I don't know how they did it, but the Bels found a way to drag Alonzo's birthday party out for six hours. By the time we stepped onto the teleport to go back home, it was midnight. I leaned against the wall, cold metal pressing into my skin. The hum of the teleport was somehow soothing after hours of blaring music. My eyes drifted shut as the exhaustion I had been trying to suppress hit me like a tidal wave.

The teleport jolted to a halt. My eyes flew open to the sight of my mother glaring at me. I pushed past her into the hallway, ignoring her. My piano performance got you a ticket to talk with Mrs. Bel for two hours at the party. What more do you want from me?

As I walked, the lace on the sides of my heels chafed the back of my foot. Ugh! I probably will have blisters for the next week due to those torture devices. I stopped in the hallway and slipped the shoes off. Ah, that feels good! I wiggled my toes just to make sure that they had survived being crushed in the shoes for so long. They were stiff at first, it felt like I was trying to bend metal. But after a moment, they warmed up and were back to normal. Satisfied, I headed towards my bedroom, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep.

"Mia." Mom's voice rang through the hallway, commanding me to halt. For a moment, I thought about stopping. But my legs kept going. I was utterly exhausted from the party. Just being around those brats had drained every last ounce of energy in my body. The party music had blasted for hours, resulting in the pain that now pierced my brain. Whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. I just want to sleep.

"Mia, I am talking to you!" Mom exclaimed, the urgency in her voice rising.

"Talk to me tomorrow. I'm tired." I continued to my bedroom. Heels clacked unevenly on the floor as my Mom tried to catch up with me.

"We are going to speak now!" Mom panted in anger.

"It's already midnight. Whatever it is will have to wait until tomorrow. I'm in no state of mind to talk." I headed into my bedroom, plopping onto my bed. My eyes closed, and for a moment, I actually thought that I could get some rest.

"MIA!" Mom yelled. Or not. Ugh, why does she have to be so obsessive?

"What?" I huffed. I turned around to face her. She punctuated her death-stare by crossing her arms.

"That was not Hungarian Dance No. Five."

"I'm sure it was fine. They probably couldn't tell the difference," I protested. "It's not like people listen to Brahms anymore." Why does she always have a problem with everything I do?

"But that wasn't the piece, correct?" She glowered over me, her eyes like daggers. I shriveled from the intensity, my gaze dropping to the floor.

"No." The word was a breath, barely even spoken.

Mom threw up her hands. "What am I supposed to do? Do you know how embarrassed I was? You just making up notes and rhythms? I couldn't believe it. Sure, the Bels loved it, thank goodness. Sure, some people couldn't tell the difference. But what about those who could tell the difference? What, do you think that you are the only person in the universe well versed in music?"

"I never said that," I spat. "I said—"

"I'll bet you did it on purpose! You deliberately tried to spoil the evening!"

"I did not!"

As much as I wanted, I added silently.

"Don't you see how important of an opportunity this is for you?"

That's it. I'm done with this.

"NO!" I shouted. "The only opportunity here is for YOU! You only care about yourself! What about what I want? I don't want this stuck up, fake life. I want to live in the real world!"

"This is the real world, Mia. This is the world we live in. You wake up, make money, have friends, and enjoy all of the modern conveniences that make living as easy as possible. This is life. And in order to be anything in this world, you'd better marry someone pretty darn rich!"

My face hardened. "Then I don't want to be a part of your world."

"Too bad!" Mom scoffed. "You don't get a choice! I think it's time that you get that attitude of yours checked, otherwise you'll be nothing, just like you were tonight."

"Well I can't play with all of your badgering. What happened tonight is your own fault! You're the one who has forced me to play four hours everyday for the past five years! It's because of your own selfishness that my hands started hurting during that performance, and that I couldn't play. Who knows if I'll play again! Then you'll be out of your little performing monkey." I was trembling with anger. How dare she accuse me of all of these things! How dare she blame me for her own stupidity! Any normal person would know that over practicing can destroy a person's hands.

