intrepidity

Aurora wandered into the living room in her soft, cotton strawberry pajamas, hair braided loosely over one shoulder, and her ever-present pink blanket draped over her like a cape. She looked around, tilting her head at the flickering television and the two boys lounging on the couch, flipping through horror movie thumbnails like it was a buffet.

"What are you watching?" she asked softly, her voice as sweet as honey.

Atlas looked up from the remote. "Trying to pick a scary movie. Nothing too bad."

Her eyes lit up. "Can I watch with you?"

Atlas paused. Antonio snorted. "No offense, Rory, but you're terrified of the vacuum cleaner sometimes."

She frowned, lips puffing into a pout. "I am not."

"You are literally scared of the 'Boom' setting on the popcorn machine," Antonio countered.

"That's a justified fear."

"Rory," Atlas said gently, "this one's kinda creepy. Like, mirrors and ghosts and—"

"I can handle it." She folded her arms, tilting her chin up. "I'm not a baby."

Antonio gave a low whistle. "The baby protests."

"I'm serious!" She climbed over the back of the couch and wedged herself between them, already curling her legs under her. "Let me try. I'll be fine."

Antonio exchanged a look with his twin. He hesitated—he knew better—but the way she was looking at him, hopeful and bright-eyed and wrapped in her favorite blanket, like a marshmallow of conviction... He gave in.

"Alright," he sighed. "But you're not allowed to sleep in my bed when you get scared."

"I won't!" she declared.

The movie was, to put it gently, not a little spooky.

It started off slow. Eerie music, flickering lights, mirrors cracking for no reason. Then came the ghost girl with the glassy eyes and the way she just... stood in corners. Breathing. Watching.

Antonio sat with his feet up on the coffee table, chewing popcorn like nothing fazed him. Atlas occasionally glanced sideways at Aurora.

She didn't flinch. Not once.

But she didn't blink much either.

She just sat there, rigid, eyes wide, blanket up to her nose. Silent as a mouse.

When the movie ended, the screen fading to black, she stood up with robotic precision. "That was fun," she said in a high, slightly-too-quick voice. "Goodnight."

"Wait, that's it?" Antonio called after her as she floated down the hallway like a ghost herself.

"She's totally scared," Atlas muttered, raising a brow.

"Absolutely."

-

Aurora shut her bedroom door behind her and leaned back against it.

She wasn't going to cry. She was fine.

The room was dark. Too dark. And the shadows on her walls? Definitely longer than they should be. The closet door creaked slightly, and the reflection in her mirror looked just a little off, like it moved a second too slow.

She climbed into bed, clutching her stuffed lamb to her chest. She tried counting to one hundred. Then two hundred. Then reciting the names of all her brothers in order (easiest thing ever). But the scary movie kept replaying in her head like a loop. Every sound in the house made her heart jump. Every car horn, every floorboard creak, every shift of wind outside her window sounded like a whisper.