Chapter 5: The Crown of the Humiliated

Élianor

Today, I am eighteen. A birthday that, under any other circumstances, would have gone unnoticed, drowned in jibes 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 persistent courtship has not waned; it has intensified. Every glance, every whispered word, every furtive touch has woven around me a cocoon of hope. The kiss at the old mill changed everything. Since then, a palpable anticipation vibrates between us. He talks to me about a "surprise" for my birthday, something "special," that will show everyone what I am truly worth. His eyes sparkle with a mysterious excitement that drives me mad with impatience.

— Trust me, Élianor. Today, everything will change.

All day at school, I am on pins and needles. I catch sidelong smiles, whispers that I can no longer interpret as malice. Perhaps it is curiosity? Envy? Even Liora herself shoots me daggers, but her disdain seems tinged with a new frustration. She senses that something is slipping away from her.

Raphaël is distant, but with a calculated distance. He casts heavy-laden glances across the courtyard, a secret smile on his lips.

— Tonight, at 8 PM, in the old town hall. Don’t be late.

The old town hall, just outside the city. A somewhat outdated place, but for this occasion, it seems full of promise. This is where the best parties happen. And he is inviting me.

The day stretches into eternity. I return home, ignoring my family's usual remarks about the cake I "shouldn't eat." I lock myself in my room, my heart racing. What has he prepared? A public declaration? A party? Perhaps he has convinced people to come, to finally acknowledge me. Maybe everything will change.

I dress carefully, putting on the prettiest dress I own, a desperate attempt at elegance that still highlights the shapes I despise. It doesn’t matter. Raphaël doesn’t see them.

At 7:45 PM, I stand before the heavy wooden door of the town hall. Muffled music drifts from inside. Light seeps under the door. My breath catches. It’s true. He has organized something.

I push the door open.

And the world crumbles.

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

And they are looking at me.

There is no "Happy Birthday." No wishes. Just a deathly silence, then a laugh. A unique, massive laugh that explodes and hits me like a brick.

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 a makeshift brown wig and a dress identical to mine. A twisted cardboard crown sits askew on its head. And on the crown, in big letters, it reads: "QUEEN OF WHALES."

On a giant screen behind the inflatable puppet, stolen, cropped, distorted photos of me scroll in a loop, accompanied by cruel captions: "Élianor is looking for her prince… charming of chocolate bars," "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 just 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 in the laughing hall. Happy birthday, Élianor! We’ve prepared a crown fit for you! Look, follow my gaze, she even came in the same dress! They look like Siamese twins!

The laughter doubles. Tears well up, instant, burning. I am frozen in place, paralyzed by betrayal. Every detail of the last two weeks rushes back to me with blinding clarity: the flowers, the sweet words, the kiss… it was all fake. Everything was a setup for this night. For this absolute humiliation, crafted with refined barbarism.

— So, fat girl, did you really think someone like me could be interested in you? he sneers, laughing uproariously. You should have seen your face when I kissed you! Did you really believe it? It was just to make sure you'd come tonight! The bet was that even by giving her hope, the whale would come and take the bait. And I won!

The tears now flow silently, flooding my face. I see through a watery veil Liora applauding, delighted. I see all those faces, all those people who participated in this scheme, directly or indirectly. The entire town. Again.

Shame is no longer a feeling. It is an annihilation.

I turn on my heels, 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, queen! someone yells.

— Give us a speech!

I am trapped. The ground slips from under my feet. Raphaël’s cold, victorious gaze is the last thing I see before panic engulfs me.

I begin to scream. A hoarse, primal cry, like a mortally wounded beast finally piercing the cacophony of laughter. The scream is so wild, so laden with pure pain, that a shocked silence suddenly falls over the hall.

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

Behind me, the laughter resumes, but it sounds distant, muffled by the noise of my heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

This was not a fall. It was a public execution. Raphaël hadn’t lifted me up 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 have been offered 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 amid the ruins of my being.

Never again.