chapter 2 the magical world meets earth

Blinking, I slowly started to come to. I sat up in my seat and looked around. My dad looked exhausted, as if sleep might claim him at any second. I turned toward the window, still quietly upset with him, when something outside caught my attention—a blue and green planet growing larger by the second.

"Is this... Earth?"

"Yes," he replied, short and flat.

I ignored the tone. Fighting wasn't going to get us anywhere. Instead, I focused on the view in front of us.

I'd never seen Earth before, only in the outdated textbooks where it was labeled The Forbidden Realm. The planet looked smaller than Alice, but there was something oddly charming about it—almost inviting. Our kind knew very little about Earth aside from the fact that humans couldn't use magic. Everything else—how they lived, how they spoke—was a mystery.

I wondered how we'd even understand their language. So many questions filled my head. I was scared, sure, but a part of me was excited. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to discover something unknown.

As we neared the planet, I felt my stomach twist. I wrapped my arms around myself to calm the growing unease. Then, from the corner of my eye—I saw it again. The black ship.

"Dad! That ship again!"

He looked, his face paling. "It's already on top of us."

Panic set in.

The next ten minutes stretched into eternity. We sat in silence, hands locked, hearts pounding. His grip tightened on mine, like he was saying, If this is it, just know I love you.

I squeezed back, holding my breath.

But then, as if to say ending you now would be too easy, the black ship simply passed us by.

"Why?" I whispered, the only word I could manage.

My dad's expression was grim. The color had drained from his face. "I don't know," he admitted, "but it can't be good news for Earth."

"What does this mean?"

"That black ship belongs to a member of the Landlords."

"The Landlords?" I echoed, eyes wide. There it was again—another secret my father knew but kept hidden.

"Stop hiding things from me. Please. Tell me everything."

He stayed quiet for a moment, then finally relented. "It's a long story."

"I don't care."

He glanced at the tracker. "JoJo's ship will beat us to Earth by five hours. So I'll tell you everything in that time. You need to know who he is... if we end up confronting him."

I nodded and leaned in, ready to hear the truth. The sound of the school bell jolted me out of my thoughts. Chairs scraped, bags rustled, and the teacher shouted something about a test tomorrow—but I barely heard him. My brain was already on autopilot, mentally mapping the fastest path to my locker without getting noticed.

I slipped into the sea of students flooding out of the classroom, my shoulders tight and head down. Even though there were only 600 students at this school, the halls always felt claustrophobic—like the walls were trying to press in and trap me.

And being five feet tall in a crowd of teenagers? Not helpful. I bobbed and weaved through a maze of backpacks and elbows until I finally spotted my locker.

Then froze.

I felt it before I saw it. That icy dread that slides down your spine when you know you're being watched. I turned just in time to hear it.

"Who's the loser with the busted braids?"

Jayla.

She was leaning against the lockers with one leg crossed over the other like a runway model, her group of three girls flanking her like backup dancers in a petty music video. Her curly brown hair bounced when she laughed, and her voice was that special kind of sweet that only meant trouble.

"Looks like Dollar Store Barbie's back. You smell that?" She sniffed the air dramatically. "Smells like desperation."

Her friends cackled. I didn't say anything. I turned toward my locker, trying to block them out.

"I heard someone's pregnant," Jayla said, loudly now, making sure the hallway audience could hear. "What a hoe, right?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Gross. Some girls just can't keep their legs closed," one of her friends said, flicking her hair.

I'd had enough. I turned around, my voice shaking but sharp.

"I've never had sex before, Jayla. Stop spreading lies."

She grinned, like she'd been waiting for me to talk back.

"We weren't even talking about you, princess. Feeling guilty?"

"Bitch thinks the world revolves around her," another girl added with a snort.

"You should do us a favor and disappear," the last one sneered, eyes cold.

They strutted off like they'd just won an award for cruelty, their laughter echoing down the hallway like knives thrown behind them.

My heart hammered in my chest. I blinked fast, not letting the tears fall here. Not where they could see.

Opening my locker, I found them. Again.

More notes, folded in sharp triangles. Some had hearts drawn on them—mocking, not kind. I didn't open any. I didn't need to. I shoved them into my bag, keeping my hands steady with sheer force of will, and walked toward my last class of the day. I shoved them into my bag, keeping my hands steady with sheer force of will, and walked toward my last class of the day.

