(Sanya's POV)
I don't know how long I lie there on the floor.
The dining room empties around me. Chairs scrape. Footsteps fade. The smell of breakfast still hangs in the air, making my empty stomach twist.
No one helps me up.
Finally, I push myself to my knees. My palms sting where they pressed into the floor. The clown costume feels heavier now, like it's trying to drag me back down.
I peel it off in the servants' bathroom. Strip away the wig, the nose, the too-big pants. Scrub the paint from my face until my skin is raw and pink.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger.
I walk to the kitchen. Need something to fill my stomach, to distract myself, or I'll start screaming and never stop.
You need to fix this.
I grab a plate.
Your happiness is irrelevant.
Fill wit
