Chapter Text
Lindsay Torres blinks her eyes open, as the clock on the wall across from her ticks to 11 pm. The moonlight streams through the window next to her bed and she sits up, reaching over to silently grab her glasses from the cluttered nightstand next to her.
The room was quiet, save for the soft breathing of her foster ‘siblings’ in the beds next to her. They shared a rook sure, but siblings they were not. She only just tolerated a few of them.
She stood quietly, passing by Alex, who she’d heard had been here the longest. They shared a nod. He never asked where she went, and she never asked when he would sneak out either.
She pulled shoes out from under her bed and opened the window, freezing when it gave a low creak, relaxing only when she was sure no one had waken up. She tossed her boots out and dropped down next to them onto the grassy lawn of the old foster house.
She laced them up as quickly as possible, and made her way through the familiar path to the woods. Squeezing through a alleyway here and hoping a fence there.
“Hey!”. She was startled and she approached the entrance to the forest.
Malia stood, leaning nonchalantly against an old tree, distracted by her phone. “Your early too?”.
Lindsay nodded and Malia met her with a similar one and the two began to walk together, deeper into the woods.
-/-
Being a Marra, Lindsay thought, was a lot like being in a club. A secret club, but a club nonetheless. At her old school she’d been in the schools art club, and she couldn’t help but draw similarities. Meetings and rule. Although the obvious supernatural difference made things a bit more confusing.
It came natural to her, devouring people’s nightmares every other night. She was surprisingly good at it for a newbie, some of the others had told her.
Making people’s dreams into nightmares and savoring every last drop of fear she could squeeze out of them. And then making everyone laugh with the stories of how pathetic the dreamers screams of terror were. Priceless.
Being a Marra came with an immediate set of friends as well. She hasn’t attempted to be friends with anyone outside of them, she wasn’t even sure if she was allowed.
Sasha, a year older than her, had simply said ‘Marra stick with Marra’ one day when they all sharing a table at the cafeteria for lunch. She’d accepted it fully.
Besides, how would explain to anyone else the way her eyes just seemed to barely glowed in dark lighting, how she walked so lightly at times it could be described as floating, how people woke up from class naps screaming when they sat too close to her?
Best to stick to her own kind.
She gave a snicker as Wendy, from her spot next to her on the old log they’d pushed to make a makeshift bench around their magical fire, told of how she’d made an old man run out of his in fright that it was burning to the ground.