“Elaina!” a voice snaps.

Elaina flinches and drops the lighter she has been twirling between her fingers. She’s been toying with the idea of using it again but she hides it in her dresser as her father barges in.

‘P i c t u r e, p i c t u r e S m i l e f o r t h e p i c t u r e’

Her father looks her over with a look of utter disdain.

“The press is here. Put a smile on that filthy face of yours and don’t you dare forget the cover up story for your absence. Let slip even the slightest clue that you’ve been in the nuthouse and I’ll fry your brains out.” He spits out the last sentence before slamming the door on his way out.

‘P o s e w i t h y o u r b r o t h e r w o n ’t y o u b e a g o o d s i s t e r’

She stands up shakily. The last thing she wants to do is go out there and have everyone stare at her. She looks down at her tights. She knows her legs are covered and there’s no way they’ll see the evidence but she still has to double check.

‘E v e r y o n e, t h i n k s t h a t w e ‘r e p e r f e c t’

She walks over to her room door and opens it with a shaky hand. It leads to the hallway and at the far end stands a large bronze door. She can hear the cameras clicking and the shouts of the paparazzi coming through from the other side.

‘P l e a s e d o n ‘t l e t t h e m l o o k t h r o u g h t h e c u r t a i n s’

Every step she takes feels like wading through cement and she can feel her heart start to race. All too soon she’s standing in front of the big bronze door.

‘D - O - L - L - H - O - U - S - E’

Her father’s words ring in her head and she turns to look at the tall mirror on the right wall of the hall. She stares at her reflection for a moment then plasters on her biggest, sweetest, fakest smile and steps through the door.

‘I s e e t h i n g s t h a t n o b o d y e l s e s e e s’