She rose from the bed slowly, her bare feet brushing the cold marble floor. The chandelier light glinted off her skin as she crossed the room — weak, quiet. The folds of her dress dragged behind her like heavy memories.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the dresser drawer, not searching for anything. Just needing… to move.
Then she looked up.
The mirror stared back at her — and she hardly recognized herself.
Tangled brown hair. Dirt under her nails. Tear streaks on her cheeks. Eyes still wide with fear.
She blinked, and more tears came.
Her breath caught as she lowered herself to the ground, sitting with her back against the dresser. Her arms wrapped tightly around her body, like she was holding herself together.
And then—
She broke.
Her sobs came soft, almost childlike, the kind that didn't echo in big rooms but stayed close to the skin. She pressed her face into her knees, her body shaking as she rocked gently.
She didn't know why she was crying.
She only knew it hurt.
The door suddenly opened — quick, with panic.
Another woman stepped in. Young. Familiar.
She saw the girl on the floor and her heart dropped.
Without a word, she ran to her.
Kneeling, she pulled her into a tight embrace. The brown-haired woman didn't resist. She just collapsed into her arms, crying harder now, as if that single act of kindness finally cracked something open inside her.
They stayed there, in the middle of the golden room — two silhouettes, quiet in their pain.