𝚕'𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊̀ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜 | a.s x fem!oc

• 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜 ~ 𝙱𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚎 𝚊̀ 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜 •

• 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 : 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸 •

The incessant whirring of the train clacking against the rails echoed through the car, making each individual seat and floor alike shake and vibrate from the constant movements as it glided across the vibrant green landscape. The chattering of the semi-crowded train sounded around me, muffled as I got lost within the complicated and passionate romance of the characters in the novel I had gripped in my hands. My fingers grazed the blue leather spine, my eyes scanning the lines quickly, almost wishing in my mind that I could possibly experience this type of love someday.

Probably not.

Is it too much to ask though? Is it too much to ask for to allow yourself to give yourself to someone who accepts, comforts and loves you unconditionally for the rest of your lives? Is it too much to fantasize of running through the city in the rain with them, hand in hand and not having a single care in the world about people's expectations, or even how much the rain was drenching your skin? Or how about just laying there in each other's embrace, no talking and no nothing, just simply laying with them for 20 minutes straight without a single ounce of selfishness to it?

Is that too much to ask for?

Well for me at least, it is. Belonging to a very wealthy, high status family comes with it's own set of struggles and inescapable strings attached to it, which in hindsight are frankly almost unavoidable. Especially for me as I am the youngest child of my family, and a daughter no less... something that after already having two daughters, my father wasn't too pleased about. Don't get me wrong though, I love my father and I know he loves me, it's just the amount of power he wields over my life that feels as though it is suffocating and repressing me from living my life.

I can't even begin to remember a time where he hasn't had complete control over me and even my own decisions. After all, it was him who had sent me to study abroad in England - which is where I have spent every day for the past 5 years - working tirelessly to ensure that when the time arrives, my grades will allow me to leave London and return to Paris at last. So I could return home and see my dear older sisters and father after all these agonizingly long years.

I wrote to them all regularly, of course, my second sister just a little more than our oldest sister though. The two of us are completely different types, yet we have an immeasurably strong bond. Where my oldest sister would only write once every month to ask about my studies, my other sister wrote every week, perhaps maybe even once every few days to inform me about every little thing that happened in Paris. It was always the highlight of my day to receive her letters; after a long, gruelling day it brought me the highest amount of joy to sit on the wooden windowsill with my oil lamp in the dormitory, curled up and ready to read her letter in the golden, flickering light after I was supposed to be in bed asleep.

I never had too many friends back at the Academy, if any at all. I always made sure never to mention my family or their status as I just knew that I would be used and gain unwanted popularity for something that barely even defines me as a person. I mean what is a name, right? Just a couple of meaningless words tying you to a group of people or heritage, anchoring you down to believe that it is a huge part of you. Naturally, I instead primarily focused on my studies, and as luck would have it, I was informed I would be graduating a year earlier than the others and therefore meaning I could go home at last.

I remember the looks that the other girls gave me as I packed my suitcase only yesterday night, disgusted expressions stared me down and the ghostly mocking of their whispers echoed around me; all looking down on me as though I was inferior to them.

But then again, who was the one graduating a year earlier than them all?

I was up almost at dawn this morning, buzzing with the excitement of getting onto that boat which would begin my estimated 3-11 hour journey back to the French coast. It was a slightly dreary morning, but after the English isle had finally disappeared over the horizon, the sun peeked through the fluffy clouds that blanketed the grey sky and shone down onto the dampened deck of the ship, making the deep blue ocean glisten in the white light. I spent most of my time on the boat below deck, completely engrossed in my book as the ship swayed on the tame waves. Fortunately due to the surprisingly calm waters, after about three or so hours, the booming noise of the ship's horn sounded through the ship to signify our imminent arrival at shore. I quickly closed my book and grasped onto my suitcase as I made my way out onto the main deck, taking in a deep breath of the salty, foreign air as the French dock came into view.