No Cinderella

Chanel Williams, 19 - Hunters Point, San Francisco, June 15th
I woke up in the bed I was born in.
The same one with the broken slat in the middle that made the mattress sink just enough to keep me off balance. Same twin frame, same pink walls I begged for on my eleventh birthday, faded now to something between cotton candy and drywall. The window was cracked open - not by choice, but because our landlord, Mr. Dalton, never fixed anything unless it was actively falling off the house. And even then, he showed up with the cheapest tools and the nastiest attitude, muttering something about "you people and your complaints."
The wind slipped through that window every night like a whisper. This morning, it felt like a hand brushing my cheek.
Like the city was saying goodbye first.

Royal,22 - June 19 - Manhattan, New York - The Beekman Hotel
She was in the woods again.
This time, the silence was more alive than dead. It pulsed beneath the forest floor like breath. Every tree stood still, massive and ancient, their silver bark shimmering beneath a low, watery moon. The wind didn't move, but something deeper did-a vibration in the ground, like the Earth itself was waiting for something to arrive.
Royal stood barefoot in the moss, the pads of her feet damp and cool. Her dreads hung heavy over her shoulders. Her chest was bare, shoulders squared and strong, arms loose at her sides. She wasn't human here. She wasn't wolf either. She was something else, carved from longing and command.
The pull came stronger this time.