A Royal Pain in the Ball ✓

Chapter 6 - Nothing

Before she knew it, it was tomorrow. It was the next day and she was already back in her room.

She had woken up in the morning, her eyes shot up at the ceiling as the ceiling filled up her vision.

Back in his house.

Against the window, and staring at it, it'd been a while since she sat, feeling the sunlight seeping through her skin. Near the bed, that's all she had. A few books here and there. And below she could see the flowers and the gardening she'd done, planted, settling near the edge and the pillars of the house. Glad that it didn't rain. And there she saw, the butler, tending, and a few sprinkles of water from the watering can, here and there. And she wondered, how much a butler could be so diligent, and in tending all those flowers, it was a sight to watch.

She didn't feel that much of a stranger anymore inside it.

The house, of course, had not been that different since she came back. It was clean, had the same edge, and scent to it, except it was heightened altogether.

And all the while appeared to be serene and more vivid. The details of the corners and the beauty of the house, evident. She was glad she got to live and breathe. Minus the fact that she sometimes had a hard time remembering the edges and endless turns around the corner, and the hallway that she could possibly get a passing grade. From grace.

She practically lived here throughout her whole life. Since Cain had kidnapped her, of course. She sighed. Basically from there, where she almost scrunched her nose at him. And she wasn't that unfamiliar of the house anymore.

And she had wondered why, for a fact of a thought that she didn't miss her house anymore. Her own house.

Perhaps, that was because she'd gotten married. Or where she'd gotten older, or those mythical creatures existed, she didn't know. Or for a fact that the only family that she'd ever had known was Cain. And her mother.

Her step-mother, or of no blood. Her house that now just seemed like a memory, so.. distant to her, of the moment. So close, of which she could just practically spring out and run by the end of the block to discover her house standing on the lawn, and yet so far.

She didn't feel anything of it; missing it, wanting to think of it, Or anything along the lines, of 'I want to visit it again.'

-or whatever that it is, it didn't exist in her vocabulary. She didn't feel like it.

And she didn't know how long she'd been gone, far away from home. Or how long she'd gone, missing from her mother, so to say. Or how far she'd come along.

How far she'd grown from her past self. From her house, or perhaps it was just a feeling, of wanting to come home. As her thoughts flew, and wafted, it got down to her unfinished business.

Her mother.

She was the one who came and picked her up, and adopted her from a sister's home, the most secluded and the most comfortable orphanage she'd ever lived in. Having to miss her nanny, the one person who would taught her, who'd always dote on her and give her treatments that no one else had ever did before.

Food, shelter, even sewing her clothes. She had missed her. From time to time. When she was little, she remembered she'd always had a hard time picking food from the table with her tiny little legs. And how the mother nanny would always pick it up and hand it over to her kindly.

Other times when she woke up late, and was left out, she would always make sure that she went outside, and joined the others playing rubber band jumps and hop scotch marbles. Or other times when she felt upset, where she didn't have fun playing games with her friends, or would always hide in the cupboard of the old, wooden board, she would always find her and make sure she was lured out negligently.