Phantasma (Wicked Games, #1)

by Kaylie Smith

To those who’ve had to claw their way out of the dark and still choose to be a light in this world⁠— I’m proud of you.

depictions of obsessive-compulsive tendencies, such as intrusive thoughts and compulsive tics.

“A heart and a key would set me free,” it said. “But you should hope we do not meet again, angel.”

The Shadow Voice isn’t real.

But it didn’t matter how many times she told herself that. The intrusive thoughts always managed to make a traitor of her own mind.

That was a close one. She squeezed her eyes shut at the voice. It had only been in her mind. It was always only in her mind.

The man lifted a brow. “I’ve never seen anyone with such a number of possible fears. It’s a wonder you’re able to sleep, with such darkness crawling in the shadows of your mind.”

You’re never going to make it out, the insidious voice in her head whispered. You’ll die if you don’t find your way out of here in exactly five minutes.

heartless scoundrels.

“Imagine you believe, with every fiber of your being, that something is real, and suddenly you get an inkling that it is not. I have to live that nightmare every single day in my own mind! Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to have your reality so distorted that you can’t trust your own thoughts, your own sight?”

“No,” he answered, sincere. “But it’s over. You figured it out before it was too late. You finished the level.” “But how do I know that!” she exclaimed, fear creeping into her voice. “How do I know this is real and I’m not being tricked by another illusion into a false sense of security?”

I need you to know if you were to ever let me touch you, in any way, the moment you wanted to stop—I would. No hesitation.”

For once her head felt crystal clear. No intrusive voices or thoughts of danger and violence.

“Stop!” she cried aloud, slamming her hands against her forehead as if she could physically dislodge the voice from her mind. But it wouldn’t stop. The word looped on repeat until Ophelia was practically ripping the hair from her scalp. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrassing. Embarrass⁠—

Ocd representation. Literally Tears

gently prying her hands from her hair. “What’s going on?” “It wouldn’t stop,” she groaned. “What wouldn’t stop?” he pressed. “The Shadow Voice,” she gritted out, squeezing her hands into fists to resist the urge to plunge them back into her disheveled tresses.

“Every time your eyes glaze over like that… where do you go?” “Nowhere,” she lied. His eyes narrowed. “Who is the Shadow Voice?”

and then you found me. Because it seems that’s what we do. We find each other.”