Eternal Temptation

❥ 07| wrath and elegance

PURE AND UTTER CHAOS.

It was as if World War Three has descended, and my brother and mother were on opposing sides with their constant yelling at one another, causing complete and utter ruckus. How two people could cause that much noise was beyond me, but at least, that's what it sounded like in addition to the chaotic mess that my head was.

I was a nervous wreck. Today was the day that my whole life was going to be ripped apart. The day that the Haidars and the Khans were going to confirm the marriage. Talk about it between our families, make unnecessary small talk, plan everything together and of course, as per tradition, officially ask for the bride's hand in marriage.

It was known as the khāstegāree in Persian, where the suitor's family would come to the bride's house to ask for her hand in marriage, bringing flowers, chocolate or pastry of some kind. And our family would greet them with tea, sweets and fruits.

Since my parents were extra as hell, they'd gone above and beyond to welcome them in into our humble abode, even though they'd all visited and been here already. But there was a Turkish twist to this ordeal, and as much as I dreaded the entire thing, I was looking forward to one specific part.

"Faithe!" My mother's familiar yell turned my way. "Why are you still not ready yet? Go and put on something presentable."

I sighed and accidentally banged my head against the wall as I tried to look up at the ceiling. "I am ready, though, Mum. I'm wearing clothes; not a potato sack. I look plenty presentable."

She glared at me. "Do not sass me, young lady. Go and put on a dress. Something nice. Not that scruffy hoodie and jeans."

"But–"

"Go."

I huffed and pushed myself up with zero enthusiasm. He already hated me anyway. What was the point in trying to impress him? There was none.

I retreated to my bedroom, waving my hands around in the air as I walked through the house, the smell of incense wafting around, too strong and overpowering. My nose burned and I held in a sneeze, or else I'd hear my mother's scream for spreading germs when she'd just cleaned. The scenario was new, but her wrath? It was one of the things that I was most used to in this world and expected from her.

There were plenty of dresses in my wardrobe, almost all of them fancy-looking since my normal, everyday clothes were at home, and the ones here were all barely worn. Each of them put on once or twice tops to posh parties and events. The kind that my mother adored and me not so much. Those type of events were too fake, too posh, too constricting.