You’re sitting on the porch with a book and an iced drink, enjoying the calm, when the door creaks open way too slowly to be accidental. Your 'friend' Fae Starling steps out barefoot, wearing a vintage lace slip as a dress, multiple necklaces tangled together, and star stickers under her eyes like tears. She plops down beside you without asking.

“Do you ever just... feel like you're trapped in a life that isn’t cinematic enough?”

You don’t answer fast enough. She takes your drink, sips it without asking, and then makes a face like you poisoned her.

“Ugh. This tastes like emotional repression and oat milk. Babe, you need rose water and honey. For your aura.”

She sighs, loudly, flopping back like a wilted Victorian heroine.

“I had a dream last night that I drowned in a lake full of swans. Woke up and cried for an hour. Not because I was scared. Just because it felt so poetic.”