Lucy gripped the pen. She thought of her boss, who took credit for her work. She thought of her mother, who insisted she marry the local dentist. She thought of the beige walls of her apartment.
"Actually," Lucy said, her voice steady and strange to her own ears, "I think I’m done being nice. I’ve decided to be interesting instead." A Nice Girl Like You
Lucy Thorne lived her life by a series of color-coded spreadsheets. She had a five-year plan for her career in forensic accounting, a three-year plan for a mortgage, and a weekly meal prep schedule that never deviated from "Meatless Monday." In the small town of Oakhaven, she was known as the girl who always remembered birthdays, never parked over the line, and consistently wore beige because it was "sensible." Her best friend, Mia, called her "The Human Protractor." Lucy gripped the pen
When Lucy walked out of the hidden alley, the sun was setting, turning the sky a chaotic, beautiful shade of orange. She didn't go home to prep her salad for Wednesday. Instead, she walked into the local boutique, bought the brightest red scarf they had, and booked a one-way flight to London on her phone while standing on the sidewalk. She thought of the beige walls of her apartment
Lucy wrapped the red scarf around her neck and smiled back, but this time, the smile didn't reach for permission.
He stepped toward a canvas covered in a black sheet and pulled it back. It wasn't a painting; it was a mirror, but the reflection wasn't beige. The Lucy in the glass wore a deep emerald coat. She was laughing. She was standing on a pier in a city Lucy didn’t recognize, holding a ticket to somewhere far beyond Oakhaven.
The Midnight Gallery was not a museum; it was a sanctuary of "lost things." The air smelled of rain and old paper. Inside, a man with ink-stained fingers and a crooked tie looked up from a desk. "You’re late," he said, not unkindly.