It was past midnight, but sleep felt impossible for Vessara. She stood in the middle of her room, staring at the sketches spread across her bed. Beside them sat an empty box she'd pulled from the back of her closet earlier. The sight of it made her stomach twist.
A few hours ago, this room had still felt like hers. Now it felt borrowed. It felt temporary. And more like she was already gone.
Vessara wrapped her arms around herself and looked around the familiar space. Every small piece of her life occupied every corner. Yet none of it seemed real anymore.
Slowly, she began pacing. Back and forth. Her father's voice still echoed in her head.
The deal is done.
Every time she thought about it, her chest tightened. A bitter laugh almost escaped her.
How many years had she spent trying to earn his approval? How many versions of herself had she created hoping one of them would finally be enough?
A memory surfaced before she could stop it.
