Eyes slip shut, soft shimmering images played on dark screens through dark hours. Their cold, cackling laughter drifts down to her ears pressed hard against the ground.
In her dreams, her savior takes the form of a dark-haired spirit unleashing righteous anger on any who would do her harm. The smiles on their vindictive faces don't last long in his presence. He's dangerous.
A rush crawls up her skin like pleasure.
In truth, short-cropped gold strands dance, tantalizing, drifting around determined blue eyes colder than steel. Colder than the brats who tease her, colder than her crush's dismissing grunts whenever she glances his way.
And she admires that. When do girls learn to be so strong?
Probably some time before now, she thinks bitterly, and I've already missed out.
But no, the wide smile on an impulsive face tells her otherwise, tells her go, and bloom, my little bud because I'm watching over you and she doesn't know how much she's imagining.
From then on the gaze she always feels on the back of her neck belongs to the one who saved her, back before her life was ever in danger.
Each time, an oddly-proportioned head spins around and sees nothing.