Alyra sat motionless in front of the vanity, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on her own reflection but not really seeing it. The face staring back at her might as well have belonged to a stranger, someone who looked like her but existed in a different reality, a different life, a different world where happiness was still possible.

The room was filled with people. Three makeup artists, two hairstylists, and what appeared to be a wardrobe consultant, all moving around her with practised efficiency, treating her like a mannequin to be dressed and painted and perfected.