Chapter 1: Part 1 — The Rosemary and the Real
She opened her eyes, the morning light filtering through the curtains. Turning her head to the right, she found herself gazing into the woods, the deep green of the trees a familiar comfort, though now tinged with sadness. The faint, sweet scent of rosemary drifted through the house, triggering a memory, blurry at the edges, of small hands nestled in her grandmother's while they picked the same herb from the garden, the old stories about the magical properties whispered softly into the air. Then, just like that, the feeling faded, replaced by the cold, reality of the present. Throwing off the heavy blanket, she swung her feet to the floor, the old wood creaking under her weight. She padded to the bathroom, the familiar routine of brushing her teeth a mindless task that let her mind wander. The image of her grandmother's hands stayed with her, a soft ghost pushing against the harsh reality of the bright bathroom light. She was so deeply lost in thought that her movements were completely on autopilot. The bristles of the brush against her teeth, the rush of the cold tap water—she barely registered any of it. Her mind was still drifting somewhere between the dark treeline outside her window and the warm, fragrant memory of rosemary. Distracted, her hand moved blindly to set the toothbrush down, but she misjudged the distance. Her knuckles brushed against the edge of the glass sitting on the sink, pushing it just enough to send it toppling. It shattered against the porcelain. Before she could even process the sound, a sharp, sudden sting flared in her palm. She looked down to see a tiny line of crimson blooming against her skin, where a stray shard had pricked her. The sudden pain finally broke the fog, snapping her right back into the cold, quiet reality of the bathroom. Wincing slightly, she grabbed a Band-Aid from the medicine cabinet and wrapped it tightly around the cut. It was just a normal scratch, a mundane accident. No magic, no signs, no warnings from the underworld. Just a sharp piece of glass and a drop of blood. She reminded herself of that firmly, pushing down the old instincts to look for a deeper meaning. She quickly finished up, showered, and got dressed for the day, pulling on her clothes like a shield against the rest of the world. When she walked downstairs, the rich, savory scent of garlic, tomatoes, and melted cheese hit her, completely replacing the faint smell of rosemary. It wasn't the usual morning scent of eggs or toast. "Grandma?" she asked, walking into the kitchen and looking at the hot dish on the counter. "I thought you were making pancakes or something. Why did you make lasagna for breakfast?" Her grandmother turned, giving her a warm, knowing look. "I saw that you've been down lately, sweetheart. I wanted to make something nice for you, your absolute favorite." The gesture touched her, but the heavy feeling in her chest didn't quite lift. Needing a moment to breathe, she stepped out onto the back porch. The porch was her favorite part of the entire house. Standing there, she looked out at the vibrant, green grass stretching out toward the treeline. She took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp, fresh morning air and the scent of the damp earth. For a brief moment, staring into the vastness of the woods, everything felt peaceful—even if it was a peace mixed with a quiet longing for the stories she used to believe. Her grandmother stepped out onto the porch, the heavy screen door clicking softly behind her. She was carrying two plates, the steam rising from the fresh lasagna and smelling absolutely incredible in the cool morning air. She handed one over, her eyes filled with that deep, unconditional warmth that always made the porch feel like the safest place on earth. "My sweet child," her grandmother said softly, looking out toward the green edge of the woods with her. "I know you have been struggling these days, but it's okay. You're all grown up now. You're not a baby anymore." The words stung a little, a gentle acknowledgment of the distance that had grown between them ever since she had stopped believing, ever since she started trying so hard to just be "normal." Her grandmother paused, her expression turning a bit more serious, almost pleading. "But... can you please come home early today? I want us to cook a very special meal today." She looked down at her plate, the warmth of the lasagna seeping through the ceramic into her hands. Cooking together used to be their thing—a daily ritual they shared before the distance grew between them, before she started pulling away into her own quiet world. She missed it. Looking back up at her grandmother's hopeful face, a wave of affection washed over her, softening the heavy mood she’d woken up with. Even if she didn't believe in the supernatural stuff anymore, even if she thought the tales of demons, heaven, and the underworld were just make-believe stories meant for kids, she still loved the woman who told them. Maybe spending some quality time together was exactly what they both needed. If listening to another one of those mythical stories made her grandmother happy, she could handle that. "I'd love to, Grandma," she said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "I'll come straight back after school. It'll be nice for us to cook together again." They sat together on the porch in the fresh morning air, eating their breakfast in a comfortable, familiar silence that they hadn't shared in a long time. After they finished eating, she took the plates back inside. As she was getting her things together, she noticed her grandmother just standing by the window. She wasn't moving