Elodie's POV
The table beside Fallon is now laden with the creations from our children, and somehow, except for Felix, they are all a little heartbreaking. The dining room, usually a place of quiet meals and low murmurs, feels entirely transformed under the harsh glare of the production lights. Overhead, the air conditioning hums a constant, artificial draft, but it does little to cool the nervous sweat prickling at the back of my neck.
Above the wishes, a large screen is mounted, currently displaying projected images—one for each child's finished creation along with a two-digit number. A bold on-screen graphic reads: VOTE NOW VIA THE APP FOR YOUR FAVOURITE.
'Right, everyone!' Fallon claps his hands together, addressing the camera properly now with his signature, high-energy television
