The Summoning

The house rang with voices that were never hers. Her siblings bickered and laughed, her parents barked orders and scoldings, and when she tried to speak, it was as though her words passed through them like smoke.

Tonight was no different. She had mentioned a story she'd been reading, about a king of shadows who ruled a world beyond theirs. Her father scoffed.
"Filling your head with nonsense again."
Her mother sighed.
"You're nearly grown now, yet still chasing fairy tales. You'll never make a life for yourself living in the clouds."

The sting was familiar, but no less sharp for its repetition. They never listened. They never saw her. Her siblings rolled their eyes and muttered, "She's away with the fairies again," and laughter followed her like a curse.

Invisible. Lonely. Unwanted.

She stormed from the room, her chest burning, eyes hot with unshed tears. She wanted to scream until the walls cracked. She wanted-something. Something other than this life of being unseen and unheard, crushed beneath ordinary expectations.

Up in her room, she clutched the battered book she had loved since childhood, the one that told of the Shadow King. The one that whispered of realms where magic was real, where a girl could be more than forgotten.

"At least he would notice me," she muttered bitterly, pacing. "At least he would understand."

She pressed her forehead to the windowpane, staring into the night. The words tumbled from her, half-anger, half-desperation, all fire:

"I wish the Shadow King would spirit me away from this dull, miserable life!"

The air seemed to shiver. A hush fell, deeper than silence. Her breath caught.

Then came the sound of wings-great, heavy, unseen-and the flicker of shadows lengthening against the wall though no light had moved. The air thickened, trembling as though the world itself held its breath.

And from the darkness, he stepped forward. Cloaked in black, eyes mismatched like twin stars, his pale face both terrible and beautiful, the Shadow King looked down upon her.

"You called, little one," he said softly, almost tenderly. Then his smile curved, sharp and cruel. "And I have come."

Her heart froze. This wasn't a story. This was real.