🖥 VOX ERA, BABY 🖥

“Come on,” one of them said, a smirk tugging at their lips. “I thought you were into this kind of stuff?”

Her stomach dropped.

For a split second, the truth rose up, desperate to be spoken.

I’m not. I hate this. I want to leave.

But it never made it past her throat.

“I am!” she replied quickly, too quickly, the lie slipping out with practiced ease. “It’s just… a little creepy.” She forced a brighter tone, pushing energy into her voice like she could shape reality with it. “Which is kind of exciting!”

They laughed.

And relief flooded her, thin and fleeting.

They weren’t annoyed. They weren’t looking at her like she’d ruined the mood. 

They weren’t leaving.

And that was all that mattered.

Because the worst thing in the world… was being disliked.

Being unwanted.

Being too much or not enough.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Not again.

But, still, she hated this place. The dim lighting, the strange stillness, the way everything felt just slightly off, like something was watching from just out of sight. It made her skin crawl, made her want to shrink in on herself and disappear.

But she stayed.

Because she wanted this.

She wanted them.

Friends.

Real ones.

Not the kind she had grown up with… not the kind that came with conditions, with expectations, with quiet, suffocating rules she could never quite follow right.

Her chest tightened.

Her mother’s voice flickered at the edge of her mind, sharp and cold.

Be better. Smile properly. Don’t embarrass me.

She swallowed hard.

No.

She wasn’t there anymore.

She had left.

This was her new beginning.

It had to be.

So she smiled.

She always smiled.

Even when it hurt.

Even when it felt wrong.

“Hey!”

The voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

One of her friends held something up, grinning. “There’s a headset here!”

They laughed, nudging each other, the sound a little rough, a little too loud, but not unkind. Never unkind. She clung to that.

“I volunteer you to try it,” they said, shoving it lightly into her chest.

She startled, catching it awkwardly.

The thin metal band was cold in her hands.

Her eyes flicked up, scanning their faces.

They were all looking at her expectant of her to say yes. 

…because she always said yes. 

“Come on,” someone coaxed. “Loosen up a bit.”

Her grip tightened around the headset.

She didn’t want to.

Every instinct in her body screamed at her not to.

But it looked broken anyway, so maybe nothing would happen.

And they were watching.

Waiting.

Expecting. 

She couldn’t say no.

“Sure!” she chirped, the word coming out bright and easy, like it didn’t cost her anything at all. “Let me just… do that!”

Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it.

It was fine.

It would be fine.

She placed it over her head.

And before she could second-guess herself—

A flash.

Blinding.

Sudden.

Her breath caught—

…

Color exploded around her.

Too bright. Too much.

She blinked rapidly, disoriented, her vision struggling to adjust as the world snapped into place. Shapes surrounded her, towering blocks of clashing colors, stacked in ways that made no sense. The ground beneath her gleamed in a harsh black-and-white checkerboard, polished to an unnatural shine.

It felt …wrong.

I hate this.

The thought came sharp and immediate.

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this—

Her breathing quickened, panic rising fast, suffocating.

She reached up, fingers tangling in her hair, tugging hard as if she could rip the headset off, as if she could leave this place—

But—

Her hands stilled.

This wasn’t the headset…nor her hair.

It didn’t feel right.

Her breath hitched as she slowly looked down.

Her hands—

They weren’t her hands.

They were stitched and made of fabric.

These were…doll hands?

“No…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her gaze snapped upward—

And she saw a king chess piece standing across from her, tall, carved, dressed in deep purple. His presence felt… steady, almost grounding in the overwhelming chaos.

But it was his eyes that caught her.

Piercing blue.

Human.

Shocked.

They stared at each other.

The only two in this vast, empty place.

A voice rang out suddenly, bright and theatrical.

“Well, well!”

She flinched.

The ringmaster appeared as if from nowhere, towering and unnatural. A set of oversized dentures for a head, stretched into a permanent grin, two mismatched eyes staring from within its mouth.

It clapped its hands together with delight.

“Wow-wow-wow-wow! A new one?! So it is possible! Uh…Looks like you got a new buddy after all, Kinger!”

Her heart pounded violently in her chest.

“What… is this?” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

But no answer came.

Only that voice.

“Oh! You’ll need names, of course!” the creature continued, circling her like she was some part of a show.

It paused in front of her.

Tilted its head.

“Hmm… yes… you look like a Raggedy Ann doll!”

Her stomach dropped.

“So I’ll call you… Ragatha!”

The name settled over her instantly.

No.

That wasn’t her name.

It couldn’t be.

She reached for her real one, grasping desperately, trying to hold onto it—

But it slipped through her fingers like water.

Gone.

Completely gone.

Her breath came out shallow, uneven.

“I…” she tried, her voice small, fragile. “That’s not—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Because she didn’t know what it was supposed to be instead.

The space where her name should have been was empty.

