ᘜᖇIᑎ Oᖴ ᖇᑌIᑎ | ꅐ꒐ꋊ꒯ꃳꋪꏂꋬꋪ X ꓄ꀘꋪ

A world drowned in laughter and light-yet in the middle of it all stood her, a 𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙡. Beautiful, fragile, and empty.

She didn't smile, didn't cry, didn't live. Her face stayed still, perfect like glass, because her mother had carved that command into her heart long ago.

"𝘈 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨."

Those words became her lullaby, her curse, her identity.
With every repetition, her laughter dulled, her tears dried, and her heart-once human-hardened into porcelain.

Now she moves gracefully through the crowd, a perfect doll among the living. No cracks. No warmth. Just the echo of who she could've been-if only someone had told her she was allowed to feel.