My brain grows ill of the repeated motion of life, stomach spinning in spirals, wanting to empty the leftover contents.
Yet my eyes still open, hearing the constant cruelty of humanity as I stay in my little bubble. Not completely secure, but at least I know the people within it, been seeing them pass by for quite some time. My poor head sinks in return, craving to crawl back into my dreams, but that is not a luxury.
Some people would do anything just to get in my place, but up this high, I feel like a target, like my feelings have to be shut in before someone shoots me down. Taking the sharp part of the blade and grazing the side of my face, having drips of crimson taking off with it.
My back would feel the pain as well, with needles sewing their way into my back, the thought of a void screen seeming comforting since the noise boils heavily on the corena. Yet this fleshbag of a body is dragging my poor organs around like a sack, and I'm carried in a silver porcelain satchel.
People betting to pick a speck off the center, raising their hands just to get a smidgen of what we represent, what we hold.
The idea of a family bound by love and making it through the odds of life is a sacred culture, an idolization to see photos and fashion beyond the reach of a regular person. To them, everything I must do must seem perfect, while in reality, it's far from reach.
Wars still rage on outside of my bubble, and people still get hurt beyond repair, and ears bleed from the sound of disappointment. Ringing with all despair from a lost dream. The taste of iron is prominent on our tongues, a fancy feast with the heart being a rotten treat, as no amount of distraction can save us from what's truly inside.
Buried under the rug, one way or another, it will be dug, and someone will see through the facade. The number game pushed into the twisted maze in our skull will one day embrace nature as it did before. Beridding of the dreaded media that tears us apart, making us cover our eyes and take care of it more than ourselves.
A prized possession, having our minds entranced, embedded in a sense of control that is our only sense of safety, yet it is far from it. Neither are the people we feel the safest with, for they will also leave us one day, whether we want to or not. They will be the ones to harm us the most, as said many times. Not the strangers, but the ones who know us the best, even more than we do about ourselves, which is a crushing fact.
As it is for Regina to Victoria and Victoria to Rene', broken yet connected pieces attempting to mend their lives back together. Lost in the maze of their own story, rushing to find the right exit, yet the answer is lacking in all the possibilities they have.
Green-eyed diamond enters the sea of the wolves before the world can tackle her, then gets cast out when she learns the game. Leaving the amethyst to fend for herself in a isolated terrain of unknown factors waiting to pop at any second.
"I suppose so", she took a glance at her brother, then pressed her eyes to the floor as the room grew awkwardly quiet.
I think back to the design and nod, "Well, it is something different, I suppose it's fine, especially if Mother thinks so." I force myself to smile, "Thank you for informing me of this decision. I hope to see the garment soon."
I bow my head, "Best of luck, everyone, and Charles."
They bow their heads as well, with Charles following their lead, "Thank you, Lady. Victoria, again, sorry for the interruption. We will get back to work."
He turns around and heads for the door with the assistants following behind, and just before he leaves, he gives me one last glance. A hint of something lingering in his eye, yet I can't exactly tell what it is.
Sorrow?
Curiosity?
I'm not sure, and he left before I could even begin to question, and I've been so focused on this meeting that it seems as if I've forgotten him. As if he were a feather in the wind or another piece of hay in the haystack.
I squeezed my hands tight and turned back to my company, Lady. Bellum is still rather quiet, and Betram is twisting his lips, and with a click from his tongue, he goes, "Well, that was rather interesting, wasn't it?"
An icebreaker of a sentence after the rather surprising encounter, making Lady. Bellum carefully shakes her head, "You think? I feel as if the more times we visit, Lady. Victoria, the more unnerved I become by her servants. No offense, Lady. Victoria, but they are very odd, yes, I know they are supposed to speak highly of you at all times, but the mannerisms? Is this really what it takes to become number one?"
I wasn't sure if she was speaking aloud or to me, and even then, how would I answer her question? I personally didn't build this company, my mother did, she would be the right person to inquire about any questions dealing with the manor, or I suppose myself. I know it's for my own good, but truly, my mother is best with this. I've seen how she's handled people face-to-face, any question thrown at her, and she sends a properly placed answer back. At times, I even forget she's human with how she operates the whole mansion, and my father included.
"That's something you would probably have to ask my parents, they would have the right answer for you. I'm still learning the ropes, not yet the one to come to for questions like that."
Lady. Bellum takes a few steps toward me, folding her arms, "I suppose, but I don't know how you are used to that. Personally, it would drive me a bit loony."
It has nearly driven me loony.