"Aris… it's time. You're up."
A soft voice pulled me away from the edges of my half-real dream,
the kind of dream that still clung to my skin even after waking,
the kind that made reality feel strangely distant, as though I had left a piece of myself behind inside it.
I blinked.
And suddenly—
I was there again.
Standing beneath blinding lights,
so bright they almost felt cruel,
as if they wished to peel every hidden shadow from beneath my skin and place it on display for the world to see.
Beyond the stage, everything disappeared into darkness.
I could barely make out faces.
But I could feel them.
Thousands of eyes.
Watching.
Waiting.
Expecting something from me.
My heart trembled restlessly inside my chest,
beating too fast, too unevenly,
like a frightened bird trapped inside a cage that had forgotten what freedom ever looked like.
A thin layer of sweat slowly gathered against my skin,
slipping quietly down the back of my neck despite the coldness lingering in the air.
And yet—
The crowd was still calling my name.
Loudly.
Warmly.
With the kind of excitement people only carried for things they admired from afar,
things they believed beautiful simply because they had never stood close enough to witness the cracks.
I lifted my hand and waved at them.
A smile settled onto my lips—
No.
Not settled.
Stitched.
The kind of smile repeated so many times
that eventually it stopped feeling like an expression
and became part of your face.
Because, in the end,
people only ever saw me as something soft and beautiful.
A kind angel.
Bright.
Gentle.
Happy.
Something pulled straight out of a fairytale.
But kind angels like that were never truly made for reality.
Reality asks too much.
Reality breaks things.
Still…
Maybe I could become its reflection.
Even if I could never become the real thing.
At the very least,
I could pretend.
Pretend happiness still reached me.
Pretend life still tasted sweet.
Pretend I wasn't growing tired.
Though, in the end—
that was only another lie among the countless others I had learned to wear so beautifully.
"Miss Eris!" the host called out brightly, his cheerful voice echoing through the entire hall. "You're always smiling! What's the secret behind all this happiness? Have you finally found your soulmate?"
"Love?"
A small laugh escaped me, soft enough to sound effortless.
"I wish," I said lightly, tilting my head with practiced amusement. "Then maybe I wouldn't have to worry so much about growing old alone."
The audience laughed warmly.
Of course they did.
They always laughed when sadness dressed itself prettily enough.
The host leaned forward slightly, his smile playful.
"Are you sure? Rumors say you're pregnant. Is that why you're planning to take a three-month break?"
My smile never moved.
Not even for a second.
To be fair—
He wasn't entirely wrong.
People always pretend to love you.
But the truth is,
their eyes are far quicker at noticing your flaws than your efforts,
far more interested in your cracks than the reasons behind them.
"Me? Pregnant?"
I laughed louder this time, placing a hand lightly against my waist.
"With a body like this?" I joked. "Impossible."
The crowd laughed again.
And I laughed with them.
Because some truths—
once spoken too loudly—
have a way of tearing apart the fragile little worlds people spend years pretending still exist.