I hate to admit it, but everything around and within me has changed. I no longer enjoy writing in my journals and keeping a diary feels cringey. I no longer like Milk tea and always order iced americano before going to work. My paintbrushes have hardened into brittle, and my canvases have collected dust from years of being left in the dark corner of my room. My favorite sundresses now smell like an old cabinet because I no longer feel confident wearing them. My girl friends, who used to be my favorite people and would always make me laugh, no longer greet me on my birthdays, and I do the same. I wonder why I have forgotten the things that used to bring light into my life. I wonder why my eyes, which used to sparkle, look lifeless now. What went wrong? Is it because we no longer see life the way we did when we were kids? Is it because of the responsibilities we never thought we would carry once we reached adulthood?
I'm tired, no, more like exhausted. I'm an orphan and have no family I can rely on. I've never tried dating because I don't think I'm ready for another responsibility. Dating is more than just saying 'I love you' to a person. You have to exert effort and time. You have to communicate and compromise. I think it's too much work, not to mention the heartbreak you'll get if the relationship doesn't go well.
My gaze settled on a couple in the bookstore's romance section. The girl was smiling as she browsed through the books, while her boyfriend just standing by with his hands jammed in his pockets. The irritation was etched on his face. Why would he date someone who likes reading when he clearly hates being in a bookstore?
I decided to just mind my own business and saw an eye-catching book in front of me. It's not that it's beautiful, the book is just too flashy with so many colors on it. It shows a girl wearing a light pink ball gown, surrounded by so many different kinds of flowers, and in the back was a castle just like in a fairytale. I don't know what got into me, but the next thing I knew, I was already paying for it at the cashier.
I've never liked this kind of book, at least not since I turned 25. Now, I'm more drawn to self-help books, and that was actually what I was planning to buy when I went to the bookstore. I sighed while looking at the book, which was wrapped in brown paper. It cost me 50 bucks, and I can't buy another self-help book because I'll be over budget. I should at least read this kid's book so my money won't go to waste.
I decided to go home so I could cook and go to bed early. I had fried tofu, steamed broccoli, and mashed potatoes for dinner. Not because I'm a vegetarian, but because I can't afford to buy meat. Thanks to that fifty-dollar book, I'll have to eat grass until my next paycheck. After eating, I cleared the table and washed my dishes. My life may be scattered and miserable, but at least my one-bedroom apartment is organized. I made sure that the door and windows were securely locked before slipping into the comfort of my bed. I grabbed the book on my bedside table and read the prologue on the back.
'They called her the jewel of the Kingdom, a prize to be won. Lady Soleil's life was a grand design, culminating in a politically brilliant marriage to the Crown Prince. Yet the future she was born for held no warmth compared to the forbidden affection she shared with Elios, the Marquess's son. Her fate was sealed long ago, but her heart now asks a dangerous question: will she uphold her responsibility or risk everything for love?'
This prologue made me wince. Girls like her in books had choices. They had a heart to follow and a life to lose. My fate wasn't sealed by a grand decision, but by an empty bank account. My problem isn't choosing between two handsome men, but choosing between paying rent and eating. The book's heavy weight felt like a punishment for my reckless spending.
I lowered the book and stared at the plain white ceiling which was getting moldy again. I think it's a good metaphor for my life, a blank space slowly being consumed by decay. I always wanted a chandelier, something sparkling and grand, but it would have looked ridiculous in this cheap apartment. Out of place, just like me. If I were a girl in a book, this would be so much easier. I lifted the book again. It was embarrassing to admit, but I decided to read at least ten chapters before closing my eyes. Ten chapters to have a dream about fairytales, to have a fleeting escape into a world of magic and color. The thought of that temporary, borrowed light was the only thing that could get me through the night.
"Sierra, wake up!"
I slowly opened my eyes when someone gently shook my shoulder. My eyes felt so heavy, and I can't see clearly. Did I cry before I went to sleep? Ugh, I don't know, but all I wanted was to go back to sleep.
"I must take my leave now," came the voice again, "and shall return before the sun does rise. So, pray, keep your window open, will you not?"
I just nodded and mumbled, "Just get out of here! I have work tomorrow."
I heard a window open, and a cold wind swept into my room. I was about to fall back asleep when reality slammed back into place. What in the world is going on? I live alone, my room is eight stories up, and my name is not even Sierra!
My eyes flew open, the last dregs of sleep vanishing as I looked at the woman in a ridiculous cape, halfway out my window.
"Wait!" I called and tried to stop her, but it was too late. My heart dropped when she jumped out of the window. I ran toward the window, and what shocked me even more was the view outside
Am I dreaming?
Why is there a forest outside my window, and why am I on the first floor when my apartment is eight stories up?
I was about to call out to the woman, but she disappeared into the forest before I could. Was that a ghost? But she talked to me, and it sounded so real.
"This must be a dream. Yes, if I could just go back to bed..." I tried to convince myself as I scanned the unfamiliar lavish room. It was nothing like my simple, practical bedroom. And there's an actual chandelier on the ceiling!
Relief and a strange guilty pleasure washed over me. I took my time soaking in the luxurious details before I finally lay back down. I shut my eyes, and commanded my subconscious to end this.
But the real world never came. I don't know how long I slept, but I was startled awake by a persistent knocking. My eyes flew open and I almost screamed when I saw the same woman from last night. She's on the other side of the glass and tapping against the windowpane. What is going on? Why am I still here?
My heart thudded against my ribs as she gestured wildly for me to open the window.
"My dear sister, pray cease your dilly-dallying! Open the window or I shall be caught!"
The word "sister" sliced through the humid air of the forest outside. It was a familiar sound, and it instantly calmed my fear. This was just a dream, a vivid and beautiful fabrication of my subconscious. A sister, a grand room, a chandelier... it was everything my own simple life lacked. And what was the harm in playing along for a little longer?
I climbed out of bed, the plush carpet was soft beneath my feet. As I walked toward the window, the woman's face came into clearer focus. She has golden hair, and impossible sapphire eyes. She was breathtaking, with a kind of beauty that felt less like a person.
I opened the window, and she vaulted inside with the effortless grace of an acrobat. She immediately cast aside her dark hood and cape, revealing a glittering gorgeous light pink dress.
"What ails you? You look quite shocked, as if you have never before witnessed my nocturnal escapades." She offered a wry smile. "This will remain our little secret, as it always has. You know well that Papa would be the death of us if he were ever to find out."
Papa?
The word was foreign. It's like a sound that should belong to someone else. A sister, a father, these were things I had never imagined, yet in this impossible dream, they felt more real than my memories of an eighth-floor apartment.
Looking at the pink dress the woman was wearing, I realized it was exactly the same dress on the book cover.
I had no idea that the price of that book wasn't fifty dollars, but something far more valuable and terrifying.