Two months.
That was the promise, the silence, and now, it’s just a routine.
I wake before the sun. The sky is still dark when I slip out of bed. I felt my feet brushed against the marble floor. Cold. Just like the temperature that the morning dawn gave me.
I dress in muted tones. It was soft greys, blacks, colors that don’t ask to be noticed. My hair is pulled back and neat and unbothered. I walk the halls of the White House like a ghost, a numb who’s learned to smile.
GoldNova demands my sharpness and the GrandFord Pack demands my strength. I give both. Even when I feel like I’m running on memory. There’s no room for softness anymore, no space for hesitation and doubt. I’ve learned to speak in clipped sentences, phrases, to nod at the right moments, to lead even when I feel like
