Gabriella’s P.O.V

I sat on the cold floor, knees pulled to my chest, fingers tangled in my hair as I stared at the wreckage of what used to be my room, my sanctuary. The once pink silk curtains were in shreds, the ribbons torn and knotted in violent bursts of rage. My bedpost was cracked in half, and the mirror—my favorite mirror that once framed my face like I was royalty—was now a scatter of sharp, glittering fragments all over the floor.

I had done all of it. Me. ...