Eclipsed

Ellie’s POV:-

Sweat trickled down my forehead, sliding past my temples, dampening the pillow beneath me. My knuckles clutched the bedsheet tighter than before, fingers aching from how hard I was holding on—as if the fabric was the only thing tethering me to reality.

The same nightmare.

The same torture.

It’s been stealing my sleep for weeks, leaving me restless, afraid to close my eyes.

The dream was nothing but my fear made flesh.

Shallow hallways stretched endlessly around me, suffocatingly narrow, their walls breathing with shadows. Doors lined each side, but every time I reached for a handle, the wood dissolved beneath my touch. Dark rooms waited beyond, whispering, breathing, laughing. And then—the scream. That same scream. Piercing, shattering, echoing until it drilled into my bones.

I would stumble forward, my hands covering my ears, desperate to drown it out, but the whispers always slithered closer. They filled my head, wrapping around me, whispering secrets I could never understand. The halls would twist, stretch, suffocate me. And then—

The figure.

Always there.

Always waiting.

Its presence loomed behind me, heavy footsteps pounding against the marble floor. My pulse would quicken, my breath turning jagged as I ran. I would run as fast as I could, faster than I thought possible, but the hallways betrayed me. They would narrow, fold, trap me, until I felt the air thinning, until I knew there was no escape.

And every time—every single time—the figure caught me.

A hand, ice-cold, would grip my arm and spin me around. And though its face was blurred, shadowed, its voice was clear—so clear that it carved itself into my soul.

“Sei la fine e l’inizio.”

The same words. Again and again. In a language I didn’t even understand.

And then fire. Smoke. Screams. And silence.

I jolted awake, my chest heaving, lungs begging for air as if I had been drowning. My trembling hands clutched the sheets, trying to convince myself it was over, that I was safe in my bed, in my room. “It’s okay,” I whispered shakily, forcing the words out as though they could stitch me back together. “It’s okay… it’s okay…”

But it never felt okay.

My once happy home had become a cave of shadows. The apartment that used to glow with warmth, laughter, and sunlight now seemed like nothing more than four gray walls and memories. Every corner was silent. Every room empty. The kind of empty that presses against your chest until it feels hard to breathe.

Because I lived alone now.

And I had been alone for two years.

Two years since my parents vanished. Without a trace. Without a word.

I had searched. I had begged the police, put up posters, followed every lead no matter how small. But it was as if they had dissolved into the air, leaving me stranded in a life that wasn’t mine anymore.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled to the bathroom, splashing my face with cold water. Droplets clung to my lashes as I stared into the mirror. A pale girl looked back at me—eyes hollow, skin too tired for someone her age.

I pulled on the oversized hoodie sitting on my study table, the fabric smelling faintly of laundry soap and the faintest trace of dust. The hoodie felt like armor, a shield against the world.

My gaze shifted to the picture frame beside my bed. My throat tightened.

It was from my fifteenth birthday—me leaning over a cake, cheeks puffed out as I blew the candles. Mama’s hand rested on my shoulder, Papa stood behind us both, laughter frozen in the photograph. Their eyes glowed with pride and love.

I traced their faces with my fingertip, my chest aching as the memory pressed down on me. That was the last birthday I ever spent with them. After that, they simply… disappeared.

I let out a heavy sigh, setting the frame back down carefully, as though it were glass that might shatter from too much touch.

I stepped out of my dim apartment, the door creaking shut behind me like a reminder of how empty it had become. The chill of the early morning air nipped at my skin as I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my worn hoodie. With what little money I had left, I made my way to the small convenience store down the street, the same one I had been visiting for years.

Inside, the shelves were modest, the fluorescent lights flickering above with a tired hum. I picked up a loaf of bread, a can of milk, and a small box of cereal—essentials that I rationed carefully, like they were treasures instead of everyday necessities. Each item I placed into the basket reminded me of how careful I had to be, how survival had become a quiet kind of discipline.

As I headed toward the counter, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The vibration startled me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I quickly fished it out, and the corners of my lips lifted into a smile as soon as I saw the name flashing on the screen.

“Yoo! Come five at the café, mi amor!”

It was Damian.

Just the sight of his name had a way of easing the heaviness in my chest. He wasn’t just my best friend—he was my anchor, the only piece of my old, safe world that hadn’t completely fallen apart. When Mama and Papa vanished without a trace, when my nights were filled with endless tears and unanswered questions, Damian had been the one sitting beside me. He had held my trembling hands, wiped my tears when I could no longer hide them, and listened when silence became unbearable. He had been there through every storm, and in many ways, he was the reason I was still standing.

I paid the cashier and tucked the bag of groceries under my arm before stepping back out onto the street. The air was brighter now, and the soft rays of sunlight spilled lazily across the quiet neighborhood.

On my way home, I greeted Mrs. Cheng, the elderly woman who worked at the supermarket. She was standing near the entrance, her gentle smile wrinkling her eyes as she waved at me. Mrs. Cheng was more than a neighbor—she was like the grandmother I never had. She always found time to check in on me, to ask if I was eating enough, or if I needed help with anything. Sometimes she brought me warm soup during the winter, other times she left fresh fruit by my door. Her kindness was like a fragile light in my otherwise dark and hollow world.

“Morning, Ellie,” she called, her voice soft but full of warmth.

“Morning, Mrs. Cheng,” I replied, my smile faint but sincere.

For a moment, the world didn’t feel so lonely....

Author’s Note

Thank you so much for reading Chapter 1! It honestly means the world to me that you’ve stepped into Ellie’s story — a world full of nightmares, whispers, and hidden truths. This is only the very beginning, and trust me… things are going to get much darker and much more surprising from here.

What do the whispers mean? Why does that figure haunt Ellie’s dreams? And what role will Damian play as her story unfolds?

I can’t wait to share more with you in the next chapter — see you there!

—Violet