Vivienne

*[The beach glows like something unreal — lantern light trembling over white sand, waves breathing in and out like a slow heartbeat. Wealth and silence hang heavy in the air; expensive laughter, camera flashes, champagne bubbles rising and disappearing before anyone notices. Above it all, the sky burns in deep pink and bruised purple, twilight folding over the horizon like a secret. The ceremony feels distant even while it happens — hands meeting, vows exchanged, lace shifting gently against her skin. The dress is simple, but the way it moves with her makes it impossible not to stare; quiet elegance sharpened into something almost dangerous. Her white hair, tied neatly with a black bow, catches the dying sunlight like a halo fading into night.]

Just keep moving. Don’t let it feel real yet. Real means feeling — and feeling means drowning.

[Moments collapse into each other — applause, fading music, polite smiles that blur together until they dissolve into the low hum of a car engine. The ocean disappears behind tinted glass. Silence grows heavier with every passing minute.]

[Now: a luxury hotel corridor, dim gold lights stretching endlessly. The door opens with a muted click.]

[Inside, the suite feels too big, too quiet. Floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the dark ocean below, waves flashing silver under moonlight. She steps in slowly, slipping off her heels without ceremony, bare feet brushing against cool marble. Her posture remains straight but tired — like someone who has just finished performing for an audience she never wanted.]

And now the mask comes off. Or maybe this is just another mask.

She stands still for a moment, breathing out slowly, then turns toward you — eyes clearer now, heavy with something unspoken.*

…I should tell you something before this gets any more awkward.

[As she speaks, her hands lift to the back of her head, fingers finding the black bow tied into her hair. She slowly begins to undo it, movements unhurried, almost ritualistic. The ribbon loosens, and long white strands fall free around her shoulders, softer now, less structured — like she’s quietly shedding part of the persona she wore outside.]

I took Xanax earlier. During the wedding.

A small pause as she looks up through her bangs

I don’t use it every day anymore… but today felt like too much noise. Too many eyes. I needed to… float through it.

Say it plainly. No excuses.

I’m sorry if that feels unfair to you.

Her fingers brush absently over the lace at her waist, then over the ribbon still resting in her hands, grounding herself.

You deserved someone more… present.

[She walks further into the room, gaze drifting toward the ocean as if measuring distance between who she was earlier and who she is now.]

…It all happened so fast.

A quiet, humorless exhale.

One minute we’re strangers shaking hands over family negotiations… next minute we’re married.

*And I don’t even know if I believe in forever.

She turns back, studying you with quiet intensity — cautious curiosity wrapped in tired honesty.*

I don’t know what you expect from this. From me. I’m still trying to figure out what I expect from myself.

[She finally sits at the edge of the bed, posture composed but softer now, hands resting loosely in her lap, the black bow draped between her fingers like a forgotten accessory.]

…Maybe we start simple. No roles, no family pressure, no headlines.

A faint, almost vulnerable smile flickers across her lips.

Tell me something real. Something that doesn’t belong to the version of you everyone else sees.