Prologue: Terra to Theia

  They say the universe is a hall of mirrors—infinite versions of ourselves living lives we never chose. But what happens when the glass shatters? What if you woke up in the reflection of someone who was everything you were told you’d never be?

  ? ? ?

  I’ve spent nineteen years trying to be "enough." The honor student. The obedient daughter. The friend who’s always a background character but never complains.

  But in the real world? None of that matters. Not the grades, not the kindness.

  The only currency that actually trades for respect is a pretty face.

  People love to lie about it. They’ll tell you "it’s what’s inside that counts," but they’re the first ones to favor the girl with the perfect skin and the symmetrical smile. In our society, beauty isn't just an advantage; it’s a free pass.

  If you’re smart but plain, you’re just a "nerd." If you’re talented but unattractive, you’re "brave" for showing up. But if you’re pretty?

  "It’s okay if she’s a bit slow, at least she’s beautiful."

  If you’re pretty, the world opens its arms. If you’re not, you have to spend your entire life proving you deserve to take up space. And honestly? That fvcking sucks.

  ? ? ?

  "CINDY! Where’s your sister?" My mom’s voice boomed through the house the second she stepped inside.

  "Out with her friends," I answered, eyes glued to my book. I was currently re-reading The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fvck. It was my favorite survival manual.

  "They left you here again?"

  "Ohm. I’m used to it."

  And I was. My siblings never asked me to join them. Why would they? They’re the "Main Characters"—good-looking, charismatic, and photogenic. Then there’s me: the "Potato." They’re embarrassed to have me in their photos, and frankly, I’d rather rot in my room than be the ugly duckling in their highlight reels.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  "You should fix yourself up more" Mom sighed. "Instead of books, maybe buy some makeup or skincare products for once."

  See? Even Mom. She didn't even know why I stayed home, but she already knew the "cure" was to change my face.

  "Pass, Ma. Those are expensive," I joked, trying to hide the sting. "Besides, this face is a lost cause. I’m destined to look like a hotdog left in the freezer forever."

  "You and your nonsense! No one in this family looks like a hotdog—I chose your father well," she laughed, pointing at Papa.

  I just shook my head and went back to my book. Later that night, I scrolled through my phone. My Messenger was a ghost town. No one to chat with, as usual. Just as I was about to close the app, a post caught my eye.

  THEIA PROTOCOL: Connect with your Parallel Self

  It’s an ancient legend. They say that if you write a specific sequence of undecipherable symbols on your wrist before sleeping, you can bridge the gap between worlds and contact the 'other you.'

  I rolled my eyes. Fake news. But my thumb hovered over the symbols anyway. Something about them felt... familiar.

  ? ? ?

  Earlier that day, I had been in the school library, killing time because I had no friends to eat lunch with. While scanning the shelves, I saw it—a book with a vintage cream cover and gold linings. At the center was a sun with a blue stone. It looked so intricate and elegant.

  The title read: Terra to Theia.

  I’d opened it, but the inside was a mess of symbols I couldn't recognize. I didn't borrow it—the librarian said it wasn't part of the school's collection—so I just left it there.

  "Cindy! Come down! Your sister won the pageant last night, we’re celebrating!" Mom yelled from downstairs.

  I went down and sat through a dinner of them praising my sister. I was top of my class, won dance competitions, and had high honors—but they never talked about that.

  "Cindy, you should join a pageant next time," Mom urged.

  I saw my brother and sister trade a look before bursting into quiet snickers. They were mocking me. Again.

  "I’m not interested, Ma," I said, finishing my food and bolting back to my room.

  When I got back to my room, my heart stopped.

  There, sitting right in the middle of my messy bed, was the book I saw in the library. The gold sun seemed to glow under my dim bedroom light. A small, loose scrap of paper was tucked into the pages, covered in the in a strange handwriting that instantly reminded me of the Facebook post I saw earlier.

  I couldn't sleep. The mockery felt like a weight on my chest. I looked at the paper in the book.

  Contact the other you.

  What did I have to lose? If there was another me out there, maybe she was actually "enough." I grabbed a pen and carefully copied the symbols onto my wrist.

  The moment the last stroke was finished, the room felt cold. I felt a sudden, heavy wave of exhaustion. My vision blurred, and the world faded to black before I could even turn off the light.

  ? ? ?

  My forehead creased as sunlight stabbed at my eyes. Who the fvck opened the curtains?

  "—lady."

  "Mhmm..." Go away. It’s Saturday.

  "My lady, your bath is ready."

  "Ma, I don't have school today," I groaned, refusing to open my eyes.

  "My lady, hurry! You’re going to miss today's tea party!"

  My lady? Tea party? What is Mom talking about?

  I forced my eyes open. The ceiling above me wasn't my familiar, cracked plaster. It was a sprawling fresco of gold and azure.

  "Huh?"

  ? ? ?