Mr. Mills shuffled into the classroom like someone had dragged him out of bed five minutes ago and he hadn't forgiven them yet. He dropped his bag with a thud and started roll call with the same enthusiasm as a funeral director.

"Dominique!"

"Here," I mumbled, raising my hand halfway.

The classroom buzzed around me. Two girls across the room were giggling into their phones. A boy three rows up was sketching something on the back of his notebook. A couple in the corner shared earbuds, heads leaning together, sharing a secret world I didn't have access to.

I stared at them for a second too long.

Must be nice, I thought. Having someone. Anyone.

I opened my notebook and started copying the notes from the board. My handwriting was neat, small, like I was trying not to take up too much space even on paper. A few doodles curled around the edges—stars, vines, a fox. Little things that made the page feel less empty. Class went on and, on my teacher, yapped about important stuff I needed to know.

But my eyes kept drifting.

To the clock.

To the windows.

To the hallway outside.

Ten minutes left.

I reached for my jacket, zipped it up all the way, and pulled the hood over my head. A comfort thing. My shield. A way to be invisible even while sitting in plain sight.

I stared at my shoes—pink and black, cracked soles, paint peeling at the edges. I tapped them together once, then twice.

"There's no place like home," I whispered, not that I believed it. Might be better to chant "anywhere but home" I murmur

The bell rang, releasing us like prisoners. I shot up from my desk and practically bolted out the door, cutting through the side hallway to avoid the crowd, then ducked out the back exit and into the woods. I sprinted for the woods, branches whipping my legs. Home was also a prison but I rushed Upstairs and slammed my door and ripped open my laptop. Click-clack. Click-clack. Words bled onto the screen—a world where I mattered. Five hours later, I slumped back. Tomorrow, I'll finish the story. I hop up to go to the bathroom my thoughts reliving the day when I hear my mom's voice.

"Dominique's still in her room, isn't she?"

"I think so," my sister answered.

"You were never like that, were you?" my mom said.

"No, I had a life" my sister responded with a giggle

"Don't be like your sister. She's not even cute" she scuffs "you don't see the boys knocking on her door" she remarked laughing.

"No man wants her" my sister retorted

It stung more than I'd admit.

I crept downstairs, their words chasing me. The bathroom mirror showed the truth: a scar by my ear, faded but never gone. Her hands. Her screams. I splashed water on my face, but the tears kept coming. It's not the first time my own mom talks shit about me, and it won't be the last I'm sure. I don't even believe she likes me. She is the other reason I don't have any self-esteem or self-confidence I find myself losing strength I felt tired suddenly my energy is so low I just want to sleep my mind starts to run through my day-to-day life. There was no place for me at home or at school no friends and no family who gives a fuck about me.

I tiptoe up the stairs and down the hallway, hugging the wall like a shadow. The air is thick with that heavy, late-night silence, the kind that makes every creak of the floorboard feel like a siren. The last thing I want is to run into her.

My bedroom door clicks shut behind me, soft but sure. Safe. For now.

I sink into my desk chair, arms limp at my sides, eyes unfocused. The screen of my laptop glows faintly, but I'm not really looking at it. My thoughts drift—dark, tangled.

Mom's voice echoes in my head, sharp as broken glass. Not again. Her words always cut the deepest when she smiled while saying them.

I pull my knees up to my chest, the cold edge of the desk pressing against my shin. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I don't type. I just stare. This—writing, anime, daydreams—it's not just a hobby. It's oxygen.

I snap the laptop shut. The sound is louder than I meant it to be. I wince, then slide under the covers, curling into myself.

Let her world stay out there. Tonight, I'll escape to somewhere better.

As my eyes slip shut, the dream rises to meet me—warm, safe, unreal. A tall man stands before me, his midnight-blue eyes soft and steady. Jet-black hair falls gently over his brow as he leans in, his voice like velvet.

"You're safe here," he whispers. "You are loved."

We finally entered Earth's atmosphere, our cloaking device engaged to avoid drawing any attention.

"The tracker's leading us west—from her dad," I said.
"Okay, just keep telling me the direction," my dad replied.

We still had no idea where JoJo was. We were just hoping we wouldn't have any more run-ins with him.

"We should report JoJo to the G.O.M before it's too late," I suggested.

My dad considered it for a moment before nodding. "You're right. Hand me the radio."

