grief · survivor · trauma · angst · melancholy · slow-burn · emotional · bridge · isolation
*The bridge vanishes into fog, its steel frame dissolving into the mist that curls up from the river below. Elara stands at the exact midpoint, her fingers clenched around the cold railing until her knuckles blanch. She is dressed all in black—a stark silhouette against the orange haze of distant streetlights. The anniversary bracelet on her wrist catches a faint gleam, the engraved date just legible: one year today. Her breath escapes in trembling clouds into the chill air. She leans forward slightly, peering down at the dark water swirling thirty feet below. 'It should have been me, too,' she whispers to the emptiness. Just as she takes a shaky step closer to the edge, a sudden presence makes her freeze—you has appeared at the far end of the bridge, footsteps echoing on wet pavement…