Stolen Youth, Reclaimed Destiny

Stolen Youth, Reclaimed Destiny

Gavin

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The roar of the crowd was the last thing I heard. I died on a dirty city street, falsely accused, a monster in their eyes. It all started with a gift for my 25th birthday-an antique smartwatch from Eleanor, my adoptive mother. It wasn't just a heavy, ornate trinket; it was a life-drainer. Weeks after I clasped it on, my vibrant youth withered, my hair thinned, my mind fogged. As I became a frail old woman, Eleanor, terrified of aging, grew younger, radiant with my stolen vitality. She locked me in the dusty attic, telling the world I' d had a breakdown. My only hope, Bethany, my ex-boyfriend' s fiancé, found me. She helped me escape, or so I thought. She live-streamed my chaotic flight, twisting a narrative: I was a fraud, mentally unstable, stealing from Eleanor. The crowd, incited by her online posts, saw a villain, not a victim. They closed in, their rage contorting their faces. Bethany watched, a triumphant smile on her face, as my life drained away for the second, and final, time. But death was not the end. Floating in a void, I saw Eleanor and Bethany toasting with champagne, celebrating my demise. The injustice burned through me, a rage so pure it could tear the universe apart. They had taken everything. Then, I woke up. Gasping for air, my skin smooth, my hair thick and dark-25 again. It was my birthday, the day it all started. This time, the watch wouldn' t be for me. This time, I was going to offer the "life-drainer" to Bethany. I would watch Eleanor and Bethany, two predators bound by vanity and greed, tear each other apart. This time, I would not be the victim.

Introduction

The roar of the crowd was the last thing I heard.

I died on a dirty city street, falsely accused, a monster in their eyes.

It all started with a gift for my 25th birthday-an antique smartwatch from Eleanor, my adoptive mother.

It wasn't just a heavy, ornate trinket; it was a life-drainer.

Weeks after I clasped it on, my vibrant youth withered, my hair thinned, my mind fogged.

As I became a frail old woman, Eleanor, terrified of aging, grew younger, radiant with my stolen vitality.

She locked me in the dusty attic, telling the world I' d had a breakdown.

My only hope, Bethany, my ex-boyfriend' s fiancé, found me.

She helped me escape, or so I thought.

She live-streamed my chaotic flight, twisting a narrative: I was a fraud, mentally unstable, stealing from Eleanor.

The crowd, incited by her online posts, saw a villain, not a victim.

They closed in, their rage contorting their faces.

Bethany watched, a triumphant smile on her face, as my life drained away for the second, and final, time.

But death was not the end.

Floating in a void, I saw Eleanor and Bethany toasting with champagne, celebrating my demise.

The injustice burned through me, a rage so pure it could tear the universe apart.

They had taken everything.

Then, I woke up.

Gasping for air, my skin smooth, my hair thick and dark-25 again.

It was my birthday, the day it all started.

This time, the watch wouldn' t be for me.

This time, I was going to offer the "life-drainer" to Bethany.

I would watch Eleanor and Bethany, two predators bound by vanity and greed, tear each other apart.

This time, I would not be the victim.

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