There was clapping.
Deafening and polite.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself seated in a velvet armchair under a still storm of studio lighting. The lights were warm and golden, yet I felt cold. My breath steamed in the cold air beneath it as my skin glowed.
The studio was clean, modern, tasteful. Like the set of a daytime talk show redesigned by an installation artist. Plants that looked too lush. Glass panels reflecting nothing. A live audience that laughed with their eyes and observed with their mouths. All dressed in a muted palette of pastels, clapping like their lives depended on it.
Next to my armchair was a desk. A wooden desk that looked like a relic from the past. Behind the desk a man sat on an unexpectedly modern office chair with a smooth sheen of expensive leather.
The Host.
His suit was charcoal. His smile was infectious. His voice, when he spoke, oozed charm and flattery.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the beacon of our generation, the miracle of the boardroom, the heiress of Roen herself - Lin!"
More applause, spiked with laughter.
I contorted my face into a smile. Involuntarily.
The lights dimmed just a little. The host leaned in, elbows on his desk.
"How does it feel, Lin?"
"What… what do you mean?" I asked.
"To be loved, of course," he said.
Laughter.
From the crowd. From somewhere overhead. From behind me.
Or perhaps, even inside my head.
"I - I don't know. It's… overwhelming."
"Oh, but you must enjoy it," he pressed. "The way they look at you. The way they kneel."
More laughter. A woman in the front row had tears in her eyes. An elderly man jerked his head back as the laughter exploded out of his mouth. I could see the back of his throat.
"I never asked for any of this," I protested.
"But you accepted it, didn't you?"
I looked down. I was wearing pajamas. It wasn't what I went to bed with. It was pajamas that I used to wear when I was young. Soft cotton. Sky blue. Adorable baby bear patterns.
Behind the host, a screen lit up.
Clips played. Footage of me standing on the Ceremony Hall stage. Me smiling, waving, bowing. Me crying.
They replayed it.
The crying.
Over and over.
The camera zoomed into my wet cheeks, my trembling lips, my helpless sincerity.
The audience exploded in laughter. Some couldn't help clapping their hands. Feet stomping involuntarily.
"You love it, don't you?" the Host teased.
"No! No! I-, I don't-"
The audience - howling, cackling, convulsing.
I started to cry.
Again.
"Doesn't she look so lovely when she cries? Isn't she so adorable?"
Whistling and cheering.
"Tell me, Lin," the host said, voice like sizzling butter.
"What is your favorite childhood memory?"
"I.. I…" I didn't know why I was even trying to answer, but I felt like I had to. Everyone - everyone demanded it.
"Why don't you look into your pocket now?"
And when I put my hand into my pajama pocket, there was an old photograph - like magic.
My heart sank as I realized what it was.
My most precious memory.
Captured in a perfect Polaroid photo.
"How did it get here…?"
"Magic!" The man opened his arms wide, leaning his head back dramatically to make a gesture of looking up.
There was eerie silence in the studio now.
"So! It's time to decide, or - should I say… Time to take action…?"
"What do you mean?"
"Rip it up."
I felt like I got stabbed in my heart with a blunt, rusty kitchen knife.
"Rip it up! Rip it up!" The crowd chanted, spiraling into a manic frenzy.
"I-, no! This is… this is…"
Then the man raised his hand to shush the audience and there was a complete silence in the studio.
I looked around and all I could think was that there were too many eyes.
Those eyes.
All those eyes.
Staring at me.
I started to sob again, quietly.
My hands were trembling as I held the photograph.
In my blurred vision filled with tears, I saw my face.
That was me.
That was who I was.
I ripped it apart.
Over and over.
Into a thousand pieces.
The crowd went wild and the sound of their claps assaulted my every sense.
A band began to play.
Cheerful, happy music.
As I was being torn apart.
Then as I looked up, right before my eyes, I saw an invisible fabric shred, and Luc walked in through it.
Now she was standing in front of me.
She looked down at me. Our eyes met. Her eyes were full of cold pity.
And then she turned. Turned to face the host.
"Get out," Luc commanded.
Suddenly I felt the air turn brittle. It was as if every minuscule drop of moisture froze.
All reality was made of glass. And they were cracking. I saw the cracks appear on the faces of the audience. One man's arm broke off as if he was a stained glass. Another woman's face shattered into three pieces.
Even the lights around me began to shatter. Cascades of broken slices of lights fell to the ground.
I looked at the host. His face was fracturing. He was looking up at Luc. His lips began to part, as if to say his final word.
"Lu-"
But that was as far as he could get.
———
I woke up in my bed.
Sheets damp with hot sweat. My cheeks stinging with dried tears.
Luc stood beside the bed.
Holding a cup of tea.
Not smiling. Not frowning. Just watching me return from whatever place I had disappeared to.
"I—"
"I heard you," she said.
Without any further words, she placed the tea cup on the bedside table. She gave me a slight bow and walked out of the room, closing the door carefully so it wouldn't make a sound."
I tried to remember.
Not the dream. There was no need for it. It was still so vivid in my mind.
But the photograph.
I could no longer remember what it was.