Seraphina's Point Of View
It had been two days.
Two days since I landed in a city that didn't know me, didn't know my past, didn't know the pieces of me I'd left bleeding somewhere else.
Two days of unpacking, arranging, rearranging, pretending the silence of my new apartment didn't echo too loudly at night.
Two days of waking up disoriented, reaching for a phone that didn't buzz anymore, reminding myself that this was the point.
A fresh start.
This morning, I stood in front of the mirror longer than necessary.
My reflection stared back at me, composed, polished, unfamiliar. Hair sleek. Makeup minimal but sharp. The kind of face people trusted in boardrooms. The kind that didn't reveal cracks easily.
"You've got this," I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the sink.
The words felt rehearsed. But I needed them anyway.
