The sun sparkled over the water like scattered diamonds as the group prepared to dive. Each of them adjusted their gear carefully, checking oxygen tanks, masks, and straps. The air smelled of salt and seaweed, and the waves lapped gently against the boat's hull. The excitement of the dive had everyone buzzing, yet beneath it, a quiet tension lingered.
Giselle's heart pounded in her chest. She shifted nervously, her gaze flicking to Elle, who stood near the railing, unaware of the storm brewing. I can't… I shouldn't… but I have to warn her, she thought, her hand trembling slightly as she reached forward.
"Giselle, wait!" she whispered to herself, moving toward Elle.
Clarisse, however, was already there, stepping smoothly into her path. "Where are you going, dear?" she asked sweetly, her smile sharp as a blade. Her eyes glinted with that dangerous edge only Giselle could see.
"I… I just—" Giselle stammered, glancing around. Several of the others were nearby, observing silently, puzzled by the tension.
"Hmm," Clarisse cooed, leaning close so only Giselle could hear, "you know what happens if you interfere, don't you?" Her hand lightly touched Giselle's, holding her back. "You're either with me… or you're watching everything go horribly wrong."
Giselle froze, panic washing over her. The other divers noticed the odd interaction, exchanging puzzled glances, whispering to each other. Clarisse's voice dropped into a silky hiss, just audible to Giselle: "You still have time to do the right thing… but will you?"
Her chest tightened, guilt and fear intertwining. She managed a brief glance toward Elle, as if to plead silently for her to stop, to trust her, but Clarisse's grip held her firmly. She swallowed, trying to muster courage. Elle's life was at stake.
Amara's cheerful voice cut through the tension. "Elle! Jump already!" she called, bouncing excitedly on the boat deck. Elle's attention snapped to her friend, and the tension in her chest eased. She smiled faintly, shaking off the unease, and followed Amara's lead, diving gracefully into the water.
Giselle's eyes widened. She tried to shout, but the words caught in her throat. Elle's back was turned to her, her hair dancing in the sunlight, her form poised and carefree. Giselle's body language screamed panic—her hands fluttered, a silent warning—but Elle, lost in the moment, didn't notice.
One by one, the others followed, laughing and splashing. Noah and Kai exchanged worried glances, sensing something odd in Giselle's tension and Clarisse's lingering gaze. Clarisse, with a faint smile, turned away, leaving Giselle trembling on the deck. She couldn't move closer to the water. The cold wind whipped around her, but inside she felt a heat of fear, guilt, and adrenaline. She prayed silently, her lips moving without sound, wishing Elle would be safe.
The sun reflected off the water, painting the waves with liquid gold. The reef beneath shimmered with life—schools of fish, corals waving gently, shafts of sunlight piercing the depths. For a moment, the beauty should have calmed her, but the foreboding in Giselle's chest refused to be silenced.
Elle moved among the others, her movements fluid and confident. But as she approached the reef, a subtle heaviness pressed against her chest. Her lungs felt tight, her vision blurred slightly, and a chill ran down her spine. She hated this feeling—this sense that something unseen, something wrong, was waiting.
Her thoughts flickered uncontrollably. Suddenly, Elle was no longer by the sunlit reef, but in her parents' room, years ago. She was a child again, clinging to their photograph, her heart hollow with grief. The funeral had been a blur—faces etched with pity, whispers surrounding her: Poor girl… who will look after her now? She didn't care about anyone but them.
Only Edric, silent and devoted, had been there. No one else mattered. No one had seen the raw devastation behind her grey eyes.
A faint, childish voice whispered her name, soft and persistent, echoing from somewhere inside her mind. Elle… Elle… At first she had thought she imagined it, but over the days, it grew stronger. A boy—her age, with wavy hair and striking grey eyes like hers, eyes impossibly deep—stood before her in the quiet moments. He called himself Elion, and she found solace in his presence, a strange comfort when the world was cruel.
Until Susan. The tormentor. The cruel, relentless presence that shadowed Elle through every hallway, every classroom, every quiet corner of her day. That evening, after school, Elle wandered through the streets near her home, lost in her thoughts. Her eyes caught a small, pitiful movement by the roadside—a tiny, shivering kitten, its mother lying lifeless nearby. Elle's chest tightened. Kneeling carefully, she scooped the fragile creature into her hands, wincing as its tiny claws dug into her skin, and whispered soft reassurances.
The weight of grief pressed down on her even as she carried the kitten home, a sense of duty mingled with sorrow. In the garden behind her house, she prepared to give the mother cat a proper burial, digging a small, careful grave. The fading light of evening stretched shadows across the flowerbeds, the air heavy with the scent of earth and dying blooms. She gently laid the mother cat to rest, her hands trembling, her mind briefly focused only on the life she could save, not the loss she had witnessed.