Mom leaned in close, until I could feel her breath on my face. Her eyes pooled with fire, enraged that I dare talk back to her.

"If it weren't for me, you'd be nothing. You'd be some sorry nobody living in a miserable little world. Without the piano, nobody would love you. No one would care for you. Without the piano, you would have no place anywhere in this world. You should be grateful to me, Mia. I was the one who started you on piano. You're the pianist, that's your identity. And that's all you will ever be, until of course, you get married, which once again will be thanks to me. Then you will be the high society woman married to the richest man in the world, who also can charm her guests with some music. That's it, Mia. That's all there is for you in the world. This is your life. It's already written, it's already planned. You can fuss, and protest all you want, but you will never change the reality."

Her words cut into my heart, leaving deep scars. But I couldn't show it. No, never could I ever show how I felt.

"That's not true!" I yelled the words at the top of my lungs, mainly to convince myself so.

"Oh, but isn't it?" Mom snarled, her voice unnaturally low. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Mia? Have you seen what a freak you would be without us?"

Tears built up behind the wall of my eyes. I held my breath, my body rigid. Do not cry. Do not cry!

"Yes, Mia. It's all true. Not only would you be nothing in this world, you'd be less than trash. You're an anomaly. A freak of nature. You'd fill your head with nonsense, and you'd look like a monster. You should be thankful that we invested in your contact lens. You don't want anyone to see that eye of yours. That dreadful, disgusting, iris."

A small tear escaped my eye. I sniffed, forcing myself to hold the others back. A grin crept onto Mom's face. She had won. She knew it. And I hated it. Why did she always get to have the word? Why did she act like she was always right? It lit a fire in my heart that made me want to contradict her in everything, regardless of whether it was truly how I felt. She wants to play a game, I want to watch a movie. She wants me to go shopping, I want to read a book. She wants me to do etiquette lessons, I want to do Calculus. She wants me to go to dumb parties, I want to sleep. There was something satisfying in knowing that I was nothing like her, polar opposites.

The only solace in knowing that she'd won was the fact that she'd finally leave me alone, putting an end to my misery. But her stare suddenly left me. My heart beat faster as I realized what she was looking at. My book.

Before I could react, she snatched the book up, flipping through the pages quickly.

"This is the world you wish to live in, isn't it! A world full of fairies and curses. Well, dream on because you'll never find it. Books are meant to be seen and not read for this very reason. I think it's about time that you leave this world of yours and start investing your time in reality. From this day forward, you will be forbidden to touch any of the books in this household. Instead, that time will go towards etiquette lessons and more parties with sensible children your age. Goodness knows you need it!"

The door slammed as she stormed from the room, taking my precious book with her.

I sat for a moment, stunned. The remaining echoes of our conversation faded into oblivion. Before I could stop it, I erupted in a fit of sobs.

I didn't want to believe her. I'd tried so hard to disagree with her, just like I did on everything else. But when it's hard to ignore something that you know deep down in your heart of hearts. Am I a freak? Am I really? No, stop it Mia! You're gorgeous, so much more than your Mom.

I blotted my eyes with a tissue, forcing myself to stop crying. You're better than this, Mia. Never let Mom win. Never. I focused on calming my labored breaths. In, out. In, out. Everything will be OK, Mia. Just breath. Stay calm. You're OK.

It'd been more than a year since I'd last seen myself in the mirror. That is, my true self. This facade I wore, courtesy of my obsessive parents, wasn't what I truly looked like. I slipped off the bed and glided to the large vanity on the side of the room. Big, beautiful brown eyes stared back at me in the mirror. My heart sank at the sight. Once upon a time, those had been my eyes. Now, it was just one eye.

My hands shook as I reached up to my eye. My fingers gravitated to the minute notch on the side of my pupil. I lifted it, tugging my eyeball from its socket.

I looked better than I remembered. Last year, right after the accident, the socket had been all red and puffy. Now, it was just gray and scarred, an empty abyss that could only be filled by a ball of wires.

