PROSE – FOWC & RDP

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She moved like a memory caught in motion—half real, half reflection.
Blue light wrapped her like prophecy, like warning.
Everything about her shimmered.
Not from joy, but from exhaustion lacquered into beauty.

There was a cost to being seen this way.

Every inch of her radiated curated power—eyes rimmed in defiance, lips painted in precision.
She looked flawless. Untouchable.
But nothing about her was effortless.
She was sculpted in silence, shaped by scrutiny, smoothed by survival.

The world adored the Gloss.

They called it strength.
They mistook stillness for peace.
They praised the image and ignored the ache.

Because Gloss blinds.

And beneath it, something primal waited—untamed, uninvited, and fully hers.

Fur.

Not for decoration—for defense.
It was everything she’d learned to hide: the mess, the wildness, the depth.
The part of her that could not be branded, couldn’t be edited.

She’d buried it to belong.
But it never stopped breathing.

Now it whispered again.

I want to love.
I want to find peace.
I want to find the real.

But in a world that feeds off illusion…

They tell her lies, in a delicious way.
Wrapped in compliments.
Scented with approval.
Only palatable if she never breaks character.

She tried to believe.
Tried to play along.
But the silence inside her was louder than any applause.

Though she is surrounded, she feels alone.

People held the projection.
No one held her.

Who is the person peering from the cage?
She doesn’t want to be here, but there she is upon the stage.

And one day, without ceremony, she stopped pretending.

She stripped away everything, stood as she truly was.
No gloss.
No pose.
No apology.

And in the rawness of that moment—

To dream of the moment is not insane.

Not foolish.
Not naïve.
Not a weakness.

It’s a kind of rebellion—
To believe in softness after survival.
To imagine stillness after the storm.

Perhaps, she will learn the answer—just not today.

Today is enough.

Because in the stillness…

She not afraid.
She not afraid.
She began to breathe.
It almost easy.

No spotlight.
No mask.
Just breath.
Just truth.
Just her.