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Chapter 10 - Chapter 10: The Mask Beneath

Chapter 10: The Mask Beneath

The whispers had grown teeth.

Rumors spread through the school like wildfire, each one hungrier than the last. It was as if the students had finally realized that Leah was more than just a quiet girl with too many secrets. They said she cursed people with her stare, that if you looked too long into her eyes, you'd be cursed. They whispered that she carved symbols into her desk when no one was looking. That she didn't blink when the biology teacher dissected the rabbit, her gaze unwavering, even as the creature's heart was torn from its chest.

They weren't wrong. Not completely. But they weren't right, either.

Leah wore her silence like armor, a second skin. Her smile—when it came—was a knife. It didn't reach her eyes, didn't soften her face. It was a warning, a threat, a signal to those who dared get too close. And those who did learned that it was better to leave her be. She was the outcast, the one who walked in the shadows of the school halls. But Clara was different.

Clara was always there, walking beside her, through the rumors, through the judgment. Her presence was both shield and sword, but Leah didn't know which side she was on. Some days, Clara seemed to protect her from the weight of the world, and other days, she seemed to challenge it, like she was daring Leah to confront it all. But Leah didn't care. In that space between the walls of the greenhouse, in the place where their secrets bloomed like wildflowers, that was enough. For a while, it was all they needed.

Until it wasn't.

One morning, Leah arrived at school, her footsteps echoing too loudly in the empty hallway. She opened her locker with the usual thud of metal, but when she looked inside, everything was gone.

Books. Drawings. Even the note that had once read, "You didn't kill Jason." All of it was missing. The only thing left was a single Polaroid photo, pinned to the metal with a bloodstained tack. Leah's fingers trembled as she reached for it, pulling it from its place.

It was of Clara.

Standing in the greenhouse.

But it wasn't recent.

Clara's hair was shorter. Her face thinner, drawn with something darker. Her hands—covered in blood.

Not paint. Not dirt.

Blood.

Leah stared at it for a long time, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The Beast within her growled low, a rumble that started deep in her chest. It wasn't out of hunger. Not this time.

It was confusion.

That wasn't a memory. That wasn't a piece of Leah's own history. It wasn't something she had ever seen. It was something else. A different timeline. A ghost version of Clara. One that wasn't so different from Leah herself. One that made her stomach twist with a sense of unease.

The photo had come from a place Leah didn't understand, a place that felt like a warning.

That afternoon, Leah didn't go to the greenhouse.

Instead, she went to Clara's house.

Clara opened the door with calm eyes, but her mouth was tight. There was no surprise in her expression. No shock. Like she had known this moment was coming, had been waiting for it, even.

"I wondered when you'd come," she said, her voice steady, but there was something in it that didn't quite match the serenity of her face. Something—frayed at the edges.

Leah held up the photo between them. The bloodstained edges of the Polaroid seemed to burn into Clara's gaze, but the girl didn't flinch.

"What is this?" Leah demanded, her voice quiet, dangerous.

Clara took the photo without hesitation. She didn't look at it again, just held it in her palm like it meant nothing. Her gaze didn't waver.

"You're not the only one with a Beast," she said, her voice low.

Leah's heart skipped a beat, the words like a punch to her gut. She had never heard Clara say anything like this before, not so plainly, not so matter-of-factly. But her words hung in the air between them like smoke, like a dark promise.

Leah didn't blink. "How many?"

Clara didn't answer right away. She just stepped aside, her eyes meeting Leah's, but not fully. She was hiding something. A piece of the puzzle, a fragment of the truth that Leah could feel just beneath the surface, but couldn't quite reach. Clara stepped back and motioned for Leah to enter. The house smelled like turpentine and oil paint, a strange mix of fresh and decaying.

The air inside felt heavy, thick with the weight of secrets long kept, long buried. Paintings were everywhere—stacked against the walls, covering the floor, spilling up the staircase. Faces stared out at Leah from the canvas—some wept, others screamed. A few even smiled, but it was an unnatural smile, twisted and jagged, like they were watching her, waiting for her to figure it out.

"You were there before Jason," Leah said, her voice hoarse, her gaze scanning the paintings that filled the room. "Weren't you?"

Clara's voice was barely a whisper, her eyes distant, haunted. "I was there before you."

The words struck Leah like a blow. The truth of them hit her hard, sending a ripple through her chest that she couldn't ignore. Clara had been there before. Before Leah. Before the Beast had claimed her. Before everything had spiraled into the twisted mess it was now.

Leah took a step back, the floor creaking beneath her boots. "What are we?" she whispered, almost to herself, but Clara heard it.

Clara's lips trembled, her hands clutching at the sleeves of her worn sweater. "We're echoes," she said, her voice thick with something Leah couldn't name. "Echoes of something ancient. Something broken that keeps trying to be whole."

Leah's breath caught. Echoes. She felt the weight of Clara's words settle into her like a truth she hadn't wanted to hear, but couldn't escape. "Then what happens now?"

Clara took a deep breath, her gaze meeting Leah's, and for the first time, Leah saw something different in her eyes. Not fear. Not hesitation. But something like resolve.

Clara stepped closer to Leah. The space between them seemed to shrink with every passing second. "We stop pretending we're human."

And in that moment, the Beast inside Leah did not roar.

It knelt.

She understood, finally. For the first time, Leah understood the Beast. It wasn't something separate from her, something foreign that had crawled into her skin. No. The Beast had always been hers. Always. It was as much a part of her as her bones, as her blood.

And it was the same for Clara.

The two of them had always been this way. Always been echoes of something darker, something older than they could ever fully comprehend. But now, standing here in the heart of Clara's house, in the midst of her paintings and her secrets, Leah realized something else. She didn't need to understand it. She didn't need to know where the Beast came from, or what it was supposed to be.

It was hers.

And it was real.

Clara stepped back and motioned to the corner of the room. There, leaning against the wall, was a new painting. It was unfinished. The canvas was still blank, but Leah could feel its presence, like it was calling to her. She walked over to it without thinking, her hand reaching for the brush that rested beside it. Her fingers closed around the wood, gripping it like a lifeline.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty canvas. It was a reflection, a mirror, waiting to be filled. But what would she paint? What could she possibly fill it with?

Then she knew.

Leah dipped the brush in the paint and began. Slowly, carefully. Not with blood, not with rage or hate, but with something else. With truth. With the raw, unfiltered version of herself she had hidden for so long. The mask that she had worn, the one that had kept the world at arm's length, was finally falling away.

And what lay beneath, as it always had, was not a monster.

It was a girl.

A girl who was smiling.

And for the first time in her life, Leah didn't hate the face staring back at her from the canvas.

She didn't know what would come next. She didn't know if Clara was right, if they were really echoes of something older, or if there was a future for the two of them, for the Beast that lived inside of them. But for the first time in years, Leah felt the pull of something different, something new.

The mask had fallen. And she was no longer hiding.

The brush stroked the canvas again, and as Leah worked, she realized that it wasn't just the painting that was coming to life.

It was her.

And, maybe, for the first time, she wasn't alone.

Not anymore.

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