Angie Faith Pov Info

I lean over the marble sink, knuckles white against the cold stone. My reflection stares back—a girl I’ve known my whole life, yet one I keep surprising. My hair is down, no longer sculpted into the perfect, bouncy waves the camera loves. It’s just strands. Brown. Tangled. Human.

The Weight of the Crown

You are Angie Faith, I whisper to the dripping girl in the mirror. You are the dream.

In the darkness of the bedroom, I slide back under the covers. The mattress dips. He rolls over instinctively, his arm finding my waist, pulling the static of the world away.

I dry my face with a towel that smells like lavender, not like the stale champagne and smoke clinging to my dress from last night’s gala. I pad barefoot across the cold floor, leaving the bright, harsh truth of the bathroom behind.

And that Angie is enough.

I close my eyes.

The bathroom light is too bright. It always is at this hour. It hums, a low, electric lie that promises warmth but only exposes the cracks in the tile and the truth under my eyes.