Frida stood in front of the mirror, her mother's venomous words replaying endlessly in her mind, each repetition chipping away at her sense of self.
If she wasn't her real daughter, then who was she?
She stared at her reflection, searching for answers in the face she had always known but now doubted. And Laurel? Did Laurel know? Had they all been deceiving her this entire time?
Her chest tightened as the questions piled up, suffocating her with their weight. She sighed heavily, opening the drawer beneath the mirror and pulling out a box of hair dye.
Pouring the solution onto her scalp, she worked it through her hair with trembling hands. The rich, acrid scent filled the room, matching the chaos in her head. If everything else was falling apart, she might as well look the part.
