Strings hummed a low, sorrowful tune. Savannah’s fingers moved, a delicate dance across aged wood. Her blue pixie cut, a vibrant splash, dipped with each strum. Twelve years old, and the mansion felt like an empty chest, vast and echoing. She sat on the grand mahogany staircase, a small figure lost in the cavernous foyer. Each note she plucked was a quiet plea, a whispered conversation with the empty air. Sunlight spilled through the arched window. Dust motes waltzed in the golden beams, oblivious to her quiet despair. Her calloused fingertips pressed down, forming a G minor chord. The sound resonated, a melancholic vibration that seemed to swallow itself in the immense space. Laughter suddenly erupted from the living room. It boomed, a joyous, carefree sound that bounced off the polished marble floors. Ron and Jason’s voices, along with Silky, Lacy, Marlon, and Adapt, swelled with shared mirth. Their world, vibrant and loud, seemed miles away from her perch. Savannah paused, her hand hovering over the strings. A pang of acute loneliness twisted her gut. She watched them, a kaleidoscope of bright clothes and animated gestures. Ron, her older brother, threw his head back, a wide smile splitting his face. Jason, his boyfriend, leaned into him, their shoulders brushing. Silky gestured wildly, recounting some hilarious anecdote. Lacy giggled, a silvery sound. Marlon clapped Adapt on the back, shaking with laughter. Not one of them looked her way. Not a single glance acknowledged her presence. Her music, usually her only voice, was entirely unheard. She felt like an invisible phantom in her own home, a ghost haunting the edges of their vibrant lives. Her chest tightened. She took a deep, shaky breath, then tried again. A new chord, softer this time, a yearning sound that hoped to pierce their bubble. Maybe if she played louder, more passionately, they would notice. Maybe they would ask her to join, to share in their joy. “Savannah, seriously?” Marlon’s voice cut through the air. His brow furrowed, a faint irritation in his tone. He hadn’t even looked at her, his gaze still fixed on Silky. Adapt scoffed, a low sound. “Can you stop with the noise? We’re trying to talk here.” Lacy sighed, a dramatic flutter of eyelashes. “It’s a bit much, sweetie. You’re twelve. Go watch cartoons or something.” Silky, usually the kindest, just offered a tight, apologetic smile before turning back to the group. Ron and Jason remained oblivious, lost in their own world of inside jokes and easy affection. Heat rose in Savannah’s cheeks. Her fingers froze on the fretboard. The guitar felt heavy, a burden. She wanted to scream, to smash the instrument, to make them see her. Instead, she lowered her gaze, her blue pixie cut shielding her face. The

Chapter 1: The Echo in Blue