This was the only thing my Mom had and ever would be correct on. I was a freak. But thanks to them, I didn't have to look like one. If we had been ordinary people, the millionaires or billionaires, the doctors wouldn't have even attempted to help. But Dad's wealth and status was enough to purchase me a new eye.

I looked normal, but I wasn't. Just because I'd gotten used to the ache in my eye socket as metal presses on scar tissue doesn't mean that I don't feel it. This was my life. My messed up, wretched life.

I always hoped that this injury would be a blessing. Maybe it would keep me from being married off, like an animal being sold. But now, I doubted that Mom and Dad would bring up the issue when the time came. And this was the one thing that I couldn't bring myself to share. It was terrifying to look into the mirror and only see one eye gazing back.

I pressed the mechanical eye back into my skull. There, back to normal. Normal.

Exhaustion hit me suddenly, a fog that settled in my thoughts and mind. The world around me seemed hazy as my eyelids drifted shut. My legs gave out and I collapsed onto my bed, sinking into the pillows and blankets. The lights in my mind's eye went out as I succumbed to sleep.

***

I didn't understand why I couldn't drive. It was my car and I had my driver's license. But no matter how much I argued, I was denied the right. Reluctantly, I climbed into the passenger's seat and we drove off.

The road twisted and curved violently, and the driver insisted on going fast. I was tossed to and fro, bruising my shoulder from being thrust into the car door. My stomach churned from motion sickness.

Before I knew it, we were approaching a steep hill at lightning speed. I clutched my seat.

"Slow down!" I yelled. "You're going too fast!"

The driver refused to slow down. In fact, he put his foot on the gas and began accelerating. 'What an idiot!' I thought. 'Does he not know that the car will pick up speed when it goes down the hill?'

"Slow down! You have to slow down!" I screamed.

At the very last moment, at the top of the hill, the driver slammed on his breaks and the car screeched to a halt, perched on the very edge. I exhaled a huge breath. 'That was a close one!' I thought.

But suddenly, I felt the car start creeping forward. Before I knew it, the breaks on the car gave out, and we went thundering down the road toward a rickety bridge. The driver kept trying to break, but the car wouldn't stop! I wanted to yell 'I told you so,' but was too terrified to utter a single word.

I closed my eyes just as a tree came into view. Metal crunched. Pain shot through my entire body, like every bone in my body was broken. I couldn't open my eyes, I couldn't move a single muscle. I had been...shattered.

I bolted upright in bed. My heat rate gradually decreased as I realized that I was at home, safe and sound in my bed. I glanced at the watch on my wrist. The number 3:23 lit up on the tiny screen. I flopped backwards onto the pillows. Go back to sleep. You need to rest.

I shut my eyes, trying to settle back into slumber. But my mind was now hyperactive, replaying my dream over and over in my head. I felt myself hitting the tree, every bone in my body broken...

No, Mia. Stop thinking about this right now. Stop thinking! Sleep. Just sleep.

But, I couldn't sleep. After the third crash, the third feeling of torment, I reached over and turned on the lamp on my bedside table. I can't take another moment of this. I just will have to do something until I'm drowsy enough to go back to sleep.

I headed to the only place that I knew of to be able to think: the attic. From the time I was little, my Mom had forbidden me from ever stepping foot in the attic. She said it was dusty and dirty, riddled with cobwebs and rats. I believed her for a time, my innocent, childish self thought that Mommy could do no wrong. But one day, I decided to take a peek for myself. I realized that her claims of rodents and insects couldn't possibly be true since our whole house was thoroughly sprayed with pest repellent. And boy was that stuff potent. And besides, who cares about a little dirt?

What I found upstairs was the complete opposite of what she claimed. It was the most perfect room in the whole entire house. It was filled with antique furniture, ancient books and statues. It all felt so wholesome and natural, not like the fake plastic and synthetic fibers used nowadays. It was the only place that I felt safe and at home.

