In the grand palace of Celestia, high above the realm of mortals, Elira Aethar stood before a forgotten mirror. The abandoned temple at the kingdom's edge had long since been swallowed by time, its crumbling stones veiled in ivy and silence. Yet here stood Elira, the disillusioned princess, alone and trembling before a relic older than the kingdom itself.
It was said the mirror revealed one's truest desires; whispers from generations past called it a wishmaker, a curse-breaker. But Elira didn't seek wishes. She wasn't looking for power or love or glory. She wanted something far simpler, yet far more impossible: escape.
Her family name, once honored throughout Celestia, now echoed with shame. The Aethar clan, descended from ancient mages, had dwindled into memory. Elira's magic, once promising, had withered to sparks barely able to light a candle. A disappointment. That's what they called her, though rarely aloud. Their eyes said enough.
She touched the mirror's edge, cold and still. Her reflection wavered, not from movement, as though the glass itself questioned who she was. Beautiful, yes. But fragile. Frail. Her body, once praised for its elegance, now felt foreign. A gilded cage she couldn't break.
She clenched her fists.
There had to be something else. Another life. Somewhere far from the endless courtly whispers and expectations crushing her from the inside out.
Miles and worlds away, in a cramped bedroom in a city that never truly slept, Lila sat beneath the pale light of a full moon. The window barely let the breeze through, but it was enough to carry a hint of summer's end. She pressed her fingers against the windowsill's cool wood, watching shadows stretch across rooftops.
Everything felt too quiet. Too still.
She hated nights like this—the ones that reminded her of everything she wasn't.
At school, she was the one always too much: too loud, too awkward, too… wrong. At home, it was worse. Every word from her parents felt like a correction, a push toward some invisible version of herself they wanted her to be.
"Lila, why can't you be more like your sister?"
"If you lost just a little weight, you'd be so pretty."
They didn't mean harm, maybe. But the cuts still ran deep.
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could shield her heart from the ache building inside. It wasn't just loneliness—it was the quiet belief that maybe she didn't belong here at all.
"I wish I could just leave… escape," she whispered, her voice lost to the night.
Somewhere far away, something listened.