"The hardest battles aren't against monsters. They're against the voice in your head that says giving up would be easier."
***
He forced himself to look away from Seraphina's table. Focused on the cooling porridge in his bowl.
Friendship was a luxury he couldn't afford. It always had been, even back home. But here it was even more true. People who got close eventually discovered how precarious his situation was. The fraying clothes carefully mended when no one was looking. The meals skipped without explanation. The desperation that clung to him like smoke.
And then came the pity.
Pity was somehow worse than contempt. Contempt was honest, at least. Contempt said "I think you're beneath me" and meant it.
Pity said "I feel sorry for you" while doing nothing to actually help. And somehow expected gratitude in return.
He scraped the last of the porridge from his bowl and didn't look at Seraphina's table again.
The day passed in familiar patterns. Each hour bled into the next.
