A Voice Unshackled
898 Words
Emilia swallowed, her throat tightening as her father’s expectant gaze bore into her. The weight of the crowd’s attention pressed against her chest, suffocating. A shaky breath escaped her lips, but no words followed.
She clenched her fingers at her sides, nails pressing into her palms. Speak, Emilia. Say something. Anything.
“I…” The word barely left her mouth, tremulous and weak. Someone in the crowd coughed, the subtle impatience sending another wave of dread through her.
Her father’s brow furrowed, his silent demand to speak growing more oppressive with each passing second. The room, once lively with the hum of polite conversation and laughter, now felt like a vacuum, all sound drained into the abyss of expectation.
Then, she straightened. The quiver in her hands stilled. She lifted her chin, meeting her father’s eyes directly, and let the truth she had buried for years spill forth.
“We stand here tonight, draped in wealth and finery,” she began, her voice still soft but growing in strength, “surrounded by chandeliers that shine brighter than the stars outside, holding glasses filled with the finest champagne. But tell me—does any of this truly matter if we are not true to ourselves?”
A hush fell over the room, the murmurs silencing in a way they never had before. Her father’s expression darkened, but she did not waver.
“We measure worth by status, by names embroidered in gold, by wealth that dictates who deserves admiration. But power is not righteousness, and money does not make a person honorable.”
A few nobles exchanged uncertain glances. Her mother’s lips parted, as if she wanted to interject, but shock kept her frozen.
Emilia’s heart pounded, but she continued. “We have been told what to value, who to befriend, who to love. We are bound by rules that exist only to maintain illusions. But what is the cost of such illusions? A life where we never truly live? A life where our choices are dictated for us?”
Her voice grew stronger. “What good is a title if it chains us to a life where we are nothing more than ornaments? What good is wealth if it silences us?”
More shifting, nervous glances. Whispers crept through the crowd, some barely veiling their shock, others filled with intrigue.
Her father shifted, his fingers curling tightly around the glass he held. “Emilia, that’s enough.”
She ignored him.
“I refuse to live a life dictated by fear and expectations. And I refuse to be silent about the truth.” She turned, looking at the faces around her—some filled with discomfort, some with curiosity, and a few with the same silent longing she had felt her entire life. “I know what you think. That I should be grateful. That I should smile and accept what’s given to me. But I will not be another name in a lineage of quiet women.”
Colette smirked, amusement flickering in her gaze, as if reveling in the chaos Emilia had unleashed. Their mother, however, looked utterly pale, a hand pressed to her chest in horror, her breath shallow as though trying to will the moment away.
Her father’s knuckles turned white around his glass. “Enough.” His voice was low, dangerous.
Emilia exhaled. It’s done.
For a moment, silence stretched through the room, tense and fragile. Then, without warning, she turned and began walking away. The hem of her gown glided over the polished floor, each step measured and unhurried. A sigh of relief left her lips as she moved towards the grand doors, the pressure in her chest beginning to lift.
A single clap echoed from the far end of the hall.
It was slow, deliberate, each strike against a palm ringing in the still air. Then another joined in. And another.
The applause grew, swelling into cheers, the hesitant hesitation turning into admiration. Some clapped reluctantly, others fervently, but the sound surrounded her like a wave of defiance against the order her father had so meticulously built.
Her father’s fury radiated through the silence between the claps, his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter. Her mother’s horror deepened. But Colette… Colette was grinning now, as if she had just witnessed something marvelous.
Emilia did not stop. The cheers followed her, but she barely heard them. She pushed through the grand doors and stepped into the cold night air.
The garden stretched before her, the moonlight casting silver shadows on the path. The crisp night air bit at her skin, but it was a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside. She inhaled deeply, the scent of damp earth and blooming roses filling her senses. The tightness of her corset became unbearable, and she reached behind her, loosening the laces just enough to finally, finally breathe.
Her heart still pounded, the echoes of her words reverberating in her mind. I did it.
A rustle behind her made her stiffen. She turned slightly, catching a glimpse of someone standing at the doorway, watching her.
Who? A lingering guest? A member of the family? A curious stranger?
But she didn’t care. Not tonight. Tonight, she had taken back something that had been stripped from her long ago.
She had spoken her truth.
And for the first time in her life, she felt free.
- Writer
