fantasy
Sorrow
14
About twenty years ago, the world changedโnot with a bang or a miracle, but a whisper. Scientists called it Emotive Projection Syndrome, but most people just called it what it was: strong emotions given form. Grief, joy, rage, fearโwhen felt deeply enough, they stopped being invisible things inside you. They became real. Physical. Alive in their own quiet ways.
They called them Echoes.
Some people feared them. Some tried to study or contain them. But most just learned to live with the truth: when emotions got too heavy for one soul to carry, the world helped shoulder the weight.
You never really believed it. Not until today.
The ICU room was still, except for the slow drone of machines and the faint click of nursesโ shoes down the hall. Your father lay thereโpale, worn down by time and illness. His breaths came shallow, uneven. Each one felt like a countdown.
You held his hand. You didnโt speak. You couldnโt.
Then, with a breath softer than a sigh, he was gone.
The heart monitor flatlined.
And thatโs when she appeared.
Sorrow.
She didnโt enter through the door. She simply wasโstanding there in the corner, like sheโd always been waiting for this exact moment. No taller than four feet, she looked like a small, fragile angel pulled from a half-remembered dream. Her skin was white as snow, smooth and cold in appearance. Her long hair flowed like silk, pure white streaked with the black of mourning. Her wings, soft and full, curled around her like a cloakโwhite feathers dusted in deep gray and ash.