But Susan's presence cut sharply through that fragile moment. She had followed Elle silently, unseen, and now stood at the edge of the garden, her posture smug, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Susan's cruel words came, sharp and biting, slicing through the quiet of the evening. Elle froze, the tiny kitten in her arms trembling against her chest, the weight of its fragile life a reminder of her own helplessness. The shadows seemed to press closer, the trees bending like spectators to the rising tension.
The whisper returned, soft yet insistent, curling through her mind: I will take care of it. The words carried power, dark and commanding, and something deep within Elle shifted. Fear, hurt, helplessness—all the years of torment and humiliation—converged into a single, cold clarity. She tightened her grip on the garden tool resting against the shed. Time slowed. Her vision tunneled.
Susan stepped closer, confident, oblivious to the storm brewing in Elle's young, fragile frame. And then the motion took over. Not Elle, not the frightened child who had cradled the kitten moments before—but the other self emerged: dark, decisive, terrifying. The tool swung with swift inevitability. Susan's eyes widened in disbelief, shock blooming across her face, and in that instant, Elle's tears blurred the scene into a haze of fear, horror, and strange exhilaration.
When awareness returned, Susan lay lifeless, the garden tool slick with blood in Elle's hands. The kitten, startled but unharmed, scuttled back into the safety of the shadows. Elle's body froze, every sense heightened—the weight of her actions, the echo of the voice that had guided her, the cold inevitability of the moment. Edric appeared quietly, moving with careful efficiency, taking control of the aftermath without a word, shielding Elle from the consequences she could not yet process.
The garden smelled of earth and blood, of life and death entwined. Elle's tears streaked her cheeks, mixing with the metallic tang that clung to her skin. The whisper lingered in her mind, soothing yet sinister, reminding her of the power that had surged through her, the darkness she had embraced, and the irreversible act that had defined the night. To this day, she carried that memory: the small life she had saved, the life she had ended, the shadows of Susan's unseeing eyes, and the knowledge that the other self—decisive, dark, unstoppable—was no longer just a whisper in her mind.
Edric had silently managed the aftermath. To this day, she carried the guilt and fear.
Back in the present, she felt the whispers again, brushing against her mind as though warning her—but not instructing her. The chill crawled along her spine. She shook herself, forcing attention to the surface, to the sunlit waves.
Amara sensed something wrong. "Elle?" she gestured frantically, but in the water she could not shout. Her eyes were wide with alarm. Noah and Kai immediately reacted, swimming toward Elle with urgency.
When they reached her, the truth became horrifyingly clear. Her oxygen tank's pipe was almost severed, air hissing out into the sea. Elle struggled, squirming frantically, panic flashing in her eyes. Before they could grab her, she tore the tank from her shoulders and propelled herself toward the surface with unnatural speed.
Noah and Kai followed in stunned silence. Around them, the others noticed the sudden chaos, confusion rippling through the group. Elle's strength was alarming—her body cutting through the water with terrifying efficiency. She lost consciousness just as she breached the surface, and Kai and Noah barely managed to catch her.
Giselle, watching from the ship's deck, leaped into action, her heart hammering. She called for help desperately, adrenaline fueling her movements. Cold wind whipped at her, but her focus remained on Elle. She nearly collapsed with relief when the rescuers lifted Elle from the water. Giselle's trembling hands helped perform CPR, coaxing water from her lungs until, finally, Elle's eyes snapped open—blood-red and blazing.
Elle's gaze immediately found Giselle. In an iron grip, she seized her hand. "You knew this would happen! You did this, right? Who told you to do this?" Her voice was low, venomous, carrying an edge that made even Kai and Noah freeze in shock.
Giselle's lips trembled, her throat dry, words failing her entirely. Her body shook violently. The fear, the guilt, the tension—it all crashed down at once, and she fainted.
Elle's smile curved into something strange, something wicked. Her eyes glinted with a mixture of triumph, danger, and that otherness—the part of her shaped by grief, rage, and Elion's haunting influence.
The wind howled around the ship's deck, the waves clashing below. No one dared to move, speak, or breathe. The surface of the sea shimmered innocently, hiding the chaos that had nearly taken Elle.
And in that silence, Elle's eyes remained fixed on Giselle, reading her lips even in unconsciousness. The smile never left her face. Was it truly Elle—or was it her other self, lurking beneath the grey eyes, reveling in the control she held over fear and survival?
The ocean stretched endlessly, carrying secrets too deep for anyone to reach.
To be continued…