Reclaimed Destiny

The roar of the crowd was the last thing I heard.

I died on a dirty city street, falsely accused, a monster in their eyes.

It all started with a gift for my 25th birthday-an antique smartwatch from Eleanor, my adoptive mother.

It wasn't just a heavy, ornate trinket; it was a life-drainer.

Weeks after I clasped it on, my vibrant youth withered, my hair thinned, my mind fogged.

As I became a frail old woman, Eleanor, terrified of aging, grew younger, radiant with my stolen vitality.

She locked me in the dusty attic, telling the world I' d had a breakdown.

My only hope, Bethany, my ex-boyfriend' s fiancé, found me.

She helped me escape, or so I thought.

She live-streamed my chaotic flight, twisting a narrative: I was a fraud, mentally unstable, stealing from Eleanor.

The crowd, incited by her online posts, saw a villain, not a victim.

They closed in, their rage contorting their faces.