Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
- There's a fine line that divides our lives, the reality from all that is fictional. This line is what keeps us grounded and sane. The universe builds its rules around this fine line and has one core rule that binds it ; don't break it. Then how was it that such a simple rule could've been broken by someone that never even planned on breaking it in the first place? How was it that a person, who was beginning to think the truth that she was searching for was a facade caused by a child's musings, ended up becoming the muse? Maybe this was the world telling her to believe in miracles. Maybe, yeah, that makes sense right? But she didn't ask for these miracles. Miracles are supposed to sweep you off your feet and fill your life with unbelievable luck, right?
Then what the heck was this?
Varsha mentally groaned at all of this. All she wanted was a good story to cover. She wanted to prove her aunt wrong for once and like everything else in her life, it bit her in the ass. The brunette was forbidden from leaving her room. After a solid hour of pleading with the handmaidens assigned to her, her freedom expanded to the halls. However, after her first five minutes in those halls, she'd felt an eerie feeling. Maybe, it was because a part of her was worried that she'd get bored of the place and then there'd be nothing stopping her from falling straight into her impending doom. She couldn't afford that, especially after realising she might have to stay here until she's seventy years old, with thirteen cats that she'd have to call her children.
What crimes she had committed were untold. Why she would want to leave a place with such serenity for the streets was unknown. Regardless of how much she was trying to avoid the place, she did like it and that was the problem. How could she not though? It smelled like decades of comely history.
The palace these people called home stood tall and proud and on it. She ran her fingers through the ridges and curves on the pearl pillars that forged history that could not be forgotten. In hopes of understanding the scenario that she'd fallen in the middle of, she tried to decipher them. Each pillar was a part of a main story and piecing it together was finding and arranging the pieces of a puzzle. But Varsha didn't mind, she liked a good game.
The main idea behind this story was simple, money, power, glory.
It was hard to look through the pillars without drawing confusion from the handmaidens assigned to her though. Heck, it was hard to do anything when they were scrutinizing her for the slightest movements. They wouldn't blink for a second. They'd catch her every moment. And if it seemed even a little suspicious, they'd let out horrendous gasps. Even the slightest of the changes in facial expressions didn't go unnoticed by them. They did a great job at keeping her safe, a little too great of a job. They were like her personal babysitters.
Her babysitters had stone cold faces. She'd tried making conversations only to hit dead ends, these people clearly did not want to talk to her and sooner or later, she'll forget how to talk because of solitary confinement.
