A girl who can manipulate shadows.

The first time Lilith discovered her gift, she was seven. The sun had set behind the old willow tree in their backyard, casting long, shifting shadows across the grass. She had been tracing patterns in the dirt when she noticed something strange—her shadow wasn’t still. It writhed and curled unnaturally, as if it had a life of its own.

She reached out, and the darkness slithered toward her fingertips like ink spilled in water. It twisted and coiled, responding to her unspoken command. She had no name for it then, only the thrill of something both terrifying and exhilarating.

By thirteen, she had mastered it. She could stretch shadows, shape them, bend them to her will. With a flick of her fingers, she could send tendrils of darkness slithering up walls, wrapping around objects, or concealing her from sight. The night became her playground, the shadows her allies.

But not everyone Noticed the dark as she did.

One evening, while walking home from school, she saw a group of boys picking on a younger kid, shoving him into a corner behind the grocery store. Rage boiled inside her. The streetlights flickered as she stepped forward, her heart pounding. The boys sneered until they noticed the shadows pooling unnaturally at their feet.

With a wave of her hand, the darkness surged forward, slithering up their legs like vines. It was cold—so cold it burned. They screamed, stumbling back, tripping over themselves as they fled, leaving the frightened boy behind. Lilith retracted the shadows, her breath shallow. The boy stared at her with wide eyes, whispered a shaky “thank you,” and ran.

That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She had used her power to help someone, but the fear in the boy’s eyes haunted her. Was she a monster?

Her parents suspected nothing—until the accident.

A month later, she was cornered in the school parking lot by three older girls, their jealousy over a boy turning into sharp words and cruel hands. When one of them grabbed her wrist, something inside her snapped. The shadows surged out of her, lashing at them like living whips. They shrieked as the darkness dragged them back, pressing cold fingers against their skin. Lilith gasped, horrified at what she had done. She released them at once, but the damage was done.

The rumors spread like wildfire. “Witch.” “Demon.” “Freak.”

Her parents, concerned by the whispers, confronted her. At first, she denied it, but the truth bled through in her trembling hands and the way the shadows always seemed to follow her movements. Her mother wept. Her father looked at her she was something foreign. Something dangerous.

The decision was made swiftly—boarding school. Far away. Somewhere quiet.

But darkness could not be contained.

On her first night at Ravenshade Academy, she felt it—the call of something deeper in the shadows that clung to the corners of the old dormitory halls. She sat by the window, gazing at the moonlight filtering through the trees. A whisper rustled through the darkness, too soft to be mere wind.

"You are one of us."

She froze. Her heart pounded. The shadows at her feet stretched and swirled, forming a shape—a figure, tall and faceless, woven from pure darkness. It did not step toward her but lingered, waiting.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"The same as you. Shadowborn. You are not alone."

A shiver ran down her spine. All her life, she had been feared, cast aside. But now, for the first time, she wondered—was she truly a monster, or was she meant for something greater?

Lilith took a deep breath and stepped forward, into the waiting embrace of the shadows.