Aurora, the dawn

‘wake up Aurora, for the first time in your life.’

Born asleep in the last few minutes of daylight.

Hair embroidered with petals descends from her tower’s window, locks of all shades of blonde as the sun and the years have lighten them.

She is asleep but feels every second, day, and year that isn’t hers.

Aurora, the moment you awake you run to your only window and try to climb down.

There’s so much to do and see, you don’t know how long you have left.

You are cursed, you are aware.

‘Can it be broken?’ ‘Can I break it?’ I see you ask yourself

‘Can I save Jour?’

You shatter your mirror, a family heirloom, by throwing it against the wall, and use its shards to cut your hair. Those fallen strands turn to ash, becoming the same shade of the dark wine sea.

You depart once you’re done, determined to save yourself.