Beauty Lies Within

⌘ I. A Series of Unfortunate Events ⌘

Emily Haynes rushed down the bustling city street, barely dodging some pedestrians while slightly bumping into others and hurriedly apologizing to each one. She hated being late, and the clock on her wrist was ticking dangerously close to the start of the workday. Her company, Silverstone Publishing House, had a reputation for being strict on time, and the last thing she wanted was to draw negative attention to herself. That was never her goal. 

She tucked a stray strand of hair that escaped her disheveled bun behind her ear, breathing in the cool morning air. Her reflection flashed briefly in the windows of the skyscrapers she passed—a figure of average height, with long brown hair caught in an awkward texture of neither wavy, nor perfectly straight, that never seemed to lie flat no matter how much she brushed it. Pale skin, hazel eyes framed by long light colored lashes, and a dusting of freckles that spread across her nose and round cheeks gave her a youthful appearance. Too youthful, maybe, for twenty-four. She was often mistaken for being younger, which didn't help her need to seem capable in a corporate environment that valued seniority.

The crosswalk light blinked into green, and Emily bolted across the street. She looked down at her outfit—simple, professional, forgettable. A black blazer over a white blouse, paired with fitted pants that were just tight enough to be flattering but not attention-grabbing. There was nothing extraordinary about her. Not her height, not her weight, not her face. Just... average. 

She hated that word, 'average'. No one remembers average, average always gets lost in the pile of resumes, in the faces of the people you've been introduced at parties, in the people whose dating profiles you are presented with. And, most importantly, average is never forgiven by time itself, it always swallows mediocrity whole, making it disappear from the face of the earth, she ponders sighing. But enough of that, she thinks as she sees the company building in the distance, and she starts half-jogging, half-walking to it, giving her wristwatch another panicked peek.

As soon as she enters the sliding doors, she darts into the lobby of Silverstone, breathing a small sigh of relief as she saw a group of people lingering by the elevator. She wasn't extremely late, atleast. But her nerves stayed sharp, her mind not fully settled. It had been a morning of minor disasters.

The plumbing, she remembered with a wince, being the first to step into the elevator as the doors slid open. Goddamn her old apartment and its ancient pipes.

The flashback of this morning hit her as soon as the elevator began to rise.

✤

The day had started wrong the moment Emily opened her eyes.

She blinked, groggy and confused, squinting at the blurry red numbers glowing on her bedside clock. 7:40 AM. It took her a second to register. And then—panic.

"Oh, no, no, no—"

She had set the alarm for 7:30 PM. Ten minutes behind might not seem like a disaster to most people, but for Emily, it was the difference between a smooth morning and complete chaos, knowing her luck, or rather, lack thereof. She scrambled out of bed, tripping over the tangled sheets in her haste.

Her apartment was a mess. Clothes were strewn over the chair next to her closet, unopened mail piled on the kitchen counter, and the remnants of last night's quick dinner sat untouched in the takeaway container with a napkin tossed over it. It felt like the whole room had conspired to remind her of how scattered her life had become. But she didn't have time to think about that now.