"And I know that writing letters to someone I've never met, whose name I don't even know, is objectively unhinged behavior."
"Also correct."
"But he's the only person who doesn't look at me like I'm about to explode. Even if it's just words on paper. Even if he never writes back."
"Seraphine—"
"He makes me feel less alone." My voice cracks slightly. I clear my throat, forcing the brightness back. "In this ruthless world where breathing is a privilege and kindness is a liability, S.W. is… he's proof that maybe I'm not entirely a monster. That maybe there's still something worth saving under all this chaos."
Silence.
Then, softer than I've ever heard her: "Then we ensure the letter reaches him."
I nod, blinking back the wetness in my mismatched eyes.
Not crying. Not today. Today we deliver mail and pretend we're fine.
The exit looms ahead—heavy metal door separating my corridor from the main sector arteries. Beyond it: violence, chaos, the constant hum of danger that never quite fades.
I adjust my bag. Check my blades. Count my breaths.
Two, four, eight.
Even numbers.Safe.
My hand finds the door handle, and I pause for just one more second. One more moment of peace before I step into the nightmare.
Behind me, my room sits empty—concrete box with an aerial ring, broken mirror, and bloodstained letters piled in a corner. Evidence of my madness. Proof of my survival.
Ahead: the Ruthless sector in all its terrible glory.
And somewhere at the end of this journey: a mailbox I earned through blood and pain, and the faint, desperate hope that maybe—maybe—S.W. will write back.
I pull open the door.
Noise crashes over me: screams, laughter, the wet sound of fists on flesh. The symphony of violence that is my home.
I step through, pink hair bright as a target, smile sharp as my blades, letter pressed against my heart.
"Shall we enjoy this ruthless adventure together, dear friend?" I murmur, fingers brushing Ro's sphere around my neck.
My only friend in this ruthless world...
CHAPTER 2
Morning Rituals And Murder
~SERAPHINE~
The quiet parts of Ruthless Academy have a specific quality of silence that most people don't understand.
It's not peaceful.
It's waiting.
The kind of stillness that comes before violence, before screaming, before the wet sound of steel meeting flesh. The kind of quiet that makes prey animals freeze and predators salivate.
I fucking love it.
