I stand up, barefoot, and walk toward the door. The floor is cold, but I don’t shiver. I open it. The lights are blinding. The room holds its breath.
The makeup mirror is a ring of unforgiving light, but I’ve made peace with it. It doesn’t lie, and neither do I. Not anymore. gianna dior pov
I set the brush down. The velvet of the robe is warm against my shoulders. It’s my favorite one—deep crimson, the color of a dare. I run a hand through my hair, letting the waves fall just so. Every move is deliberate. Every breath is a cue. I stand up, barefoot, and walk toward the door