Fake Vows & Forbidden Flames

Clothing scattered across the bedside—a tangled mess of scarlet and onyx—bloomed like exotic poppies, sinful blossoms unfurling in the darkness, hauntingly alluring. Dora felt as if a boulder crushed her, every last bit of strength drained from her body. Through the haze of drowsiness, she instinctively curled her arms in resistance, a thousand voices screaming "no" in her head, yet her body betrayed her, surrendering utterly to the inevitable. As night wore on, the fire between them raged unchecked, consuming every last shred of her resolve. That single night shattered all her dreams and irrevocably altered the course of her fate—when it was over, she was no longer the girl she’d once been. Dora woke with a splitting headache, disoriented by the lingering weight of his touch, the unfamiliar ache in her bones, and the dull buzz in her ears. She stumbled home in a haze, barely recalling how she’d fled that room. In the bathtub, she submerged herself entirely, scrubbing at her skin until it turned raw and bleeding. But no amount of washing could erase the marks—faint bruises and deep indents, scattered across her body like a forbidden map. She hurled the washcloth against the tile, water splashing wildly as tears streamed down her face, sobs wracking her shoulders. "Why me? Why did this have to happen to me?" She sat until the water turned icy and her skin pruned. Outside, golden sunlight filtered through the window like gossamer—too pure, too serene, a cruel contrast to the chaos of the night before, chilling her to the bone. Dazed, she stared at the harsh light from the bed. Her phone rang repeatedly, but she didn’t hear it. Her hand drifted to a fruit knife on the nightstand; the cold metal pressed against her wrist. Just as pain flickered, a shrill ring jolted her, and she answered automatically. "Mom, it’s me. Sorry, I was busy and didn’t hear..." "Dora, your voice sounds strange. Are you wronged? Sick? Did you fight with your sister? Come home if you’re unhappy..." Her mother’s warm concern cut through her, and Dora bit her lip to muffle a whimper, pulling the phone away. She barely registered her mother’s next words. "I’m fine, Mom. Just a cold from the weather change. My sister and I are great—no fight, I promise. Just swamped with work." After reassuring her mother, Dora hung up. Staring at the faint cut on her wrist, she dried her tears, cleaned the wound, and covered it with band-aids. "I can’t be selfish. I can’t leave—not when my sister needs me..." She gathered her tattered clothes, and a soft "click" caught her ear. A flash of gold glinted from the floor. Bending down, she picked up a delicate trinket: half maple leaf, half angel wing, with a thin golden pin beneath its intricate carvings. It wasn’t hers. Her phone lit up again; she stuffed the trinket into her bag, her heart aching at the familiar name on the screen. Her eyes stung, but she let it ring, refusing to answer.