Something was wrong.
Iris felt it before she understood it. The morning was too quiet. Too still. Even the smell of burnt flour and coffee in her apartment felt… delayed, like it hadn't reached her yet.
The sun had barely crested over the horizon, but her small apartment already smelled like burnt flour and instant coffee. The bakery covered half her tuition.
The greenhouse covered the rest. Neither made living any easier.
No one looked up when she entered.
Her brother laughed at a joke she didn't hear.
Her parents exchanged proud glances over his test results.
And she… just placed her bag down quietly, unnoticed.
She balanced herself carefully on the creaky staircase, mentally reviewing equations for her plant physiology lecture. Her fingers brushed the strap of her bag. The creak came again. Not from beneath her feet. From above.
The creak came again. Not from beneath her feet. From above, though the building had been empty moments ago.
Plants were predictable. Loyal. Never asked for attention. The roses she'd coaxed from fragile seedlings gave her more satisfaction than any conversation with her family ever had.
*~*
The bell above the bakery door jingled a sharp note slicing through her morning fog.
She stacked the loaves with trembling hands, catching one that nearly slid off the counter.
"Morning, Iris," the cashier said, surprise threading his words. "You're early."
"Same as always," she murmured, smiling with a precision honed over years the polite mask that hid the part of her that felt… invisible.
After the bakery shift, she trudged to the greenhouse, the morning chill brushing her cheeks.
The plants welcomed her like old friends—predictable, loyal. Unlike her life, nothing here demanded applause.
She adjusted a nutrient tray. Something moved in her peripheral vision. Not fast. Not slow. Just… wrong. She turned. Nothing was there.
Impossible. The greenhouse was empty. She shook it off.
The day passed in a blur of calculations, measurements, and whispered encouragements to seedlings that would never speak back. When she finally stepped outside, the sky was streaked with the pale glow of evening. Her bag was heavier now, loaded with groceries she couldn't afford to buy elsewhere, and her limbs ached from the relentless routine.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A message from her best friend, the one anchor she had in this storm of neglect:
[You should check out this book.]
Iris stared at the title longer than she should have. "Queen Rose Rules the Apocalypse." Something about it… felt wrong.
Iris hesitated, staring at the screen. She didn't know why, but the suggestion tugged at her curiosity. She didn't usually read novels her life left little room for leisure but there was something comforting in the idea of escaping, even briefly, into someone else's story.
"Maybe tonight," she whispered to herself, the first time in days she allowed herself a quiet smile.
She made her way home, the city streets bustling with people who seemed to have their lives in order, moving with purpose and confidence. She felt the familiar ache of being invisible, overlooked, and yet strangely accustomed to it. She reached her apartment, prepared a small dinner, and sank into the worn armchair by the window. The lights from the street flickered against the glass, reflecting her tired eyes back at her.
For a while, she just sat there, letting the city breathe around her. The message from her best friend lingered in her mind. Something about the title "Queen Rose Rules the Apocalypse" seemed to whisper of a world both frightening and fascinating, a world that could be hers to inhabit, even if only for a few hours before sleep.
She opened the book.
And somewhere, far away… something was watching.