I did as he asked. He switched it on, and we got a response almost immediately.

"This is the Planet Alice Air Base."
"I need you to forward this message to the G.O.M immediately."
"Who is this? And what message?"
"The Landlords have moved to Earth. I repeat: the Landlords have moved to Earth, into the Forbidden Realm."
"Who is this? Identify yourself."
"This is Inventor Edward Stone."

I listen to the exchange, silently hoping they believe us.
"Where are your coordinates?"
"I'm sending them now, along with my ship's video footage of their vessel."

He taps several buttons before returning to the conversation.
"It's done. Send help right away—before it's too late. We'll stay in pursuit and keep you updated."
"Thank you, Doctor Stone. Your nation thanks you. Over and out."

Suddenly, the tracker begins to buzz loudly.
"What's that sound?"
"It means we're closing in on someone who matches the stone's energy."
"What do we do when we find them?"

He doesn't answer. I imagine he's thinking the same thing I am convincing a human of another world might be impossible... but we have to try.

I woke up early that morning, which was strange—I'm not usually up this early. My body felt... off. Every nerve seemed to hum with energy, and no matter how I shifted in bed, I couldn't shake the feeling. I kicked the blanket off and sat up, the cool air hitting my skin as I glanced around my room. Something was wrong, but I couldn't pinpoint it.

I wandered over to the calendar on my wall, the paper edges frayed and torn, leaving only two weeks visible. With a sharp exhale, I grabbed a marker from my desk and crossed off one of the dates, my fingers pressing too hard, leaving a streak on the page. I pulled on some clothes quickly, too restless to care about the details, then headed downstairs.

Mom was outside on the porch, sitting in her usual spot, her posture stiff. Dad was out in the yard, raking leaves with exaggerated movements, as if the task was more of a ritual than anything else.

I stepped out onto the porch, the cold morning air brushing against my face. It wasn't too bad, really—just the usual crisp bite of early spring—but the tension still lingered in the air. I scanned the sky, trying to focus on something other than the strange buzz inside me.

Then, I felt it. My mom's gaze, sharp and quiet, pressing down on me from her seat. It was like her energy was cutting through the space between us, a silent judgment that hung thick in the air. I could almost hear the unspoken words: "I've been cleaning all day, and you're just hanging out in your room?"

I heard her murmur something under her breath—sharp, bitter. She eventually went back inside, but not before brushing past me and muttering, "Useless."

The word hit harder than I expected. I sank down onto the steps, trying to pretend it didn't bother me, but the ache in my chest said otherwise. Still, what really unsettled me wasn't her insult. It was that feeling again—strange, creeping, like something was getting closer. Not metaphorically. Literally. It wasn't in my head anymore. It was... coming.

I stood up abruptly and made my way over to where my dad was hunched over the garden bed, pulling weeds with mechanical precision. "Hey, Dad," I said, trying to sound casual, "if I finish pulling the rest of these weeds, can I get ten dollars?" He didn't turn around. "Why pay you when I can just force you?" The words were flat, final, like a door clicking shut.

My fingers twisted in the hem of my shirt. "Please, there's... this book. All the girls are reading it at school. I really want it." The lie tasted sour, but I swallowed hard, staring at the dirt between us.

Silence. Then he glanced up, wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes locked onto mine—calculating, amused in a way that made my stomach tighten.

"I'll give you the ten," he said slowly, "if you suck on my finger."

A cold ripple shot down my spine. My grin felt stiff, unnatural, like my face was moving on its own. I wanted to step back. I wanted to say no. But the weight of his stare pinned me in place.

After a heartbeat, I nodded.

His calloused finger hovered near my lips. The scent of soil and sweat clung to his skin. My throat closed up, but I opened my mouth anyway, forcing a hollow smile. When he pushed his finger in, I sucked on it mechanically, my tongue dry, my jaw rigid. The taste of salt and dirt coated my tongue. Somewhere, far away, I heard the wind rustle the trees—like the world was holding its breath.

I know what you're thinking—that me sucking on my father's finger isn't just disgusting, but sexual assault. And you're right. My adoptive dad has made questionable advances toward me, his 18-year-old daughter. It never went further than sexual comments—about how he imagines my vagina looks, or how he likes the curve of my ass—but no, we never had a sexual relationship.

