Chapter Forty-Three
I wake up and this time it’s different. Properly different. Every single thing here is wrong. I can feel it.
An ache in my chest.
A rubbery mattress beneath me.
A bedside table made from wipe-clean plastic. He stares at me from a frame; dressed in a sharp grey suit, a white flower pinned to his lapel. That same haughty grin on his face he always wore, the one that told the world exactly what he thought of them. Not that anyone ever listened.
I shift my head slightly, bringing the rest of the photo into view. I’m wearing a tiara. An actual tiara covered in diamanté. And a white gown in an intricate lace. A bouquet of white and baby pink roses in one hand. The other clutching a glass of champagne so tightly my knuckles glow pale.
The darkness pulls me backwards again and I find myself falling, falling, falling.
Falling without ever hitting the ground.