Renna Rose Lancaster is the girl people stare at like she belongs in a glass case, a life airbrushed into unattainable perfection.
But Renna knows her life is nothing but a golden prison coated in pretty lies that keep her muted and small.
Her day...
"The theory says that there are an infinite number of universes,
And in those infinite number of universes there are an infinite number of ways we could have met and fallen apart,
And I'd like to think that in atleast some of them, you love me back the way I needed you in this one,
And we practice a forever instead of a maybe."
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The room greeted me like a secret. Not warm, not exactly friendly, but heavy with shadows and silver spills of moonlight. The candles I had stubbornly lit earlier were reduced to pathetic stumps, crooked little soldiers melted sideways, except for one still burning on the dresser, flame flickering like it was whispering gossip with the dark.
I shoved the door shut with my hip, the creak echoing like the house was tattling on me. It was so different here compared to the city's noise. No car horns, no students screaming outside pubs, no neon light from bars creeping under curtains. Just forest, mountain, and cold air that smelled faintly of pine and earth.
The hem of my gown hissed softly across the wooden floor as I climbed up onto the bed, its old frame groaning under my weight like it had just been woken up from a hundred-year nap. I curled my legs beneath me and leaned my elbows on the windowsill, eyes locked on the forest outside.
The trees were endless, an ocean of black stretching until the world gave up and quit. The moon was a coin tossed across the branches, and the wind tangled itself between them, making them sway like restless giants, sometimes snapping a twig loud enough to make me twitch. An owl hooted once, like it was trying way too hard to set the scene.
If I vanish out there tomorrow, at least let Netflix dramatise me. Ten episodes, minimum. Somebody make sure they cast someone hot in my role. Preferably taller.
The glass was frosted from the chill, and my finger couldn't resist sketching nonsense onto it. Stars. Swirls. The world's worst attempt at a wolf. Then, because apparently I am five years old at heart, a giant heart with an arrow through it. And then, because I am reckless in all the wrong ways, I scribbled A + R.
Before I could add a crown on top of the heart, the door cracked open. My entire body flinched. I whipped around, shawl slipping down my arm.
Aadam walked in like he owned the place. Which, irritatingly, he kind of did, considering this was Cameron's family cabin and he'd been absorbed into the Eriksen ecosystem years ago.
Still.
Did he need to look like a Calvin Klein ad while barging into my private, sacred, extremely secret doodling session?
The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud, cutting off the bite of the cold outside. He peeled off his jacket without breaking stride, the thick fabric scraping over his broad shoulders before he flung it to the floor in a careless heap.
