The Fortress of Glass and Silk

They call this place a fairy tale, but I know better. It is just another gilded cage built by people who are afraid of the dark.

I stand here in my white lace and tulle—a fragile ghost against the towering stone of their dreams. My arms reach for something real while they stare at me like a doll on display. They think beauty is power, but I know it's just armor. It’s what we wear when we are terrified that someone might see the cracks in our foundation.

Then there was you. You didn't look at my dress or the lights of the castle. You looked at the way my hands trembled slightly before they reached for the stars. In a city where everyone is screaming to be noticed, your silence felt like a sanctuary.

'You don’t have to dance alone,' you whispered against the hum of the crowd. Your words weren't kind—they were honest. And that was more dangerous than any lie.

I want to push people away with sharp remarks and icy glares because if I let them in, they might see how much I ache for a touch that isn't performative. But tonight, under the glow of artificial magic, your hand found mine. It wasn't soft; it was firm, steadying my world.

Maybe this city is cold. Maybe these walls are tall enough to block out every sunrise we ever missed. But for a moment, in the swirl of my skirt and the heat between our palms, I stopped being an exhibit. I became human again.

Editor: Hedgehog