I ascended the winding staircase, every step placed with a deliberateness and precision. I'd climbed these stairs enough to know which spots would creak and which ones wouldn't. Once, Mom had found me climbing the stairs in the middle of the night and had grounded me for a week. She had taken my book away then, too. But at least I had hope that one day I'd get my book back. Now, I wasn't so sure.

Fortunately, Mom has never caught me in the attic. No, she simply thought I was on my way to the fifth floor, though in her mind, that was equally disturbing. She said I could go to the first floor, where the piano was; the second floor, where our bedrooms were; the third floor, where the guest bedrooms were; or the fourth floor, where the activities were. But never the fifth floor.

"Why?" I had asked.

"There's nothing of interest there, darling," she had explained. "Go back to the fourth floor. I'm sure it would be far more interesting to go swimming in the indoor swimming pool, or watch a movie in the Theatre."

"But I've done all those things before," I had protested. "I want to do something new."

"Oh, you want something new!" Mom had exclaimed. "Well, dear we can go virtual shopping and buy you a brand new dress."

"But Mom—"

"Come along, Mia."

I stopped on the stairs in front of the fifth floor and just stared at the door. It was always locked, the mystery of my childhood, the last adventure that awaited me. For years, I dreamed of opening the door and taking a peek at what way lay behind. Was it a mountain of books? A botanical garden that Mom secretly cared for? Or perhaps it was just empty - a floor that my parents had put in so they could tell people that they lived in a six-story home, but never knew what to do with?

Regardless, I had to know. For my own sanity, I needed my parents to tell me someday what was hidden within our home. Hopefully one day I'd find out. One day.

I hurried up the stairs, shoving such thoughts aside. The more I thought about the mysterious floor, the more it bothered me. So I didn't think. No, I would distract myself with the antiques that awaited me in the attic.

The smell of ancient wood welcomed me back to my hideout. I sat in the old, wicker rocking chair. It was twenty times my age, dating all the way back to the 1800s. How wonderfully simple life used to be. People woke with the sun to do work in fields or govern a household. Families shared the evenings together, warmed by a campfire and each other's company.

Mom always called my books a dream world. Some of them were, like the ones of dragons and magic. But those deemed 'historical fiction,' those were no dream world. They were reality, until reality decided to change. How could we come so far from that? For centuries we lived with nature. Now, we ruled it.

My eyes flicked around the room lazily. The room was calming, a retreat from the world. My eyes rested on an old bookcase, each row neatly lined with books. My eyes lit up as I remembered. Looks like she hasn't cut off all of my sources of reading material. I made my way to it, careful to not knock anything over.

I scanned my selection of books. Many of the old books I'd read before, or at least tried to read. But finding one was somewhat challenging, considering that many were written in ancient languages. For a brief time, Mom had me take classes in latin, so I was able to recognize a few words here or there in a couple of the books. But most were unreadable.

I picked up a book, one I'd never looked at before. It was written in another language. I sighed and placed it back on the shelf. I lifted another. Once again, I could not read it.

I closed my eyes, my fingers traced the bindings of the books. I knew their placement by heart. There was only one use for technology—scanning books to figure out what language they were in. As I stood there, feeling the ridges in the books, I thought of the languages they were written in. Etruscan and cuneiform, hieroglyphs and Mayaglyphs—all so beautiful and mysterious. I wished that I could read them. I'd once tried translating a book, but the words were jumbled, sentences incomplete. Clearly, the high-and-mighty technology could only provide word for word translations, unable to capture the essence of the writing. I supposed the secrets held inside would be kept forever, an infinite source of knowledge disintegrating back into dust. How wasteful we are, I thought. We pride ourselves on "saving the planet," yet we can not save one of the greatest treasures in this world—books.

A sense of calm overcame me as I touched the forbidden books. I couldn't help but get lost in the smell of old ink and paper, the comfort in knowing that the books were here for me in my darkest days. We may not speak the same language, but we had an understanding that ran far deeper than the physical.