And the realization sank in, cold and suffocating.

She had lost it.

Lost herself.

And now…

She was Ragatha.

…

…It took time.

Too much time.

At first, there had only been panic.

Endless, suffocating panic.

Ragatha cried until her voice gave out, until her throat burned raw and her chest ached with every breath. She screamed for help that never came. She begged to go home, to wake up, to be anywhere but here.

No one answered.

Nothing changed.

The circus stayed the same.

But eventually… she stopped.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she couldn’t keep breaking forever.

Little by little, she learned how to exist here. How to move through the “adventures” with a smile stitched onto her face, how to laugh at the right moments, how to say the right things so no one would look at her too closely.

She pretended.

She was good at pretending.

Maybe… she could survive like this.

Maybe this could be a life.

If she played her part well enough.

If she stayed cheerful enough.

If she didn’t cause problems.

Ragatha could make the most of it.

Without her mother there, without that constant pressure pressing down on her shoulders, suffocating, controlling—

She could be something else.

But today? Today she curled in on herself in the quiet of her room, knees drawn tight to her chest, fabric fingers clutching at her arms. Tears pooled in her stitched eyes, slipping free despite how hard she tried to hold them back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the empty space.

The apology came automatically.

It always did.

Even when she didn’t know what she had done wrong.

Even when there was no one there to hear it.

Because there had to be a reason, right?

Something she did.

Something she said.

Something she was.

Punishment didn’t just happen.

She deserved it.

Didn’t she?

Her shoulders shook as she buried her face against her knees, trying to make herself smaller, quieter, easier to ignore.

But even then…

Even then, a fragile, stubborn hope lingered.

Because she wasn’t alone anymore.

Not completely.

More people came.

One by one, they appeared in the circus just like she had.

Confused. Scared. Lost.

And every time, her heart lifted just a little.

Someone new.

Someone she could talk to.

Someone she could try to befriend.

So she tried.

God, she tried.

Ragatha greeted them with warmth, with soft smiles and gentle words. She offered comfort, offered reassurance she didn’t fully believe herself. She stayed by their side during adventures, encouraging them, helping them, doing everything she could to make this place feel less terrifying.

Because if she had friends…

Then maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe it wouldn’t feel so lonely.

Maybe she could finally have what she had always wanted.

But no matter how hard she tried…

It always ended the same.

The looks.

They were always the same.

At first, there was gratitude and relief. A brief flicker of connection.

But it never lasted.

It never stayed.

It shifted.

Subtly.

Gradually.

Until it became something else.

Indifference. Annoyance. Frustration.

The same looks she had known her whole life.

The same looks her mother used to give her.

Her chest tightened every time she saw it.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.

Because stopping meant… what?

Letting herself feel it?

Letting herself break?

No.

No, she couldn’t.

If she let go, if she stopped smiling, stopped trying, stopped being useful—

She would end up like the others.

Abstracted.

Lost.

Thrown into the cellar like they never mattered at all.

And that… that was worse.

Worse than being disliked.

Worse than being ignored.

So she kept going.

She told herself that with enough time, enough patience, enough kindness… she could reach them.

People just needed time.

They would understand her eventually.

They would.

They had to.

Yet…

Yet they didn’t.

One by one… they broke.

One by one… they disappeared.

Each loss carved something out of her, leaving behind hollow spaces she didn’t know how to fill.

And Jax—

She flinched at the thought of him.

He didn’t hide it.He didn’t even try to pretend. He didn’t soften his words or his actions. He looked at her like she was nothing.

Less than nothing.

Like she was something to poke at, to push, to hurt just to see how she’d react.

And she knew.

She knew he hated her.

The way he shoved her into danger, the way he laughed when she stumbled, when she got hurt… it wasn’t playful.

It was deliberate and cruel.

And still—

She smiled.

She laughed.

She brushed it off like it didn’t matter.

Because pain like that?

She knew how to handle it.

She had learned how to survive it long before she ever came here.

Just endure.

That’s all she had to do.

Endure.

As long as she stayed positive, as long as she stayed hopeful, as long as she didn’t let it get to her—

She could keep going.

She could keep existing.

She could—

…

…

…

Something snapped.

Ragatha’s thoughts stilled.

The world shifted.

She was sitting at a dining table.

The circus was gone after they have pushed Caine too far into the deep end. 

A shadow loomed across from her.

Tall.

Still.

Judging.

Two hollow eyes stared down at her, unblinking.

Around her, mannequins sat in stiff, unnatural poses, their heads pierced through with knives. The sight was grotesque, frozen in a moment of violence that never ended.

Her breath caught.

Something deep inside her twisted.

No.

No, no—

This felt—

Familiar.

The thought made her stomach churn.

Family.

The word surfaced slowly, uncertain.

What did that mean?

What did it feel like?

Love.

Another word.

Foreign.

Distant.

What did love look like?

What did it sound like?

