Chapter 5: The Crown of the Humiliated

Élianor

Today, I turn eighteen. A birthday that, in any other circumstance, would have gone unnoticed, drowned under taunts and general indifference. But this year, everything is different. This year, there is Raphaël.

The last two weeks have been a perverse fairy tale. His assiduous courtship hasn't waned; it has intensified. Every glance, every whispered word, every fleeting touch has woven a cocoon of hope around me. The kiss at the old mill changed everything. Since then, a palpable anticipation vibrates between us. He tells me about a "surprise" for my birthday, something "special," that will show everyone what I'm really worth. His eyes shine with a mysterious excitement that drives me mad with impatience.

"Trust me, Élianor. Today, everything is going to change."

All day at school, I'm on tenterhooks. I catch smirks, whispers that I can no longer interpret as malice. Perhaps it's curiosity? Envy? Even Liora glares at me, but her contempt seems tinged with a new frustration. She senses something slipping away from her.

Raphaël is distant, but with a calculated distance. He shoots me meaningful glances across the courtyard, a secret smile on his lips.

"Tonight, at 8 o'clock, at the old town hall. Don't be late."

The old town hall, just on the edge of town. A slightly dated place, but which for the occasion seems full of promise to me. That's where the best parties happen. And he's inviting me.

The day is an eternity. I go home, ignore the usual remarks from my family about the cake I "shouldn't eat." I lock myself in my room, my heart pounding. What has he prepared? A public declaration? A party? Maybe he convinced people to come, to finally acknowledge me. Maybe everything is about to change.

I dress carefully, putting on the prettiest dress I own, a desperate attempt at elegance that nonetheless emphasizes the curves I hate. No matter. Raphaël doesn't see them.

At 7:45 PM, I stand before the heavy wooden door of the town hall. Muffled music comes from inside. Light filters under the door. My breath catches. It's real. He organized something.

I push open the door.

And the world collapses.

The hall is full. Packed. Practically the entire school is there. Liora is in the front row, her most predatory smile on her lips. Matthias and his gang are there. All those who laughed, who pointed fingers, who made my existence a living hell. They are all there.

And they are looking at me.

There is no "Happy Birthday." No well-wishes. Just a deathly silence, then laughter. A single, massive laugh that explodes and strikes me full force.

My eyes land on the stage at the back of the hall.

And I see.

There is a grotesque, inflatable replica of an obese body, adorned with an approximate brown wig and a dress identical to mine. A twisted golden cardboard crown is perched askew on its head. And on the crown, written in large letters: "QUEEN OF THE WHALES."

On a giant screen behind the inflatable puppet, photos of me, stolen, cropped, distorted, loop continuously, accompanied by cruel captions: "Élianor seeks her prince... charming chocolate bar," "Her favorite dish: the all-you-can-eat buffet."

And in the middle of the stage stands Raphaël.

He holds a microphone. His handsome face is now nothing but a mask of jubilant cruelty. His smile is no longer sweet, but a grimace of contemptuous triumph.

"And here is our queen!" he announces, his amplified voice resonating through the hysterical hall. "Happy birthday, Élianor! We prepared a crown just your size! Look, follow my gaze, she even came in the same dress! They look like Siamese twins!"

The laughter redoubles. Tears come, instantaneous, burning. I am nailed to the spot, paralyzed by the betrayal. Every detail of the past two weeks comes back to me with blinding clarity: the flowers, the sweet words, the kiss... it was all fake. It was all a setup for tonight. For this absolute humiliation, conceived with refined barbarity.

"So, fatso, you really thought someone like me could be interested in you?" he shouts, laughing heartily. "You should have seen your face when I kissed you! You actually believed it? It was just to make sure you'd come tonight! The bet was that even by giving her hope, the whale would come throw herself on the hook. And I won!"

Tears flow now, silent, flooding my face. Through a liquid veil, I see Liora applauding, delighted. I see all those faces, all those people who participated closely or distantly in this scheme. The whole town. Again.

Shame is no longer a feeling. It is annihilation.

I turn on my heel, but the crowd, for once, does not let me pass. They form a circle around me, laughing, pointing fingers, almost pushing me toward the stage, toward that grotesque crown.

"Put it on! Put on the crown, the queen!" someone yells.

"Give us a speech!"

I am trapped. The ground gives way beneath my feet. Raphaël's gaze, cold and victorious, is the last thing I see before panic engulfs me.

I start to scream. A hoarse, primal cry, of a mortally wounded beast that finally pierces the din of laughter. The cry is so wild, so charged with pure pain, that a shocked silence suddenly falls over the hall.

Taking advantage of this breach, I shove someone, I rush toward the exit, blinded, suffocated. I run. I run into the night, the dress torn, makeup streaming, the salty taste of tears and betrayal in my mouth.

Behind me, the laughter resumes, but it seems distant to me, muffled by the sound of my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

This wasn't a fall. It was a public execution. Raphaël hadn't lifted me up only to crush me better. He had offered me the sky so that the fall would be higher, more painful.

Tonight, I am eighteen. And I was given a crown. The crown of the humiliated. A crown that burns the forehead and marks the soul forever. In my desperate flight, a thought, cold and sharp as steel, is born amidst the rubble of my being.

Never again.