A suspition

The whispers started subtly, like the rustling of dry leaves before a storm. At first, I’d dismissed them, attributing them to the usual schoolyard chatter, the idle gossip that swirled around us like dust motes in a sunbeam. But then the stares began to follow, sharp and pointed, making my scales prickle with an unease I couldn't quite shake. It was as if a spotlight, once reserved for my triumphs, had been twisted into a harsh, accusatory glare.

School, my sanctuary, the one place where the fractured pieces of my life seemed to align, was becoming a minefield. Every scraped claw, every misplaced word, every flicker of my powers that I couldn't quite control was now scrutinized, dissected, and undoubtedly found wanting. They saw my abilities, the effortless grace with which I could summon a gust of wind or mend a broken quill, and they saw perfection. What they didn’t see, what I desperately tried to keep hidden, was the jagged landscape of my life outside these hallowed halls. The emptiness, the silence, the gnawing fear that clung to me like a second skin.

My shyness, once a gentle cloak, now felt like a suffocating shroud. It amplified the slightest scrutiny, sending jolts of pure terror through me. My instinct was to shrink, to fold in on myself, to become as small and insignificant as possible. I’d practice it in my room, contorting my body, willing myself to fade into the wallpaper, to become utterly invisible. It was a warped kind of magic, born of desperation, a desperate plea to escape the weight of their expectations, their envy.