Becoming the target

Seraphina's Pov

 The archery uniform I was now wearing felt stiff and restricting against my skin. It was made of a thick, leather-like material, designed for protection and agility, but the high collar and close-fitted sleeves made me feel like I was trapped inside it.

 The pants clung tightly, and the knee-high boots felt too heavy with their sturdy soles and reinforced toes. The outfit was pitch black, a color I had always avoided—too stark, too serious, and it had this unnerving way of making me feel swallowed up. 

I glanced down, tugging at the hem of the top, trying to ignore how much the dark fabric accentuated every inch of me. I felt exposed, like the uniform was a spotlight I couldn't escape.