The room was shrouded in darkness, the kind that felt alive, pulsating with quiet tension. Only the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the window offered any reprieve, painting silver streaks across the walls. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, as though the house itself was holding its breath. But within that stillness, something stirred, something alive and unyielding.
Aria David stood in front of her mirror, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger. The white dress she wore hung delicately on her frame, a garment that once symbolized innocence and compliance. Now, it felt like a cage. Her lips parted, and a melody spilled out, not soft or sweet, but raw and defiant.
"Cinderella's dead.
I was nineteen in a white dress,
When you told me I'm your princess.
So, I played right into your fantasy.
Was your good girl, so I'd sit tight,
And if I don't speak, then we can't fight.
Looked in the mirror, now I can't believe…
I forgot I was a bad bitch, tragic.
Breaking all the rules 'cause they were only habits.
Cinderella's dead now, casket.
You thought the shoe fit,
But I forgot I was a bad bitch."
The words resonated in the stillness, her voice steady yet sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. Each note carried a weight of rebellion, a fire that had been smoldering for years beneath layers of expectations and pretense. The girl in the mirror looked fragile, her delicate features framed by soft curls, but Aria knew better. Fragility was an illusion, a mask she had worn for far too long.
As the final note faded into the air, Aria's lips curled into a half-smile, an expression teetering on the edge of innocence and danger. Her dark eyes locked onto her reflection, unblinking, as if daring herself to acknowledge what she had become.
"They think they can erase me," she murmured to the girl in the glass. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried an edge of steel. "They think they can make me disappear by suffocating me with their rules and their lies." She tilted her head slightly, her smile widening into something colder. "Na, baby. You won't. You can't. I am Aria David. I walk with my own fire. And if you try to stop me…" Her voice dropped to a near growl. "I'll burn your kingdom to the ground."
A laugh escaped her lips, sharp and chilling, echoing off the walls like the cry of a predator. It was a sound that didn't belong to the obedient daughter her parents believed her to be. It was wild and untamed, a crack in the facade she had carefully maintained for years.
But just as quickly as it came, the laughter faded. Aria straightened her posture and smoothed down the white dress with deliberate precision. The madness in her eyes dimmed, replaced by an unsettling calm. She tilted her head again and offered herself one last look, a look that said she wasn't afraid anymore.
Turning away from the mirror, she strode toward the door with purpose. The soft fabric of her dress swished around her ankles as she descended the stairs, each step echoing through the quiet house like a drumbeat. Her movements were graceful but deliberate, like someone who had already burned every bridge they needed to.
At the bottom of the stairs, her parents waited in the living room. Her mother sat perched on the edge of the sofa, hands folded neatly in her lap, while her father buried himself in his newspaper as he always did. They looked up as Aria entered the room, their expressions shifting from neutral to something closer to concern.
"Aria," her mother called softly, her voice tinged with worry.
Aria didn't answer immediately. She walked past them without a word, letting her footsteps do all the talking. Her father lowered his newspaper slightly, his brow furrowing as he studied her. He could sense something was off something different about his daughter tonight, but he didn't say anything. He never did.
"Sit down," he said finally, gesturing toward an empty chair as though this moment could be resolved with polite conversation.
Aria stopped and turned to face them, her lips curling into that sweet smile they knew so well. It was a smile that had fooled them countless times before, a smile that hid storms beneath its surface.
"I'm here," she said lightly, her tone almost playful. "Mom. Dad. What's for dinner?"
Her mother blinked in confusion at the sudden shift in energy. Her father frowned but said nothing, folding his newspaper with deliberate care as though searching for the right words.
They didn't ask questions, they never did, and Aria wasn't about to offer answers they weren't ready to hear. They had spent years molding her into their perfect daughter: obedient, quiet, unassuming. But they hadn't noticed when the cracks began to form or when the fire inside her started to grow.
Now? Now it was too late.
Aria tilted her head again, studying them with an intensity that made her mother shift uncomfortably in her seat. "You don't have to worry," she added after a moment, her voice soft but laced with something unspoken. "I'll be just fine."
Her mother opened her mouth as if to respond but quickly closed it again when Aria turned away and walked toward the kitchen without another word.
Inside, she leaned against the counter and exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. The weight of their expectations still lingered like chains around her ankles, but tonight was different. Tonight she had tasted freedom, just a hint of it and there was no going back.
For years she had played their game, followed their rules, worn their masks. But somewhere along the way, she had realized something they never wanted her to know: softness didn't equal safety. Compliance didn't guarantee love or protection.
And now? Now she was done pretending.
Aria glanced at the knife block on the counter and smiled faintly, not because she needed it but because it reminded her of sharp edges and clean cuts. She didn't need weapons; she was the weapon.
Her reflection in the kitchen window caught her eye again the girl in white who looked so harmless yet carried storms within her. Aria stared at it for a moment before turning away with a quiet laugh.
Cinderella was dead.
And Aria David? She was just getting started.