Building 11's inside didn't really look like it belonged to Gustav Klimt. It looked like a repurposed warehouse curated by a brand strategist - polished concrete floors, tastefully distressed graffiti, exposed beams that screamed authentic urban energy™. The kind of place where creativity wore a lanyard and reported to marketing. Everything felt calculated, clean, and utterly devoid of soul. But then they walked through a set of black curtains, and suddenly the world turned gold...

Void spotted her near at the platform - Uly, white shirt, lavender blouse, deep brown hair, eyes like smoke and secrets. She walked towards her like judgement towards a convict. Void felt her chest tighten in that uncomfortable way, like something old was trying to wake up in her ribcage. She told it to shut the hell up.

They hugged, but Void wasn't sure if that was a relief or a disappointment...

The train hissed like it was tired of existing - just like Void. Two hours on a rail just to maybe fall in love for a bit. "That's either brave or desperate," Void said to herself. But inside, she stopped caring which one it is a long time ago.

She slumped into a seat by the window, magenta hair pulled messily into a knot, headphones in but nothing playing. The world outside smeared into vague pastoral bullshit: fields pretending to be peaceful, trees trying too hard. She didn't buy it. Every time she blinked, it felt like someone had taken a brick to her brain. Too much sleep, too little purpose...

Ah fuck, this thing again...

The hoodie was folded in the back of the wardrobe like a secret no one was supposed to find. Void hadn't meant to dig that deep - she was just trying to avoid thinking, and her fingers wandered where her mind didn't want to go. But the moment her hand brushed that familiar fabric, everything else stopped. Black cotton, as soft as Aura's sorrow. Worn elbows, sleeves stretched from Aura's habit of pulling them over her hands when the world felt too loud. Void stared at it like it might vanish if she blinked. Then she pulled it out and pressed it to her face...

happy birthday, love. another year.
wish i could hold you, pull you near.
you wear my face, but not my smile.
still, you've walked with me every mile.

oh great, here comes the birthday ghost.
with lavender dreams and a tragic toast.
what's next? tea leaves? moonlight lore?
you left, remember? i clean the floor.

i know, i know... i left too soon.
but i'm still there, beneath your tune.
you carry me in every breath.
a girl-shaped scar, a softer death.

you say that like it makes things fair.
you handed me your cross to bear.
no guidebook, no "just in case,"
only your tears on a pillowcase.

but look at you - alive, still here.
cussing fate and facing fear.
you walk through pain and laugh through ash.
you made your bed from broken glass.

yeah, well, i sleep like shit most of the nights.
i dream in static, flinch at every light.
but fine. some incense, then one deep breath.
a muffin, half-burnt like me, cheated death.

that's us, my friend. a crooked flame.
but burning still. and not in vain.
so happy birthday, void, cursed and true.
a half of me... but wholly you.

oh fuck you. i should hate this rhyme.
but damn it. just this one last time.
happy birthday, aura. wish you were here.
no toast from me though, i don't drink beer.
you blew out your candle. like you said, too fast.
now i'm left with the smoke, and a shadow that lasts.