New beginnings

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Waking up feels like a cruel joke. In some parallel universe, maybe there's a life where waking up isn't necessary—where you drift endlessly through dreams, floating on clouds made of soft hues, never having to face the morning. Maybe there's a rule that mandates waking at noon, the sun already high, the day half over before you even start. In that world, breakfast would be a bowl of cereal that feels like comfort rather than obligation. I could live with that.

But here I am, peeling myself out of bed at 5:22 AM, trapped in a queen-sized coffin, wishing this was still a dream. The room is too bright, too colorful, an assault on my senses that doesn't fit the darkness outside. It feels more like a dollhouse than a place to live, everything neat and polished, as if daring me to be as put-together as my surroundings.

A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I try to ignore it, but the knocking continues, each one louder than the last, until I have no choice but to stumble over and answer. There stands Diane, the head housemaid, looking like she's about to apologize for waking the dead.

"I'm sorry, miss. I didn't mean to disturb your sleep, I just—"

"Diane, it's fine," I cut her off, rubbing my eyes. "I should've been up hours ago. And please, call me Lillian Marie—or Lilly Marie, like everyone else." I attempt a smile, though it's more for her sake than mine.

She nods, hands me a neatly folded stack of clothes, and leaves quietly. I unfold the Gotham Academy uniform and glance out the window, taking in the city's skyline, the school's towering silhouette a constant reminder of where I'm headed. The school looms large, as if it's always watching, always waiting, no matter where I try to escape.

I drag myself into the shower, brush my teeth, and comb through my hair, letting the routine numb my thoughts. When I finally slip into the uniform, I pause to take in my reflection. My light brown eyes stare back at me, framed by dark lashes. My hair, a cascade of silky brown curls, falls just past my shoulders, refusing to conform to the neatness of the blazer and tie. The uniform itself is standard—blue blazer, red tie, white button-up blouse, and a blue skirt that ends just at my knees. I had it tailored to that length; the original was indecent, but the tailor barely complied. At least there's no shoe code, so I slip on my black and white high-top Converse, a small act of rebellion that makes me feel just a little more like myself.

With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I hear another knock at the door.

"Hey, sweetheart," my mom says as I open it, her smile just a bit too bright for this hour. "You ready? Steven's been asking if you're coming."

I suppress a groan. Steven. How did I end up sharing a house with him?

"Yeah, I'm ready," I reply, my voice devoid of energy, as I make my way downstairs.

The grand staircase feels more like a runway as I descend, spotting Steven—a teenager with more attitude than patience—tapping his foot against the marble floor. He's practically glaring at his watch, like it's personally offended him. I walk past him into the kitchen, ignoring his irritation as I sit down to eat a quick breakfast.

"You're late," he says, his tone flat, almost robotic.

I shrug, not bothering to look up from my cereal. "What time are we supposed to be there, again?" I ask, feigning casual interest, knowing it'll get under his skin.

He lets out a frustrated growl, and I can't help but smirk into my spoon.

As I finish my breakfast, the steady clack of polished shoes against marble announces William's arrival. Steven's dad, William, is a tall man with a stern face softened only slightly by the perpetual glint of amusement in his eyes. He surveys the room before settling his gaze on me.

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