Not even the gods can save you
keep having these dreams. They come for me every night. They remind me of everything I lost. They remind me of the beauty I had once been. They remind me of how it had inspired rage and jealousy. They remind me of how dangerous it was to be a woman.
I would wake to the early morning light, never being able to escape these dreams. I couldn’t leave them, they refused to leave me. Sometimes I wonder maybe if I had done more, if I had tried something else, things might have gone differently. These are thoughts that haunt me in my waking moments. They keep me company in the days, and the night terrors keep me company during the night.
I reach for the silken black material, the softness cool against my fingers. I lift it to my head, wrapping it tightly around the moving coils of my hair and the contours of my face. I don’t own mirrors, not anymore. The material smooths and stills settling. Hiding what I once took pride in. The deep sigh escapes my lips as I ready myself for another day.
Your writing feels like watching a film play out, every line of dialogue, every movement, and every moment lands with precision. I could picture the light, the atmosphere, the way the tension builds in quiet waves. You know exactly when to hold a moment and when to let it break. That’s not just storytelling, that’s direction. The recent twist was brilliant, bold, unexpected, but absolutely perfect for the story’s rhythm. Truly unforgettable work.