lost → liz gillies

Chapter 3: Whispers in the Shadows

In the glittering world of Dynasty, where every smile was a facade and every conversation was a delicate dance of words, Liz's secret remained hidden. Amidst the opulence of the set and the glitz of the costumes, she found solace in the shadows, where her hidden pain could drown in the amber depths of the whiskey bottle she kept concealed in the folds of her wardrobe bag.

Each day on set was a symphony of scripted lines and rehearsed emotions, but beneath the surface, Liz was a master of disguise. She wore her smiles like a mask, concealing the torment that clawed at her insides. The crew, the cast, none of them suspected the darkness that lurked beneath her façade of confidence.

The routine had become a dangerous dance. In the secluded corners of her dressing room, away from prying eyes, she would take clandestine sips from the bottle, the burn of alcohol both a punishment and a momentary escape. The whiskey was her secret companion, a silent confidante in the midst of the chaos that consumed her.

She would gulp it down in hurried sips, the liquid fire searing her throat, momentarily drowning out the whispers of despair. The glass would tremble in her hand as she raised it to her lips, her fingers stained with the traces of her secret shame. The room would spin, the lines between reality and illusion blurring with every sip.

The irony wasn't lost on her. Here she was, playing a character in a show built on secrets and lies, while harboring the darkest secret of all. The alcohol offered a twisted kind of liberation, a fleeting moment where she could forget the pain that clung to her like a shadow. But with each sip, the abyss within her seemed to widen, the void growing deeper and more insatiable.

She knew she was spiraling, but the lure of the whiskey was stronger than her willpower. The bottle became her escape, her silent partner in the lonely hours of the night. It became a ritual, a habit that promised numbness in exchange for her sanity.

Yet, even in her moments of weakness, a part of her remained vigilant. She couldn't afford for her secret to slip, not in the world of showbiz where reputation was fragile as glass. And so, she hid her habit like a thief in the night, guarding her secret with a desperate fervor.

But in the hushed moments between takes, when the set was momentarily empty, the weight of her secret bore down on her shoulders like a burden too heavy to bear. She felt like an imposter, a shattered version of the person she used to be, and in those moments, the whiskey became her only ally, whispering promises of temporary relief in her ear.

And so, the charade continued, the smile on her lips a fragile façade, concealing the storm that raged within her. Little did she know that her secret was a fragile fortress, one that would soon be tested by the unforgiving hands of fate.