Tanya woke from a deep sleep, her mind still clouded with the remnants of a vivid dream that felt painfully real. She reached for her phone on the nightstand beside her bed—and noticed the porcelain piece worn on her right hand. Her thoughts reeled in confusion, overwhelmed by events she could not explain.
"What is this… porcelain?" she murmured to herself, her mind racing to recall how she had come to possess it. Suddenly, fragments of her dream flooded back, deepening her sense of unease.
"Did that really happen?" she wondered silently, her thoughts searching for answers at every turn.
She was so lost in thought that she barely noticed her surroundings.
"Tanya, aren't you coming down yet?" The voice belonged to her mother, Merisa—someone who would do anything for her child.
"Yes, Mom! I'll be right there!" Tanya called back, her voice loud yet respectful.
She left her room and headed to the kitchen, where the air was already filled with the energizing scent of food waiting on the dining table. Its fragrance was so rich and inviting that people said it tasted wonderful even before taking a bite.
"This is the best, Mom!" Tanya said without hesitation—there was no reason to hold back praise for the delicious meal, nor for her mother's obvious skill in cooking.
In the school hallway, she walked quietly toward her classroom, moving with practiced care.
The quiet environment she passed through did little to ease her discomfort—her face was hidden behind a face mask, which she wore to keep others from seeing her appearance, something she never wanted anyone to notice.
This had become her daily routine: no exceptions, no changes. Her face, and even her own reflection, were things she had grown used to avoiding.
When she entered the classroom, the usual buzz of activity filled the air—students chatting, laughing, studying, and going about their typical day with casual ease.
But the moment she stepped through the door, the atmosphere shifted abruptly. The air grew cold, as if she had stepped into a dark, frigid void that threatened to swallow her whole. A boy approached—his steps were steady and deliberate, each one heavy with purpose.
He stopped directly in front of her and stared at her intently, his head tilted slightly as if studying a puzzle with no clear solution.
Tanya felt shocked, confused, and afraid. Why was a male classmate looking at her like this?
"Why are you staring? Did I do something wrong? This is scary…" she thought frantically, her mind racing with anxiety.
"Why are you wearing a face mask… Take it off," he said to her—and before she could react, he reached out and pulled the mask from her face.
They were all struck speechless by what they saw—Tanya's face was so stunning that not even an artist could hope to capture its beauty.
Tanya was mocked relentlessly inside the classroom—their laughter rang with sheer delight for them, yet cut like thorns for the lone victim.
She could not bear the jeers and shame any longer. She bolted out of the room without looking back, then broke into a run.
Moments earlier, tears had already welled in her eyes as she sat in class. Now, as she ran, she could no longer hold them back; they streamed down her face one by one, a silent testament to her suffering.
As she kept running, memories flooded back—memories of days when she was not scorned for her looks, when she had bloomed like a flower at the peak of its splendor, when her beauty was like a breathtaking scene that could captivate anyone who laid eyes on her.
Her face—once admired by many—had become the target of blame for a sin she had never committed.