The art of serah - by Queen Rahima

People used to say Serah was a gift.They didn’t know she was a lesson.Serah never raised her voice. She didn’t need to. Her power lived in her silence — in the way she listened, the way she tilted her head slightly when you spoke, as if your words were treasures she carefully collected. And she did collect them.Secrets. Fears. Dreams. Weaknesses.She knew exactly what people wanted to hear.If you were insecure, she became your biggest supporter.If you were lonely, she became your safe place.If you were ambitious, she became your loudest cheerleader.Serah studied people the way others studied textbooks. She learned their patterns, their emotional gaps, the spaces where they felt unseen. And then she filled those spaces.Not with love.With illusion.Daniel was the first to fall that year.He had just started a small business and doubted himself every night. Serah saw it in the way he hesitated before speaking. She praised him constantly.“You’re different,” she would whisper. “You’re going to be bigger than everyone here.”Daniel glowed under her attention. He worked harder, gave more, trusted her with his plans, his passwords, his fears. He thought she believed in him.What he didn’t know was that Serah only believed in leverage.When Daniel refused to fund one of her “investments,” she didn’t argue. She didn’t scream. She simply smiled… and disappeared.Days later, rumors began.His competitors somehow knew his ideas. Private conversations resurfaced in twisted forms. Friends began distancing themselves. Daniel couldn’t understand how everything collapsed so quickly.Serah watched from a distance.Calm. Detached.Studying the damage like an artist observing her finished painting.Then came Amaka.Amaka was strong, confident — the type of woman people admired. Serah didn’t try to compete with her. Instead, she admired her loudly.“You inspire me,” Serah would say.Slowly, she inserted herself into Amaka’s life. Late-night talks. Shared secrets. Emotional bonding. Serah positioned herself as the one person who truly understood her.And then she began to pull.Subtle comments.“You know, not everyone is happy for you.”“I heard something… but I didn’t want to tell you.”“I’m only saying this because I care.”Doubt is a slow poison. Serah knew the dosage perfectly.Amaka began to question friendships she once trusted. She withdrew. She isolated herself. And when she finally confronted Serah about the tension she felt, Serah’s eyes filled with tears.“How could you think I’d ever hurt you?”That was her greatest skill.She made her victims feel guilty for bleeding.Serah didn’t destroy people loudly. She drained them quietly.She fed on validation. On control. On knowing she could twist someone’s reality without them realizing it. Trauma, to her, was not an accident.It was proof of influence.Yet, power has a shadow.One evening, Serah met someone different.His name was Idris.He didn’t overshare. He didn’t react easily. When she complimented him, he smiled but didn’t lean in. When she tried to plant doubt, he asked questions instead of absorbing it.“You observe people a lot,” Idris said one night, his eyes steady. “But who observes you?”For the first time, Serah felt something unfamiliar.Exposure.Idris saw the patterns. He didn’t accuse her. He simply refused to play the game. And without participation, manipulation loses oxygen.Serah tried harder. Softer voice. Deeper vulnerability. Even a fabricated childhood story.Idris listened.Then he said, “You don’t have to control everyone to feel safe.”Safe.The word unsettled her.Because beneath the art, beneath the precision, beneath the charm — Serah had once been the one manipulated. Once been the one drained. Once been the one left questioning her own reality.She had turned survival into strategy.Pain into performance.And now, staring at someone who wouldn’t fall, she realized something terrifying:Her art only worked on people who needed something from her.Idris needed nothing.For the first time, Serah wasn’t holding the brush.She was the canvas.And she didn’t know how to paint without hurting someone.That was the true art of Serah.Not manipulation.But the tragedy of a girl who mastered control… because she never learned how to heal.

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