Chapter 1
The Girl Who Felt Incomplete
I was not born unhappy.
In fact, my childhood was full of laughter.
I had parents who loved me, a home that felt safe, and a world that seemed kind. Yet, even as a little girl, there was a quiet space inside my chest that never felt entirely full.
I could never explain it.
It was not sadness.
It was not fear.
It was something unfinished.
Sometimes at night, I dreamed of a long hallway lined with mirrors. The floor beneath my feet was cold marble, and the air smelled faintly of roses. At the end of the corridor stood a man I could never fully see.
Tall. Still. Watching.
His eyes were silver.
I would wake before he spoke.
As a child, I told my mother once that I felt like someone was waiting for me in my dreams. She smiled and brushed my hair away from my face.
“Dreams are only stories,” she said gently.
I believed her.
Until the dreams started to feel like memories.
