The bell rang, signaling the end of another monotonous day at Aetheria Academy for the Arcane Arts. Kiria leaned against the windowsill of the emptying classroom, her dyed blond hair—streaked with auburn at the ends—shimmering as it caught the golden light of the setting sun. She twirled her wand between her fingers, a smirk playing on her lips as she watched the other students file out. Her sharp teeth glinted when she bit down on a lollipop, the candy cracking like brittle bone, filling her mouth with sweet juices.

She wasn't in a hurry to leave. Not when she had plans.

Her eyes flicked to the back of the room, where a ginger-haired girl was quietly packing her books. Lis. Always painfully slow, painfully quiet. Kiria's fingers tightened around her wand. Too easy. Too fun.

"Hey, Freckles, lonely again?" Kiria called, voice syrupy with mock concern. Lis froze, shoulders tensing like a rabbit sensing a fox. Kiria's smirk widened. "You're always so slow. Need help carrying those? Or are you avoiding your boring little life?"

Lis didn't respond, hands trembling as she zipped her bag. The silence grated. Say something. Cry. Run. Kiria's pulse quickened. But the girl just stood there, small and stiff, like she'd been carved from salt.

Kiria pushed off the windowsill and sauntered over, her short skirt swaying lazily with each click of her boots against polished wood. She stopped behind Lis, close enough to smell the vanilla shampoo clinging to her hair. "What's the matter?" she whispered, breath brushing Lis's ear. "Cat got your tongue?"

Before Lis could turn, Kiria flicked her wand. A shimmer of magic coiled around the girl's throat. Lis's mouth opened—no sound.

"Oh, you want something?" Kiria stepped back, baring her teeth. "Just say so."

Lis's hands flew to her neck, panic flaring in her wide green eyes. This isn't real. Wake up. Wake up— But the classroom stayed solid, the silence suffocating. Kiria's laugh echoed sharp and bright, and Lis hated how her traitorous heart raced—not just from fear, but from the thrill of finally being noticed, even like this.

"You know," Kiria circled her, like a predator sizing up its prey, "you're cute when you're flustered. Like a little mouse. Maybe I'll keep you like this till tomorrow."

Lis shook her head, ginger hair swishing. A protest died in her sealed throat. Please. Not again. Her nails dug half-moons into her palms. Not all day—

Kiria plucked a star-shaped hairpin from Lis's bag. "You make it so easy."

The wand flicked again. Overly advanced magic circles formed above the pin. Light flashed.

Lis's world dissolved. Pressure. Compression. Then—nothing but the hum of magic and the blurred edges of Kiria's face looming above. No. No no no—

Kiria held the hairpin up, its glow faint but steady. "There. Much better." She pinned it to her own hair, the metal biting her scalp. "Don't worry, Freckles. I'll take good care of you."

She strode into the hallway, humming a jaunty tune. Lis watched through the hairpin's prison as lockers and students blurred past. Kiria's steps were deliberate, her chin lifted—a queen parading her latest trophy.

I'm not a person to her. Just a game.

But as Kiria paused to admire her reflection in a window, smirking at the hairpin's glint, Lis's thoughts faltered. Why?

The answer coiled, ugly and warm: Because you let her.

Because for the first time, someone's eyes lingered on her freckles, her silence, her existence. Even if it burned.

Kiria didn't dwell on why she kept Lis. It was simple: the girl was a perfect victim. Quiet. Compliant. No tears, no fights—just fluttering lashes and a blush that crept to her ears. A game, yes. But as Kiria's reflection grinned back, the hairpin gleaming like a captured star, she wondered why this particular toy never bored her.

Meanwhile, in the dark curl of the spell, Lis pressed her consciousness against the hairpin's edges. The magic thrummed, Kiria's pride seeping into the metal like heat. I should hate this. I should hate her. But the thought unraveled. Kiria's voice hummed above, low and resonant, and Lis clung to the sound—a lifeline in the silence she'd drowned in all her life.

Being noticed, even in the worst way, was better than being invisible.