Suddenly, I felt my foot snag on a loose board. I fell to the floor with a thud, knocking over a box. Oh dear! I hope no one heard that!

I sat upright, brushing dust and grime from my pure white dress. Inside, I grimaced at the thought of Mom and Dad. I could just imagine them tomorrow, yelling at me for dirtying my new dress.

Maybe I can sneak it to the maids before they notice. Surely Alana will be kind enough to not make a fuss over it.

I silently cursed the stupid ballgown for being so poofy. The only real merit was that it was so fluffy that I hadn't gotten injured in my fall. Nevertheless, I wouldn't have fallen in the first place if I had been in normal clothes.

I turned my attention to the box I had knocked over. The process of knocking the box over had scattered books across the floor. That's what I get for walking with my eyes closed, I grumbled. I began placing the books back in the box. I realized this was the old Shakespeare collection Mom used to display in the family room. That is, until she found out that I was reading them. I had wondered what had become of the plays. It was refreshing to know that she hadn't gotten rid of them—yet. The collection seemed to be intact—Romeo and Juliet, A Midsummer's Dream, Hamlet, Macbeth, and many more which I'd never been able to finish.

A glimmer of gold caught my eye. I turned in its direction, my eyes scanning the ground. I soon noticed a book I'd never seen before. I cradled it in my hands to inspect it. Vegetal patterns, formed from cast gold, decorated the otherwise plain, brown exterior. In the center was the emblem of a gold crown entwined with vines. Gently, I lifted the cover to peek inside. It was clearly old, its pages were yellowed and dilapidated. But in another sense, it looked brand new, its binding intact, no pages folded, creased, or torn.

The chirography was exquisite, fluid lines of acrs and swirls. I could've gazed at the sight for days, tracing the patterns with my eyes. What a shame that no one has read such a beautiful book. I quickly pulled up the language detector app on my watch and scanned the book. It took only a moment for the screen to light up with the words:

No detectable language.

I stared at the message, confused. This was the first time I'd ever seen the app do this. Perhaps there was some sort of error in the connection.

I deleted the search from my history, a ritual I had gotten in the habit of doing since my parents had access to everything on my phone and watch. I knew that it didn't fully erase even after I deleted my history, but it made it harder for parents to find that information. And quite frankly, I doubted they had the time to seek it out.

I nestled myself on the floor and opened the book. I may not understand it, but I could still look at it, kind of like a picture book. As I flipped through the pages, my eyes lost in the sea of calligraphy, the words to the story began to form in my head.

Once upon a time, there was a Princess in a far away kingdom. Her parents kept her locked away in the tallest, snow-capped mountain in hopes to train her in the way of royalty. But the Princess didn't want to be locked away. She wanted to feel the fresh air on her skin, the green grass under her feet. She was sick of living under a grey ceiling, surrounded by grey walls. She wanted color, life, and excitement. So one day, she snuck past the guards and...

I froze. What on Earth is this?

In front of me lay a glittering, solid-gold key. My fingers skimmed the smooth surface.

The fifth floor. I don't know why those words popped into my head, but they did.

That's ridiculous, Mia. It was probably left in there by the previous owner.

But once the thought entered my brain, I couldn't get it out. My curiosity wouldn't be satisfied until I saw that the key did not match the lock on the door.

I glided down the stairs in a heartbeat, blood rushing in my ears. Calm down, Mia. This probably isn't the key. In fact, it isn't. I know it isn't. Stop getting your hopes up.

But I couldn't help myself. It was all just too exciting to think that this mystery may finally be solved.

I stood in front of the door. It looked innocent enough, just like all of the other white-washed doors in our home. The only thing different was the fact that it was perpetually locked with no explanation. For a moment, I just stared at the keyhole.

What are you doing? Just stick it in the keyhole!

My hand acted before my brain could keep up. I shoved the key in the hole. A silent gasp escaped my lips.

The key fit perfectly.

