STELLA
The morning is silent.
Not the soft kind of silence that feels like peace, but the hollow kind that presses down on your ribs and refuses to let you breathe. From the moment I wake, the world feels like it has been drained of color. The house is alive with footsteps and hushed voices, yet in my room, it’s only me and the sound of my heartbeat, uneven and restless.
They dress me like a doll. Hands tug at laces, pin curls into place, smooth silk across my body as if the fabric can hide the tremor in my bones. The mirror shows me a bride. Pale, perfect, unrecognizable. A woman stepping into a role written long before she was born.
I don’t look like myself. I look like an offering.
The veil settles over my face, and suddenly the world feels distant, muffled, like I’ve been submerg