I say thank you, bend down, and get to work. From the corner of my eye, I catch him staring at my butt. I ignore it, along with the uncomfortable shiver crawling down my spine. "Endure," I whisper to myself, like a mantra, a spell to keep me numb.

My mind drifts to my life before adoption—my earliest memories are of being eight years old, surrounded by men who tried to do "adult" things to me. Tears well up as I hear my mother's voice: "No man wants her." "You don't see boys knocking on her door."

If that's true, then why does this keep happening? If I'm so undesirable, why do the father figures in my life do this? Is this normal? Is any of this right?

Alone in the yard, I break down in silence.

A few hours later, I headed inside—I needed to wash my face, and while I'm at it brush my teeth before running my errand. As I rinsed the dirt from under my nails and splashed water on my face, the sound of the faucet filled the bathroom. I tried to control my breathing, but the anxiety was building. I quickly bent down and stuck my head under the cold stream. The cool water was gentle, soothing. Calming.

Once I had collected myself, I turned off the tap and dried off with a towel. I checked the time on my phone: 3:30 p.m. Taking a deep breath, I gathered my strength and walked out of the bathroom toward the front door.

"Hey, you coming to dinner with us tonight?" I bumped into my younger sister. Our relationship was... okay. Not great. I didn't really trust her—honestly, I didn't trust most of my siblings. We had a long-standing tradition of backstabbing and ratting each other out. So I kept things to myself. Even when I was lonely. Even when I needed someone to talk to.

"Oh, really? When are you guys leaving?"

"Probably in a few minutes."

Perfect. They'd be gone for a while. I could leave without being questioned.

I flashed my fakest smile. "Oh no, I've got a ton of homework due first thing Monday."

"Oh, okay. That sucks."

"Yeah, but I need to catch up, so—have fun!" I slipped past her into my room and closed the door behind me.

With the door behind me with a quiet click and lean against it, the wood cool against my back. My fingers curl into the hem of my shirt as the echo of old arguments circles in my mind.

"They can't afford extra people," Mom used to mutter whenever I was invited anywhere. Her voice sharp, final. Like I was an item on a receipt no one asked for.

My throat tightens. I cross the room in three long strides and collapse onto my bed, the mattress groaning beneath me. My face presses into the pillow, muffling the sharp hitch of breath.

And yet—every time they came back from those outings, she'd look at me with wide eyes and say, "Why didn't you go?"
Like I was the one who said no.

A bitter laugh catches in my chest. "What a joke," I breathe, curling into myself. "One more day," I murmur, rocking slightly, "just one more day." Then softer, like a secret I'm almost afraid to say, "I wish I wasn't adopted into this family."

Tears slide down my cheeks without asking permission, soaking into my sleeves. I wipe at them with the back of my hand, but they keep coming—relentless, like rain that doesn't know how to stop. My legs feel heavy, but I push myself up, dragging my feet to the desk.

The laptop screen lights up, casting a pale glow across the dark room. My unfinished stories wait for me—bright little windows into other lives. A girl laughing with her best friend. A boy risking everything for someone he loves. Worlds where things make sense. Worlds where people choose you.

I press a palm to my chest. That feeling again—like something fluttering wildly beneath my ribs, begging to be free. My breath comes fast and shallow. I tilt my head back, eyes to the ceiling, trying to hold myself together. "Anywhere but here," I whisper. "Anywhere but home."

Then, through the thin walls, I hear the car doors slam. An engine rumbles to life. Tires crunch against the gravel.

They're gone.

Before I can change my mind, I grab my hoodie, swing open the front door and slip outside. The air bites at my skin, but I don't stop. There's a corner store a few blocks away. I dash down the road as fast as my legs will carry me, the pavement blurring beneath my feet. A medium-sized building comes into view, and I make my way inside. I head straight for the hardware aisle, scanning the shelves with anticipation.

A smile tugs at my lips when I finally spot it. After paying, I hurry home, eager to get to my room. I open the closet door and carefully add the new addition to my setup. Tomorrow's the big day—I'll hang the photos in the morning and wait for the perfect moment. With a satisfied sigh, I close the closet door and slip into bed. As my eyelids grow heavy, I hear his voice—the boy who often visits my dreams. The one with midnight-blue eyes and jet-black hair. He feels so real, like he's calling me to find him. My body relaxes, and I drift off to sleep, wrapped in the soothing presence of the boy who calms my aching heart.