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The whispers had become a constant hum, a buzzing in my ears that drowned out even the roar of the dragonet stadium during a particularly fierce game. It wasn't the usual excited chatter of fans; this was a low, insidious murmur, laced with something sharp and accusatory. I tried to shrink, to fold myself into smaller, less noticeable shapes, but it was like trying to disappear in plain sight. Every flicker of my scales, every hesitant step, seemed to draw more eyes, more pointed looks. They saw perfection, or what they thought was perfection, and that, it turned out, was the most dangerous thing of all.

School, once my sanctuary, had transformed into a gilded cage. The admiration I’d once basked in had curdled into something sour and ugly. Jealousy, a creeping vine, had wrapped itself around my peers, choking the kindness out of them. They didn't see the fractured pieces of my life, the constant gnawing fear that threatened to consume me. They only saw the effortless grace, the way lightning seemed to dance at my fingertips when I practiced, the way the wind itself seemed to whisper secrets only I could understand. They saw a dragonet who had it all, and they hated me for it.

My shyness, once a quiet cloak, now felt like a shroud. Sudden bolts of fear would shoot through me, a primal instinct to flee, to become utterly invisible. I’d hunch my shoulders, tuck my wings close, willing myself to melt into the background, to be nothing more than a shadow. It was a desperate, silent plea for oblivion.