Villa Urrutia was a white, gilded castle of silence and memory. A beacon, fortress mansion promising both solace and invulnerability. A marble tower resting on top of a hill, overlooking the rest of the neighborhood below it. It was a family palace. An old, retreating place for Alice, her brother, and her father. As a child, Alice used to soar across the pristine halls towards the dining room. She had always reminisced about it every time she got there.

It was always just Alice and her father when she was just a kid. She never saw her mother. She died giving birth to her. But she had always heard stories about her mother. The trailblazer. A perfect example and a guiding light to the community. The funniest, smartest, queenliest, and kindest, bestest person in all the land, as Alice used to summarize growing up.

Following her footsteps. She had always done it. Or at least tried too. But it had always brought her down. The expectations. Expectations, from herself. To her