Am I the only one who sees the poison lurking behind the words? Or do none of you care?
*
The floor trembled beneath my feet as I stormed into my room and slammed the door.
"Calm down," I whispered to myself, my voice shaking. "If you don't calm down, you will bring this city down on top of us. Calm down!"
I must have lost control for a fraction of a second.
Crack.
The large vase in the corner exploded, shards of porcelain scattering across the floor like shrapnel. I stared at the debris, then at the mirror before me.
I wasn't just shattered on the floor; I was shattered inside.
My heart was a bird with a broken wing, trapped inside a ribcage that was already crumbling. You can't go anywhere, my heart, I thought bitterly. I need you to keep me alive.
I remembered a time when I cried so much I grew angry at my own weakness. Those two had broken me. My heart had tried to flee my chest back then. I knew it. So, I had grabbed it. I squeezed it in my fist. I broke its wings myself so it couldn't fly away. Because if it ran, I would die. And back then, I was terrified of dying.
I wish I wasn't afraid anymore.
I looked up at the mirror. Was I the white-eyed girl staring back?
No. That couldn't be me. It shouldn't be me.
I blinked, reaching out toward the glass. I pulled at the threads of the image, twisting the light, bending the perception.
Change.
The reflection shimmered and shifted. The hollow eyes filled with life. The pale skin flushed with health.
Fortunately, no one knew I could alter reality—or at least, the perception of it. If they knew I could weave illusions so perfect they felt real, they would drain me dry.
I had buried this secret in the grave along with my stepmother and father. You will never know the real me.
I forced a smile at my new reflection. Inside, it was a grimace of pain, but the girl in the mirror beamed back, radiant and happy.
Ignoring the lie in the glass, I turned to the bed. Something caught the light.
The dress.
It was a cascading gradient of shimmer, darkening towards the hem like twilight turning into night. Tulle layers drifted like smoke. It was the kind of dress I had never worn in my life.
I put it on. I turned back to the mirror. For a moment, I was speechless.
Do. Not. Cry.
The dress was beautiful, but it revealed too much. The scars my parents had carved into my skin were now exposed to the light. Long, jagged lines of trauma.
I traced one with a trembling finger. I couldn't believe I had almost forgotten they were there.
You even gave up on your pain, Alenas, a dark voice whispered. Living does not suit you.
I could hide them. It wouldn't be hard to weave a layer of falsehood over my skin, to blind people's eyes to the ugly truth. But was it worth it?
I am insignificant anyway. Who would even look closely enough to see my scars?
But then, a thought sparked in my mind.
Maybe... just for one night... I could be beautiful. Not a Weapon. Not a victim. Just a girl.
I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. With a thought, I pulled the illusion over my skin like a second silk dress. The scars vanished. The skin became flawless porcelain.
Perfect.
I finished getting ready. It took an hour to build the armor of "Reverie Alenas." I stepped into my high heels—my mother had taught me to walk in them before she died—and left the room.
*
"Finally!" Pars's voice boomed from the ground floor. "I thought it would never end."
I descended the stairs. As I came into view, he looked up from his phone.
He froze.
For a split second, his mask slipped. His eyes widened, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
I made Pars Sarehan swallow his indifference.
He recovered quickly, clearing his throat.
"Beautiful," he muttered, turning toward the door to hide his face. "Let's go."
We walked out into the cool night air, heading toward the ballroom at the main headquarters.
I walked behind him, studying his back. His dark hair was messy, falling over his forehead in calculated chaos. He wore a black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, no tie, and black jeans. He looked dangerous. He looked... right.
My mind wavered, realizing I was admiring my captor. I shook the thought away and quickened my pace, overtaking him with confident strides.
He coughed. "Reverie."
I stopped and looked back, plastering a fake smile on my lips. Tonight, I wanted to be unpredictable.
"Yes?"
He walked up to me, extending his elbow.
"Take my arm."
We were in front of the ballroom now. Soldiers and staff were milling about, and as we approached, silence rippled through the crowd. Eyes fixed on us.
I widened my smile—warm, inviting, and completely hollow—and wrapped my long fingers around his bicep.
His arm was rock hard beneath the fabric. As I stepped closer, my chest brushed lightly against his elbow.
He swallowed again. His dark green eyes darkened further, dropping to my chest like a lightning strike before snapping back to my face. He licked his lips.
"You are treading on dangerous ground, Alenas," he murmured, his voice a low rumble only I could hear. "If you keep pushing like this... you know what will happen tonight. Don't test my patience."
My breath hitched.
I hate you.
The threat was a key, unlocking a door I kept chained. The ghost of my dead father—the childhood I had strangled with my own hands—rose before my eyes.
I slowly pulled my hand from Pars's arm.
The hallucination wouldn't stop. I saw my father, tied to a chair in my memory, but before that... I saw him looming over me. The small knife in his hand. The little girl crying.
"Hush! You bitch! If you don't stop crying..." the monster had said, stroking my cheek with the cold blade. "You know what will happen."
Pars Sarehan.
I will never forgive you for reminding me of him. For disregarding my life just like he did.
And one day, I will kill you just as I killed them.
I turned away from Pars. I didn't wait for him. I didn't apologize. I walked toward the entrance of the ballroom alone.
My soul is a deserter. My mind is a mess. My heart is a bird with a broken wing.
You sit in the corner of my mind and talk, I thought. Who should I kill, Sarehan? Or what should I destroy?
These feelings speak too loudly. I could destroy them. On the other hand, my heart beats stupidly in my chest. I could stop it.
This man and that woman took my childhood away. I could ruin them.
But I can't.
So I sit here with my hands tied, listening to my heart beat. It beats with a sweet, mournful rhythm. As if it's trying to escape my broken ribcage because it loves me too much to stay. As if it wants to take my life, just to save me from living it.