It...it works! It really works! It was like a dream come true. Finally, I would know my parents secret, what they had been concealing all these years.

My fingers trembled as I turned the key. With the click of the lock, the door opened to a dark hall, the end shrouded in shadows. I pulled the key out of the door, entranced by the room in front of me. This is it! This is what I've been waiting for my whole life! I entered and, without thinking, shut the door behind me. Instantly, I was plunged into darkness. I whipped around and shook the handle vigorously, but it didn't budge. A self locking door. Darn it! I cursed myself for being so stupid. And upon inspecting the door, I realized that the lock on this side was much smaller than the lock on the other. Who made such a stupid door! A key should work on both sides, not one! Now how am I supposed to get out? What if Mom and Dad found me here when they wake up?

Your watch. I groaned as I glanced at my wrist. That was another suspicion of mine: that my parents could track my location. Whenever I went to the attic, I would just delete my location history. But now I'm trapped, and if Mom and Dad found me in here...

You can probably do the same thing once you get out of here. Don't panic, everything will be fine.

Yes, everything would be fine. As long as I got out of here before Mom and Dad wake up.

Wait! I can just use my watch as a flashlight. Then, maybe I can find an object in this room to pick the lock.

The variety of books that I'd found in our attic over the years has astounded me. From the deepest mysteries of space, to planting a garden, to picking a lock, I had acquired a vast amount of knowledge over the years.

I tapped my watch, waiting for it to light up.

But it didn't.

I tapped it again.

No response.

I closed my eyes, wanting to scream. I didn't charge my watch when I got home from the party. And it decided that now was the perfect opportunity to die.

Well, at least Mom and Dad can't track me. New plan. Search for a wire in the dark. And don't bump into anything.

I headed into the abyss, not knowing where I was going. The darkness was ominous, anything could be laying in front of me.

What if monsters really do exist? I suddenly thought. Or, what if there's a giant tarantula that has been laying in hiding up here.

What if Mom and Dad are secret heroes who subdued the Dragon of Fire in their raid of the Cave of Eternal Treasure? What if they locked him away in this room to keep him from ever being a terror to the world again? What if that's how they got so rich, they had unlimited access to the Cave's bounty? What if they were really protecting me by locking this room?

My whole body was tense, my hands squeezed the key to keep from shaking. Every step I took grew more and more difficult.

Am I about to die?

A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. And then it hit me: the temperature in the hallway had risen at least ten degrees.

The Dragon of Fire...it's here! It's here and I'm trapped! There is no escape! He's going to set me ablaze in one breath, crisp my skin and smoke my bones. And right before I die, he'll swallow me whole!

Run back! Scream and bang on the door until Mom and Dad rescue you! They'll come, it may even be morning by now!

I was about to turn around when the rational side of my brain kicked in.

If a dragon were really inside of here, wouldn't he have eaten you by now? Surely he can smell human flesh.

I kept moving forward, more curious than scared. What did lie at the end of the tunnel?

Tentatively, I took a step forward, then another, and another. The foreboding darkness began to fade, giving way to pale yellow light. I squinted, making out the outline of a large rectangle. I lifted my dress and broke into a run. The shape seemed to materialize from the air, forming wooden posts and intricately carved patterns, and finally a shiny, golden handle.

I finally stopped, completely winded. The key from before slipped from my fingers, the clatter echoing through the empty hall.

My eyes went wide with awe as I gazed up at the sight in front of me. Hidden deep in the heart of the fifth floor was an ancient, wooden door. It stretched to the ceiling, at least twenty feet tall. Despite its weathered, rough appearance, it seemed to be glowing, radiating heat.

I couldn't help myself. My hand placed itself on the metal handle. Ice shot through my palm. I gasped, pulling back.

That's...odd. Shouldn't it be warm?

I decided not to dwell on it. Mentally preparing myself, I reached out again and set my hand on the knob.

One...two...three.

Inhaling a deep breath, I turned the handle. Slowly, the door creaked open. A burst of golden light hit my eyes, blinding me.