The chandeliers gleamed high up in the ceiling, casting a beautiful, intricate spiral of glass against the ornate plaster. Why was I so invested in a ceiling and a bunch of crystals? I didn't know. Maybe it was just the sheer weight of the stress, the kind that makes your neck stiff and your mind look for any exit, even if that exit is just staring upward until your eyes blur.
I preferred looking at the cold, steady light of the crystal chandelier rather than interacting with a single soul in this room. There was something calm about it—predictable and settling. Down here, on the floor of the ballroom, everything was loud, perfumed, and exhausting. The dessert sat untouched on my plate, and the champagne in my glass felt bland and flat compared to the sparkle above me. I felt like a ghost
