My heart pounds so violently it feels as though it might burst free from my chest. I part my lips to speak, but the words dissolve into nothing, swallowed by the strange haze of the moment. My throat is parched—achingly dry—and each blink feels like I’m floating through a dream, where reality shimmers at the edges, threatening to slip into fantasy. All I want is to stay here, suspended in this fragile bubble for just a second longer. A minute. A day. It feels too good, and because it feels too good, it feels unreal. I hate that. I hate how whenever something good happens, my mind whispers that it can’t possibly be real. That I don’t deserve it. That love and attention were never meant for me. And yet, I have to remind myself—I do deserve this. I do.
Lucien steps back, the blindfold dangli
