Fainting!

Under the dim caress of dawn's first light, the air around me stirred, carrying my name on its breath like a secret whispered between lovers. "Emma! Emma, are you awake?" The voice, laced with an urgency that seemed to pull at the very fabric of my dreams, beckoned me back from the edge of a dark and unsettling reverie. As my eyes, heavy with the remnants of sleep, began to flutter open, the forms of my three roommates gradually took shape in the soft morning gloom, their expressions painted with strokes of concern and palpable relief. Their sudden appearance around my bedside, a symphony of quiet motions and gentle words.

"Oh, what's wrong why are you gathered so close to me, whats so urgent that you have to gather so closely at this early hour?" I murmured, my voice a mere whisper, as delicate as the light that filtered through the curtains, while my fingers tenderly massaged the ache that pulsed at my temples.

Jenny, the eldest among us and the unwavering anchor of our small dormitory family, laid a comforting yet firm hand upon my back, her brow furrowed in a complex tapestry of anger and deep-seated worry. "Emma, how could you be so reckless?" she gently scolded, her tone infused with a warmth that belied her stern words. "To endure your pain in silence, never once seeking our company or going to the hospital! Do you want to die, being so sick yet you went outside and not even eating anything?"

"Let's not talk about such stuff in the morning with such grim talk you'll scare Emma, Jenny," Anna interjected, her voice carrying a lighthearted timbre yet underscored by a serious undercurrent. She edged closer, her presence a comforting warmth against the chill of the room. "Emma, my dear, do you know how low your blood sugar was that led you faint in the counselor's office. Truly, you must have given him quite the scare."

Their words, a mingling of heartfelt concern and playful jests, tugged at the very core of my being, reminding me of the deep and abiding connection that bound us together. It was only then that the cold reality of the infirmary bed beneath me fully dawned upon me, the crispness of the sheets a stark contrast to the warmth of their presence. A slight itch on my hand, the lingering mark of the glucose injection I had received, served as a stark reminder of the secret I harbored close—a condition unique to me, where glucose served only as a poor substitute for what my body truly yearned for.

Amid the gentle laughter and exchange of comforting words, a shadow of what happened crept into my thoughts, casting a cold shroud over the moment's warmth. The memory of the lifeless figure I had discovered before darkness enveloped me refused to be banished, its ghostly whispers hinting at mysteries yet unraveled and truths hidden in the shadows.

The very notion that the counselor, a man of esteemed character and a cornerstone of our dorm room community, could be entwined in such a grisly discovery was beyond belief. Yet, if not him, then who? The question hung in the air, an unresolved enigma suggesting that darkness lurked in the most unexpected of places, waiting, perhaps, for the right moment to unveil its true face.

A shiver ran down my spine, a cold whisper of fear that tangled with the warmth of the evening air. If indeed my unseen observer existed, why had they spared my life? The thought that my gaze might have met with not a lifeless corpse, but the spectral—a ghost perhaps, lingering in the mortal world—sent a thrill of both terror and an inexplicable intrigue through me. The memory of the paper figurine, who had just married under the afternoon sun, now seemed not just a quaint tradition but a veil thinly disguising the supernatural.

Such reflections cast a shadow over my spirit, doubling the weight of an already trying day. "Must fate always conspire to weave such torturous narratives around me?" I mused silently, a question asked to the stars unseen beyond the confinements of my room. Yet these secrets, these burdens, I kept clasped close to my heart, offering no glimpse of my turmoil to those who walked beside me.

Returning to the sanctuary of our dormitory, I found solace in the simple act of lying upon the table, letting the cool surface ease the fevered thoughts racing through my mind. My companions, ever considerate, broached the topic of supper, a ritual of shared tastes and laughter we had indulged in countless times before. Yet, where once I would have reveled in the prospect of cold noodles and sizzling potatoes, now I found my appetite dulled by the day's shadows, requesting only a cup of coffee to keep the specters of sleep at bay.

Jenny, ever the protective sister, voiced her concerns against my late-night caffeine indulgence, her disagreement a testament to her care, even as she departed with a huff, the echo of her footsteps a reminder of the warmth that friendship kindled against the coldness of fear.

Alone, my thoughts turned inward, to the anomaly within that had become my secret companion, a silent witness to the turmoil that life had unfurled before me. The decision to seek surgery, to rid myself of this unwanted guest, seemed the only beacon of control in a sea of uncertainties. Yet, in the midst of organizing my resolve, a sudden realization struck me like a bolt from the blue—the book! Lance's book, entrusted to me with strict instructions for its destruction before the stroke of midnight.

Panic seized me, a frantic energy that propelled me through the chaos of textbooks and papers that littered my room. Time, that relentless march, cared not for the plights of mortals, its tick-tock a drumbeat to the looming deadline. My search turned desperate, pages flurried like autumn leaves caught in a storm, until the stark reality settled in—the book was nowhere to be found.

A sense of dread pooled in my stomach, heavier than the night's shadows, as the clock's hands marched unyieldingly towards midnight, each tick an ominous tock towards an unknown fate.

The disappearance of the book plunged me into a sea of confusion, a whirlpool of disbelief swirling within. I was certain, with the clarity of a midsummer's day, that I had nestled the book amongst its brethren on the table, a careful guardian amongst the pages. It was sandwiched securely, a secret whispered between the covers of two innocents. Yet now, that secret had vanished, leaving behind nothing but the echo of its absence.

Collapsed into the chair, my hands trembled uncontrollably—a testament to the storm of emotions raging within. A foreboding sensation gripped me, a dread so palpable it seemed to whisper dire warnings with each erratic beat of my heart. Lance's words haunted me, a prophecy of doom should I fail to complete the ritual he had entrusted to me. The book had to be consumed by flame, or else...

In a desperate attempt to anchor myself to reality, I reached for my phone, dialing Jenny with hands that danced with fear. "Jenny," I spoke into the phone, hoping for salvation, "have you seen a book on my table?"

The cacophony of the snack street bled through the phone, a sharp contrast to the silence of my despair. "What? Since when have you been the bookish type?" Jenny's voice, usually a beacon of steadiness, carried a tinge of confusion amidst the din. "No, we haven't seen it."

Jenny's hadn't seen it eather, If she had not seen it, then it was truly gone. But how could a mere book grow legs and escape the confines of reality?

Overwhelmed, I crumpled to the floor, a shell devoid of strength, my essence seeping away into the void of the unknown.

What transpired that night remained a mystery, a blank canvas in my memory. According to Jenny and the others, they returned to find me grounded, a sight that had etched fear into their hearts. Their words reached me through a haze, distant echoes that failed to penetrate the fog that had settled over my mind. The only clarity was the memory of getting a cup of coffee, a mundane action that now seemed a lifeline to normalcy. Hours lost, memories consumed, leaving behind a void where once there was certainty.

And in the silence of that night, as I lay entwined in the arms of sleep, Lance's visage, which had haunted my dreams for months, granted me a reprieve. For the first time in sixty nights, the shadow of Lance did not dance in the theatre of my dreams, a bitter respite amidst the storm of uncertainties.