or saying anything, just staring out toward the woods, looking completely lost in her own thoughts in a way that made the room feel incredibly quiet. "Bye, Grandma," she called out, breaking the silence. Her grandmother snapped out of it for a second, her face softening into a warm smile. "Bye, honey, bye. Have a good day." Nodding, she stepped out the front door and walked down the path, the crisp morning air hitting her face. She made it to the stop just in time to catch the bus, stepping up into the noisy, crowded rows of seats. As the bus pulled away and started its journey to school, she sat by the window, watching the trees blur past and preparing herself to face another day as the outsider. The bus screeched to a halt in front of the school, and she stepped off into the chaos. Immediately, she was hit by a wall of sound—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, the loud chatter and bright laughter of teenagers caught up in their own worlds. To her, it all meant absolutely nothing. She moved through the crowded hallways like a ghost, keeping her head down, her shoulders hunched. No one spared her a second glance. In their eyes, she was just an average student in a completely average world. She didn't talk much, she just did her work, fading so perfectly into the background that she was practically invisible. She slipped into her classroom and took her usual seat, trying to blend into the furniture. But when the bell rang and the teacher stepped up to the chalkboard, the quiet routine shattered. The teacher picked up a piece of chalk, wrote a few words in bold letters, and turned to face the class. "Alright everyone, settle down," the teacher announced. "Today's topic for our discussion is: Is it real, or is it not? The supernatural world." She tightened her grip on her pencil until her knuckles turned white, silently praying that the teacher wouldn't call on her, that she could just remain invisible. If anyone did force her to speak, she already had her armor ready. She would deny knowing anything. She’d just look down and say, "Miss, I really don't know the answer to it," and wait for the spotlight to move on. Before the teacher could even ask for volunteers, a student in the middle of the room scoffed and spoke up. "Miss, supernatural things are just make-believe. They're just stories parents tell kids when they're misbehaving to scare them back in line." A few kids laughed in agreement, nodding along. Sitting in the back, she felt a strange, cold twist in her chest. Hearing them call it a parenting trick—a cheap lie to scare children—felt like a direct hit, a cruel reminder of why she had stopped listening to her grandmother’s words in the first place. The classroom fell quiet for a second as the teacher looked around the room, tapping the chalk against her palm. "Does anyone disagree with that? Anyone here actually believe there's something more out there?" She kept her eyes glued to her desk, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn't dare stand up or say a word. In her mind, she was already a freak to them—or at least, she would be if they ever really looked at her. Speaking up now would just put a massive target on her back, and she didn't want to give anyone a reason to say anything else about her. She just wanted to stay a ghost. When no one answered, the teacher nodded and turned back to the board. "Alright, since we're divided on the reality of it, let's turn it into an assignment. Class is officially in session. For the next week, you're going to choose what you want to write about. It can be realistic fiction, it can be supernatural, it can be anything you want—but you need to write a 500-word piece exploring a concept." The sound of rustling notebooks and clicking pens filled the room as everyone started brainstorming. For her, the assignment felt like a trap. She could write about the "normal world" like everyone else, or she could dig into the vivid, terrifying, and beautiful underworld stories her grandmother had filled her head with for years—even if she didn't believe them anymore. Determined to stay completely invisible, she forced her pencil to move across the paper, blocking out everything else. She didn't want any trouble, so she wrote a perfectly plain, normal story about a normal girl doing normal things. By the time she finished, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. It was lunchtime. She walked down to the cafeteria, the heavy, humid air filling her lungs as she lined up to order her food as usual. But as she moved through the line and took her tray, a strange sensation washed over her. Something about lunch felt entirely off today. It was a subtle shift in the air, a bizarre anomaly she couldn't quite put into words, making the noisy cafeteria feel weirdly distant. Slipping into an empty corner table by herself, she propped her chin up in her hand, staring blankly down at her food. "I'm so tired," she whispered to herself, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. "I'm just so tired." Her mind drifted back to the classroom discussion, the nagging thoughts refusing to leave her alone. Is the supernatural actually real? Is anything supernatural going to happen? She scoffed quietly under her breath. I feel like Miss is just pulling a string. But then she remembered her grandmother's words from this morning, asking her to come home early so they could cook that special meal together. She started calculating the time in her head. If she wanted to get home fast, she didn't have to take the long, winding road around the edge of the property. I can walk through the woods today, she thought to herself. It's a direct shortcut right to our house.
