PERCY.
The glow of fairy lights and the distant hum of music blend into a constant, almost soothing background noise—yet, somehow, it feels distant now, like a static buzz I can't quite tune out. I lean against the cool wall in the corner of this grand ballroom, trying to steady my breathing, trying to hold on to whatever energy I have left.
Honestly, I'm tired. Not just physically tired, but emotionally and mentally drained. It's like I've been running a marathon all evening, and I don't even remember when I started feeling this way. Maybe it was when I first arrived, trying to put on the facade of enjoying everything, or when Daphne was looking at me like she wanted to tell me something, I just can't summon the right words. Whatever it was, it's caught up to me now.
I watch the crowd—dancing, laughing, chatting—so lively, so in the moment. I wonder how they do it—how they keep going, smiling, pretending like they're not just as tired as I am. Are they really not exhausted? Or are they just hiding it better?
Daphne somehow convinced all of us to help with her birthday preparations. As usual, I designed her dress—a process that took weeks of her micromanaging every tiny detail until I was completely drained. The whole idea of this party was for everyone to have a magical, memorable night. But as I watch the party unfold, I feel a strange disconnect. It's like I'm just a guest in a story I helped write, waiting for the end.
Year after year, we do this. Big, extravagant parties—It's always the same. Lavish, grand, exhausting. Cole's birthday was just two months ago, and now Daphne's—beautiful, perfect, and just as overwhelming as ever. And in a few months? Penelope and I would have our turn. Thankfully Penelope will take care of everything when it's our turn.
It's become this cycle, this tradition. I love Penelope, and I like seeing everyone happy. But sometimes, it's just a lot. All these people, all these voices, all these faces—how do they keep their energy?
I glance across the room. Daphne is dancing with Cole, her face lit up with joy, carefree. I wish I could feel that way. I want to feel that carefree, unburdened, for just a little while longer tonight too. But I don't. I feel the weight of exhaustion is getting worse.
How long can I keep this up? I wondered. One more hour? Two? Until the music stops? The truth was, I'm already drained—the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones, the kind that makes your limbs feel heavy and your mind fuzzy. The endless chatter, the forced laughter—it's like wearing a mask I can't quite take off.
I was still lost in my thoughts when I suddenly felt a small, familiar squeeze on my hand—Penelope. She's always been good at sensing when I'm near my limit. Her gentle presence is like a lifeline, grounding me for just a moment. I looked at her, her eyes full of understanding and concern as always.
I took a shaky breath, trying to pretend I was okay. But I wasn't. I desperately need a break—just a few minutes of solitude. I needed air—real air, not the stuff inside this suffocating ballroom filled with glittering lights and unfamiliar faces.
Maybe I should just step outside for a second. I glanced around, searching for an escape route. The balcony door was just a few steps away—an invitation to step outside and breathe in the cool night air. I hesitated for a second, feeling the weight of the moment. My sister's subtle squeeze told me she was right here even if she didn't say a word. And as I pushed myself off the wall and start toward the door, I notice Penelope's grip on me tighten, her brow slightly furrowed, her eyes filled with concern.
"Hey," she says softly, stepping closer. "You look exhausted. Are you going out for some fresh air? I can come with you."
I hesitate, then shake my head gently, offering her a small smile. "No, I'll be fine. I just need a minute to myself."
She looks at me closely, her eyes searching mine. "Are you sure? You've been holding up pretty well, but… I can tell it's catching up to you."
I nod, grateful for her concern but knowing I need to do this on my own. "Really, I'm okay. I just…need to clear my head a little."
She studies me for a moment longer, then gives a soft nod. "Alright. But if you change your mind, I'll be right here."
"Thanks, sis," I say softly. "I'll be okay. I just need a little quiet right now."
She gives me a small, supportive smile before turning back to the lively crowd inside. I watch her go, then take a deep breath, pushing open the door and stepping outside into the cool night air.
The night is quieter here, shadows stretching long across the pavement, stars faintly twinkling above. The cool air hits my face, and I try to breathe deeply, trying to find some calm. But even out here, I feel the residual buzz of the party—the distant hum of voices, the faint glow of lights inside.
The worst part about this is that Daphne's birthday celebration will not end here, there's an after-party in the hotel still waiting. I can't escape it entirely, not tonight. The noise, the laughter, the clatter of glasses—it's all part of the celebration, part of who we are.
I lean against the railing, closing my eyes for a moment. I tell myself not to feel guilty about being tired. It's okay to be exhausted—emotionally, physically. But I still want to feel normal. Just a little more energy like everyone else has.
I open my eyes and glance at the moonlit sky. The stars are faint, but they're there—steadfast, silent witnesses to the chaos and calm of the night.
Maybe I should go for a quick drive. That always helps. Just driving around, listening to music with the wind in my hair as I clear my thoughts.
Yeah. That sounds good.
I take one last deep breath, feeling the cool air settle into my lungs. Then I turn away from the ballroom, walking toward my car parked nearby, ready for a quiet ride into the night.