AMANDA
I sit before the mirror, brushing through the waves of my dark hair, the strands soft beneath my fingers. The dress Theodus has chosen for me is deep red, the fabric clinging to my curves, the hem pooling at my feet like spilled wine. My hands skim over the silk, feeling the way it whispers against my skin.
It is beautiful.
I am beautiful.
I belong to him.
The thoughts settle easily into place, but something inside me itches. A wrongness, a whisper, a crack.
I have been… off these past few days. Theodus doesn’t know. Or maybe he does, and he’s waiting to see if I will break on my own.
I do not want to break.
I lace the thin straps of my heels, the ones he told me to wear, and stand. My reflection stares back, eyes wide, lips full, skin smooth. But something lingers beneath
