The morning of the wedding arrived like a tidal wave. No gentle breeze, no soft warning.
Just a crashing reality.
My room was filled with people before the sun had even touched the sky. Stylists, decorators, photographers, designers each one moving with an urgency I couldn’t match. I blinked sleep from my eyes only to be greeted by voices barking orders I didn’t understand and hands pulling me in every direction.
“Hair first, please she needs to be in full glam in two hours!”
“No, that dress can’t hang like that, it needs to breathe!”
“Where’s her tiara box? The real one, not the backup.”
“Lia, darling, sit still we need to start your nails.”
I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both.
Because today wasn’t my day. It was their day. Delwunco day. The press, the spectacle, the royalty. A fairytale, they called it. One where I was the living doll.
I sat silently as someone curled my hair, strand by strand. Another person worked on my hands. My eyes were already being shaded with golds and war
