𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝑶𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑨𝑻𝑬 ─ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝒙 𝒐𝒄

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Folks, this one stings without solace. And it's the penultimate chapter of an era, so everything's about to change.

Are you ready?

⭒๋⭑

Your wife waters flowers

I want to kill her

All my mornings are Mondays

Stuck in an endless February

I took the miracle move on drug

The effects were temporary

And I love you, it's ruining my life

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ─ Taylor Swift

⭒๋⭑

─────▕⃝⃤─────

Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, the urge to scream overwhelms me. A tempest of emotions swirls within, nudging me to the brink of despair.

Scream. Shatter the mirror. Tear the gown, torch it, and dispatch its ashes as a testament to my disdain for these vile and murky machinations.

I feel shackled by powerlessness, loathing every second of this charade.

My hair, once tightly bound, now cascades freely in elegant, perfect curls down my back. A metallic green hue adorns my eyes, and my lips are painted a deep crimson.

The gown, supposedly a thing of beauty, feels like a prison, tracing every curve and leaving my back vulnerable to prying eyes.

Light dances upon me, endowing me with a celestial glow from the tiny stars woven into the fabric. I should relish it, yet all I feel is revulsion, and with a swift motion, I wrench the gown over my head and fling it onto the bed.

I will destroy it ─I resolve, striding towards the dresser in search of my wand.

Andromeda bursts through the bathroom door just as I firmly grasp the wand, aiming it at the gown.

"What do you think you're doing?" she chides, grasping my wrists and forcing my hands down. "Have you lost your senses?"

I want to scream, to curse, to push her away. Why can’t she understand? Yet the more I dwell on it, guilt washes over me, and tears spring to my eyes.

"Darling," Andromeda whispers, stroking my hair. "It's just a dress, nothing more."

"With him, it’s never that simple. You know that. It’s not just a dress; it demands something I'm not willing to give and he'll threatens me."

Andromeda hesitates, studying me before nodding solemnly. "Wear the dress, partake in the spectacle, pretend. You know how to do that, you’ve been doing it for years. After the dance, we’ll make our escape."

I find myself agreeing before I even process the idea. A wave of distress washes over me. I don’t want to wear this cursed thing. I don’t want to give it the satisfaction of controlling me. Never again.

I couldn’t bear to be controlled.

Andromeda should understand, she should be on my side.

"You're too tense. I bet it’s because of the executions; you’ve always hated them," she says, moving to the bookshelf and opening a drawer to reveal a jewellery box that once belonged to my mother.