𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

December

Disclaimer

Many of the events in this chapter have been inspired by other books I have read on this platform. However, having been on here for around 4 years now, I can't remember shit.

I really wish I could give the titles of the books as well as the names of the incredible authors who wrote them, but I'm seriously blanking over here.

That being said, I believe that a few of them may still be in some of my reading lists. So If any of you are interested, please go check them out.

And if anybody happens to find some of the themes of this chapter familiar in any way, please dm me and I will make sure to credit them if I have read their book.

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Your wings cast shadows by my soles

You descend from up above

Your smile brings warmth and rays of sun

Your laughter feels like love

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I feel like such a fraud.

Looking in my old and worn down vanity mirror, I suspect it may be lying to me. It's odd, I feel as though I'm meeting myself for the first time. Except, I am myself, and this, this is just some different version of me.

I'll blend seamlessly into the crowd, that's a definite plus. Maybe neither of them will be able to spot me and I'll just enjoy an extravagant night of dancing and drinking all to myself. I can't seem to shake the nerves, am I self centered for thinking that I'll be stared at?

The hair on the nape of my neck rises once again and I'm reminded that it's bare. I've made an effort to pin it all up and I think I've done a decent job of it. Then again, I have absolutely no idea what the back looks like.

I've heard enough girls cry out at the dress makers, going on about how they don't recognize themselves after trying on a new design, to know that it's a cliche. In all honesty, a part of me envies their joy. Their ability to separate who they are and who they appear to be. To put on a front to be entirely acceptable to society.

Looking in the mirror, I see myself, albeit a version of myself I am unfamiliar with. But I  know that I'm still deep down in there somewhere, strangled behind a binding corset. I wish I wasn't. I wish I could be someone different for the night, someone who doesn't feel like their life is about to reach Its climax.

Like how you can't run when you're dreaming, and something's chasing you and you're terrified but your legs are suddenly made of jelly. The way your conscience knows things it refuses to relay to your mind.

And this dress, ugh this dress. It's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen and yet, within it I feel like a pin cushion. Like it's the one wearing me. The subtle hint of green in my eyes really brings out the viridian shade of fabric. The glossy sheen of my lips highlighting the reflective silk material.

I feel like an accessory. Like the white lacy ribbons tied into my hair, or better yet, the simple jewels that ordain my ears. Of course I'm wearing everything I own that holds value. If this night it my one chance to live on the other side, I'm going to drain it for all its worth.

I'm arm in arm with my fiancé now and as we walk up the front steps of the manor, I realize we look like everyone else. This is what I crave, this sense of exhilarating normalcy. The knowledge that you can't be picked out among those around you. That you look like them and they look like you and because of that, in a way, you aren't alone.