What did it mean?

The first knife struck her.

Pain flared sharp and immediate.

She flinched, her body jerking, but she didn’t scream.

Didn’t cry.

Pain wasn’t new.

Pain was… normal.

Pain was expected.

But then—

She looked up.

Into the eyes of the shadow.

And something broke.

The memories surged forward, violent and unstoppable, crashing through the walls she had built to keep them out.

She remembered.

She remembered everything.

And she—

…

…

…

“XXXXX!”

The voice rang out, sharp and shrill, cutting through the house like a blade.

The young girl snapped upright the moment her name was called.

Her spine went stiff, almost painfully so, as if she could force herself into something smaller, neater, more acceptable just by holding still. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress, twisting it until the seams strained. She kept her eyes down, fixed on the floor, because looking up always made it worse.

Her teeth pressed together, hard enough to hurt.

Don’t shake. Don’t cry. Don’t make it worse.

“What did I say when someone is talking to you?”

Her mother’s voice cut through the room, sharp and unforgiving, each word landing like a strike. The sound of her heels followed, measured and deliberate, echoing against the polished floor as she drew closer.

The girl’s chest tightened.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling despite everything she tried to do to steady it.

“Sorry?” her mother repeated.

The word twisted in the air.

The girl’s breath hitched. She bit down on her lip, panic rising fast, choking her thoughts. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t what her mother wanted.

But what was?

Her mind went blank.

Completely, terrifyingly empty.

She searched for the right words, the right response, something that would make this stop—but there was nothing. Nothing but fear clawing at her throat.

“I heard from Mrs. Dawson,” her mother continued, her tone turning cold, cutting, “that it’s taking you quite a long time to get through her lessons.”

The girl’s fingers tightened further, knuckles paling beneath the strain.

“While Cynthia’s daughter,” her mother went on, each word edged with quiet disdain, “is already several grades ahead of you.”

Tears welled instantly, blurring her vision.

“I—I’m s-sorry, mama,” she stammered, her voice breaking, barely holding together as the tears threatened to spill.

“I give you everything,” her mother said, and now there was something else in her voice. Something that wavered, something that sounded like hurt, and it made the girl’s stomach twist painfully. “Every opportunity. Every chance.”

The girl’s chest ached.

“And yet,” her mother continued, softer now, but somehow worse, “my daughter… is such a disappointment .”

The words sank deep.

“I’ll try harder!” the girl blurted out, the promise spilling from her lips in a rush of desperation. “I promise, I will, I’ll do better—”

Her hand lifted without thinking, reaching out, searching.

For comfort.

For reassurance.

For something.

Her breathing quickened, uneven, shallow as panic tightened its grip around her ribs.

Please… don’t hate me.

The words burned in her chest, pressing against her throat.

But she couldn’t say them.

She never could.

Her fingers barely brushed her mother’s sleeve—

And were struck away.

The contact was sharp, sudden, and worst of all…

Final.

The girl flinched as if she’d been burned, her hand recoiling back to her chest.

“You…” her mother exhaled, shaking her head, her expression tightening with something that looked like anger… or maybe disgust. “I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day.”

The words landed heavier than any blow.

Her mother turned.

Just like that.

Heels clicking against the floor as she walked away, each step echoing louder than the last.

She didn’t look back.

She never looked back.

The girl stood there, frozen, staring at the empty space where her mother had been.

That was worse.

So much worse.

When her mother was angry like this, she didn’t yell. She didn’t always hit.

Sometimes… she simply acted like the girl didn’t exist.

Like she wasn’t worth the effort of anger.

Like she was nothing.

Slowly, the girl wrapped her arms around herself, holding tight, trying to fill the space that had just been ripped open inside her.

But there was no comfort there.

There never was.

There were days when her mother’s anger took a different shape. Days when it burned hotter, sharper, when hands replaced words.

But even then…

Even then, it wasn’t the pain that stayed with her.

It was this.

The silence.

The rejection.

The way love felt like something she had to earn… and was always failing to.

Her knees gave out beneath her.

She sank to the floor, the fabric of her dress pooling around her as the tears finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks in quiet, helpless sobs.

The house was too big.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

It swallowed her whole, made her feel smaller than she already was.

Alone.

So painfully alone.

Her fingers curled into the fabric at her arms as she held herself tighter, like she could keep herself from falling apart completely.

I wish…

The thought came soft and fragile.

I wish I could be loved.

Her breathing hitched.

If I was better…

Kinder.

Quieter.

More agreeable.

More patient.

More perfect.

If she smiled more.

If she tried harder.

If she became everything her mother wanted her to be—

Would that be enough?

Would it finally be enough?

Her eyes squeezed shut as another sob tore through her chest.

Would someone look at her… and not be disappointed?

Would someone stay?

Would she finally have a place where she belonged?

Or would she always be this—

Not enough.

Never enough.