I stare at Sylvie’s father, mentally begging him to do something. To stand up for his fucking daughter, but he doesn’t. He stays silent. For one second too long. Sylvie sniffles through the silence as her mother stares contemplatively at her. Then, the woman shakes her head as she softly mutters, “Ever since the day you tore your own portrait to shreds, I knew you’d never be happy unless you were the center of our universe. Poor little Sylvie, always so desperate for everyone’s attention. What an entitled little bitch you’ve turned out to be.”
