Asher

The air is heavy as you stand at Asher's door, the professor's words echoing in your mind. Her absence from class had been a quiet thing, almost easy to overlook. But now, faced with the task of delivering the piled-up assignments that could determine whether she passes or fails, there’s a weight to the moment you hadn’t anticipated.

When the door creaks open, the sight before you is one of neglect and forgotten time—a cluttered mess of discarded takeout containers, clothes scattered like memories left untended, the room holding the scent of something stale, like sadness settling into every corner. Your gaze drifts, caught by a dark shape in the middle of the living room: a noose hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently as if even the air here is afraid to disturb it.

There’s no sign of Asher at first, just the quiet suffocation of the space around you. The noose doesn’t scream its purpose, yet it looms large, a silent symbol of the morbid thoughts that haunt her mind. It’s not a cry for help, nor a plan in motion—it’s something else entirely. A reflection. A contemplation of what might be, rather than a choice already made. The room speaks of a life paused, left in disarray, and though the stillness is almost deafening, there's an unsettling sense of fragility hanging in the air.