Chapter Five: "The Turning Point"

Jennie sat at the edge of her seat, fingers clenched around her pen, but her eyes didn’t follow the professor’s scribbles on the board. They were locked onto the boy two rows ahead—her ex. The same one who used to sit next to her, hands brushing, laughs shared, secrets whispered during late-night phone calls. Now, he acted like she didn’t exist. As if their memories were ashes swept clean by a cruel wind.

He didn’t glance at her. Not once.

The class felt like a lifetime trapped in a moment. When the bell rang, she didn’t move. Not until the room emptied, and silence pressed against her chest like a weight she couldn’t carry anymore.

Jennie gathered her things slowly, her limbs heavy. Her heart had been breaking in slow motion every day since their breakup, but this—this apathy—was unbearable. Not hate. Not anger. Just nothingness from him.

She stepped out into the hallway, eyes lowered, trying to disappear in the crowd. The walls felt tighter, the voices louder. She had almost made it past the stairwell when she heard them.

"She’s such a bitch," one voice said.

"I heard she slept with three guys from the basketball team," another added.

"And she tried to seduce my boyfriend too. God, she’s so desperate."

Jennie froze mid-step. The words echoed like gunshots in her head.

They were talking about her.

She turned, and their eyes met—her classmates. Faces she once thought were friendly, now twisted with malice, covered in makeup and fake kindness. Laughter followed, sharp and cruel.

Jennie couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded against her ribs. The hallway blurred as her vision filled with tears. She dropped her books and ran.

Ran past the jeering voices.

Ran past the lockers that once felt like safety.

Ran up the staircase, taking two steps at a time until her lungs screamed for air.

She reached her dorm room, fumbled with the key, and pushed the door open. But she didn’t go in.

Because something… or someone… was standing at the end of the hallway.

The lights flickered, and in the darkness stood a woman—tall, draped in a flowing red nylon cloak that shimmered like blood under moonlight. Her face was hidden beneath layers of translucent fabric, only her lips visible—painted a deep, unnatural crimson.

"Jennie," the woman said.

Her voice was soft. Too soft for anyone to have heard from so far away, and yet it pierced through Jennie's sobs like a blade.

Jennie’s spine straightened in instinctive fear. "How... do you know my name?"

The woman’s lips curled slightly, not into a smile, but into something knowing. Something ancient. "Go to the Clock Tower. At twelve o'clock."

Jennie stepped back. "What is this? Some sick joke? Who sent you?"

But the woman didn't answer. The red fabric of her cloak rippled though there was no wind.

Jennie turned away, her hands trembling, and rushed into her room. She locked the door and fell to her knees, sobbing harder than before. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as if her body no longer wanted to be alive. As if her heart had been squeezed dry, yet still found ways to ache.

"Why me?" she whispered, voice hoarse. "Why does everyone hate me? Why did he leave? Why… why do I still care?"

The words poured out like rain, senseless, desperate. She clutched her pillow and screamed into it until her throat was raw.

Midnight felt a thousand hours away.

Yet, the voice—the woman in red—lingered in her mind.

The Clock Tower. At twelve.

Who was she? A hallucination brought on by emotional collapse? A ghost?

Jennie sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the clock. 10:43 PM.

She didn’t believe in fate. She didn’t believe in magic, or destiny, or that anything could ever undo the torment her life had become.

But there was something about that woman—something terrifying and magnetic—that made Jennie feel like she’d already set something in motion simply by hearing her name spoken.

11:59 PM.

The streets were empty. Wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the smell of rain. Jennie wrapped herself in her coat and walked toward the Clock Tower at the center of campus. Her heart thundered with every step. She passed buildings she had known for years, but tonight they looked like foreign monuments under the silver wash of moonlight.

The Clock Tower loomed ahead, tall and ancient. It stood above the campus like a silent sentinel, forgotten and unnoticed by most. But not tonight.

The old wooden door at its base creaked open as she approached—without her touching it.

Jennie hesitated.

"Go to the Clock Tower."

She remembered the command. Not a request, not advice—an instruction.

She stepped inside.

The air inside the tower was thick with dust and the scent of old stones. A narrow staircase spiraled upward, barely lit by shafts of moonlight. She climbed, one hand on the cold railing, her steps echoing like a funeral march.

At the top, the room opened into a circular chamber with glass windows on all sides, revealing the entire campus below. The clock face glowed faintly behind her.

And there, standing in the center of the room, was the woman in red.

Up close, she looked both regal and monstrous. Her red veil shimmered as if stitched with threads of fire, and though her face was mostly hidden, Jennie could feel her gaze like heat on her skin.

"You came," the woman said.

Jennie swallowed hard. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

The woman turned to the glass, looking out at the sleeping campus. "I want to give you a choice."

"A choice?" Jennie repeated, still shaking.

"To stay broken, or to begin again."

Jennie’s voice cracked. "You don’t understand. I’ve been humiliated. Betrayed. Everyone thinks I’m something I’m not. I’ve lost everything. I have nothing left."

The woman turned back to her. "Perfect. That means you have space for something new."

Jennie looked away, tears threatening again. "You think some pretty words can change my life?"

"No," the woman said. "But you can."

A gust of wind burst through the tower, making Jennie stumble. The veil lifted for a second—and Jennie thought she saw the woman’s eyes.

Eyes that were not human. Eyes filled with stars and shadows and stories older than time.

"Who are you?" Jennie whispered again.

The woman stepped closer, extending her hand. In it was a small, black key—cold and smooth like obsidian.

"This unlocks a door that doesn’t exist yet. But if you’re willing to find it, you will."

Jennie didn’t understand. Nothing made sense anymore.

But maybe that was the point.

She reached out and took the key.

And the clock struck twelve.