heart beating fast and cold sweat sticking to her arms and back. She looks around frantically, terrified that she might still be in her own nightmare. The room in which she woke is unfamiliar to her: her bed has a white frame and a stark black pillow and comforter, nothing like the soothing orange tones she's used to laying in. The walls are beige and blank except for a single small painting - that of a winding river - that Willow thinks she's seen before. A noise in the back of her head is nagging at her, but she can't put her finger on what it is or why.
After a few moments, the bedroom - the size, the shape of the walls, the placement of the window - finally becomes familiar. Of course it does, it's hers after all. Not anymore. But to Willow's eye, it looks like it has not been lived in for decades. There are no personal touches, no wall shelf lined with plushies, no stack of books she's planning on reading. All her life, the walls of her bedroom have been painted pink, but this beige color doesn't look at all like a fresh coat of paint.
Willow gets out of bed, turning around to look at it. The comforter is smooth, completely undisturbed despite her just laying in it. She can't wrap her mind around this, or doesn't want to. Instead, she leaves behind the confusing bedroom and enters the hallway. When she does this, the noise in the back of her head becomes louder, thrusting itself to the front as she realizes what it is.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
The grandfather clock sitting in the hallway innocently ticks on. Just one more life spared from your existence. A reminder of both her younger happier days, as well as the horror that stopped it ticking forever. After the initial shock of seeing the old timepiece, her next thought was that she was once again in a nightmare. But they've never been first-person, and they've... She looks down at her solid hands, counting her ten fingers. They've never been this vivid.
Trying her best to ignore the discrepant clock, Willow peers down the hallway towards the front door. As she does this, the doorknob on the front door turns. Reflexively, she jumps back into the bedroom, but of course she knows it's just her brother Mint. Who else would it be?
She peeks back out and sees her brother's back as he takes off his shoes. See? It's only Mint, nothing to fear. She starts to enter the hallway once more, but when Mint turns around, his face startles her back into hiding. His face... How come he had both of his eyes again? I think you know why, Willow.
A feminine voice rings out from the top of the stairs. "Mint, honey, is that you?"
The voice is familiar, and hurts Willow's heart. Willow's older brother calls back, "Yeah, Mom! I'm home!" as if everything is normal. But it's not. That's not her brother, it can't be. Her brother does not have two eyes. Her brother does not have a Mom.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Thump-thump-thump.
From inside her Nope, not yours~ bedroom, she hears the woman's steps coming down the stairs. She gives her son a kiss.
"Your father made dinner before he went off to work. Sorry it's a bit cold now. Did school keep you late?"
School?
"Haha, yeah. Still working on my graduation project."
In Willow's mind, she knows this isn't a memory from the past - her brother isn't any younger, after all. Maybe he's going to a university?
"Oh dear, it sounds like a big one. Stay safe, alright?"
"Don't worry about me, Mom! I'm top of my class, you know that. Come on, let's go eat."
The two of them start walking down the hallway, towards the kitchen. As they pass, Willow merely stands in the doorway. There is her mother, fine and healthy as can be. Her hair is pure white and far cleaner than the last time Willow saw it. She's wearing a smock stained with vibrant paint colors. She did always love to paint in the attic. There is her son, smiling and walking with her. Forest-green eyes shining brightly. Both eyes. They pass without even glancing at the girl next to them. Their bodies seem to flow like a dream. After being stunned by the sight of her mother for a moment, Willow jumps into the hallway and reaches her hand out to the people walking away.
"Wait! M-mommy..."
The childish word leaves her mouth before she could hold it back. Is that what she always called her mother? Or did seeing her mom's shining white hair regress her mind to that of an even younger age? Regardless, the woman seems not to have heard her at all. Willow lowers her head solemnly, touching the streaks of white in her own green hair. Behind her, a faint pair of shifting, glowing eyes stare at Willow from the corner.
Tick. See how happy they are? Tock. See how healthy they are? Tick. Everyone's better off without you. Tock. Just wait. You'll see.
Willow willfully ignores the voice. She smells her father's Daddy's famous strawberry meatloaf wafting from the kitchen. She could follow, but for what reason? To watch her happy family have a meal together without her? To see them converse over a dinner table that could fit four, yet have only three chairs? No, It's clear to Willow that this isn't her world, and these aren't her people. Instead, she makes her way to the attic.