Life Sentence for the Whole Family
Language: en
Three years ago, on a crisp morning, I stood at the entrance of the academy, clad in a uniform white dress. My parents arrived to pick me up, their faces beaming with satisfaction. Dad spread his arms wide, intending to hug me, but I instinctively recoiled. Following Rule Number Three of the "New Life Protocol," I performed a perfect bow. "Unnecessary contact within three meters of strangers is prohibited," I recited, my voice devoid of emotion. They liked me this way—every step measured as if with a ruler, my hands primly clasped in front of me. They liked this rigid version of me. But…