Ffion
Perfect, perfect, perfect.
Everything was perfect, I reminded myself as I wiped the makeup off my face later that day. I had my perfect life, I really did. So why was the face that looked back at me so drawn and pale? There were dark shadows under my eyes, my cheeks looked hollowed out. Underneath the mask of makeup, I looked tired. No not tired, I looked sick.
Pausing, I let my hands curl around the marble vanity. My knuckles turned white and cracked with the force of my grip. It wasn’t even that I felt faint. I wasn’t going to fall. No, I was a different type of sick. And I needed to hold onto something to keep myself grounded. This was what I wanted, what I had always wanted.
Our dream life.
No. I stared at my reflection. And the woman staring back a me was a familiar stra
