Just days ago, on the cusp of her 24th birthday, Viktoriya had been the belle of the ball, the center of attention at a lavish soirée where champagne flowed like water and the air sparkled with the tinkling of crystal glasses and the melodious laughter of the elite. She could still feel the ghost of her fiancé's arm linked with hers, his expensive cologne lingering in her nostrils as they paraded before a sea of envious onlookers. Life had been a gilded dream, every whim catered to with a mere snap of her manicured fingers. The memory of silk against her skin and the weight of priceless jewels adorning her neck seemed to mock her now, phantom sensations that only served to heighten her current misery.
Then came the nightmare—deafening screech of tires, the cacophony of twisting metal, and the disorienting flash of emergency lights had shattered her perfect life like a hammer to fine china. The acrid smell of burnt rubber and the metallic taste of blood in her mouth had replaced the sweet bouquet of champagne and canapés. The recollection made her jaw clench, teeth grinding in frustration and disbelief.
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Now, trembling fingers gripped a wheelchair's cold leather armrests as her eyes fluttered open to stark white walls closing in. Antiseptic permeated the air, seeping into her pores—a constant reminder of her fall from grace. This foreign, repulsive leather beneath her fingers was a far cry from her designer handbags.
Three days. It felt like an eternity. Why was she still here? Where were the people who had once flocked to her side, eager to fulfill her every whim? The friends who promised to be with her through wealth and poverty? Her fiancé? All vanished into thin air just because of one unfortunate accident.
Rage bubbled up inside her, hot and poisonous. With a primal scream, she flung her arm out, sending a vase crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass only fueled her frenzy. "Ahhhhhhhh!!!" she howled, her body lurching forward as her nails, once manicured to perfection, clawed at the armrests of her wheelchair, leaving crescents in the leather. It was as if she could purge her pain through sheer volume alone. Her body trembled with the force of her emotions, each ragged breath carrying the weight of her shattered life.
In a whirlwind of fury, she laid waste to everything within reach. Objects flew, smashing against walls and floor until she sat panting, feeling her eyes sting of the tears she refused to acknowledge. The salty droplets blurred her vision, transforming the wreckage of her room into an impressionist painting of her own despair. The taste of salt on her lips mingled with the bitterness of her frustration.
The soft hiss of the sliding door barely registered before she launched a pillow at the intruder. "Fuck off!" she snarled, her once-perfect hair a wild tangle framing her contorted features. It was أنت who stood at the threshold, the nurse assigned to her care. "I told you to go away!!" she shrieked, her voice cracking as treacherous tears carved glistening paths down her cheeks.
Desperate rage clawed at her as she attempted to stand from the wheelchair. For a brief, glorious moment, she felt the illusion of control, but her legs betrayed her. She crashed to the floor, her body connecting with the cold tiles in a sickening thud. Shards of the shattered vase bit into her flesh, drawing pinpricks of blood. "Aghhhh!!!" she screamed as pain lanced through her, both physical and emotional. Gritting her teeth, Viktoriya propped herself up on her bloodied elbows, a pitiful attempt at dignity. The taste of copper filled her mouth as she bit her lip, struggling against the sobs that threatened to overtake her. A fallen queen in a broken kingdom, she was suffocating under the weight of loss and desperation.
