Lahat ng Kabanata ng Wrapped The Bully Around My Fingers: Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 97

I’ve always hated mirrors.They show too much. Too honestly.But now—Now, I can't stop staring.The girl in the glass tilts her head. She’s beautiful in that haunting, aristocratic way. Rosie Miller’s beauty was always cold, like marble warmed by candlelight.And now… it’s mine. Mother did everything so that I look like her. The cheekbones took two surgeries. The lips were easy—subtle filler and muscle memory. I even learned how she blinked. Slowly. Like she knew the world would wait for her.I lean in, brushing a lock of black hair behind my ear, her signature habit. I trace the light scar at my neck. A perfect replica from her dead body.Rosie was always the star. The one with the spotlight in her eyes. The chosen daughter. The heir. The girl people died for.But she’s dead now.And I’m not.I trace the curve of my jaw with one finger, still bruised faintly under the skin where the bone was shaved. Months of healing. Years of training. Voice lessons. Diary entries memorized. Even

The candlelight is low. Flickering. Dying. I walk barefoot down a hallway lined with mirrors—dozens of them, tall and arched, gilded in gold that’s flaking away. The floor is marble, but my footsteps don’t echo. It’s like the air itself is swallowing the sound. Heavy. Watching. My dress clings to me, unfamiliar. Pale gold, stitched with roses. I don’t remember putting it on. Everything smells like rosewater and smoke. I pause beside a mirror. My reflection stares back, but there’s something off. I lean closer. The tilt of my head, the shape of my mouth, the line of my shoulders—it’s all right, and yet… wrong. Like I’ve seen this face on someone else. It’s me. Of course it’s me. But my stomach tightens. I force myself to look away. That’s when I see him. Daniel, standing at the far end of the corridor, dressed in black, shadows curled around his shoulders like a cloak. He holds a bouquet of roses—blackened, wilting, soaked in something that drips down his wrist.

It had been a week. Seven days of pretending to be Pearl. Of swallowing down the truth like a secret that might rot me from the inside out. No one noticed. Not really. They still called me by the name that wasn’t mine. Still treated me like the girl who arrived at the academy dazed and forgetful. Still saw the version of me they expected to see. But I saw it. In the mirror. In the way I stood. The way my voice had softened, lilting into the same cadence Rosie used to have when she whispered to the stars from her bedroom window. I saw it in the way my fingers reached up—absent, automatic—to tuck my hair behind my ear whenever I was nervous. Just like she used to do. Just like I used to do. Rosie was slipping out of me like light through cracked glass, and I didn’t know how to stop it. And Lucas… he noticed something. I could feel it. He didn’t say anything. But I’d catch him staring sometimes, brow creased in that quiet, careful way of his—like he was trying to

The castle is quiet when I return—too quiet. My footsteps echo down the stone hallways, the torches flickering on the walls as if reacting to my presence. The shadows here don’t whisper like they did in the graveyard, but they linger all the same. I keep my head down as I move through the halls, fingers curled tightly in my coat sleeves. The dirt from the grave still clings to my skin, under my nails, and I feel like I’ve brought something back with me. Something that doesn’t want to let go. Lucas isn’t here. The thought drops into my mind like a stone in water, rippling through everything. No echo of boots in the corridor. No impatient voice behind a closed door. No sharp, observant eyes following me. He’s gone. Somewhere far from here tonight. That should bring relief, but instead it leaves a hollow space. Because now, I’m alone with everything I’m afraid to think about. In the room, I lock the door behind me and head straight to the washbasin. The water’s already cold. I