↳ ੈ‧₊ 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐘.wmmapˎˊ˗

* ੈ𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚎

“How have you been, [ Name ]?” she asks you. 

"I've been doing well. Thank you for asking Mother." You're actually not grateful, she is not asking you out of Motherly love. These are just words that need to fill her guilt.

"I had heard about what happened at the Emperor's palace," your Mother starts. 

"Why don't you leave? Is there going to be trouble? You will get hurt, you know. A good man had told us all about your stay there," your Mother worries.

"The Emperor will soon die of black magic. He'll grow mad and have people killed because of you. What if he kills Mother and Father? Won't you be saddened?"

'That sadness does not quell inside of you. They're only opening a cage, to lure you in with words that don't matter.

'Will the real owner ever fall for petty tricks like this?' 

"After the incident, many nobles had been locked up inside of the Imperial Prison." These words they are telling you, could it be from the incident on Claude's birthday? So far, all your mind has been cooped up in was the various invitations other nobles had sent out to you. Names that you haven't even recognized wanted you to come spend some tea time. Better yet, get on your good side. They too, wish to not rot nor die by the hands of the Emperor.

Your parents. You look at them, with no sort of affection brimming. They are no different.

'What about you Father, do you have any say in this matter? What do you think I should do?" you asked. This man is not one with many words, though his thoughts are as tall and strong as a tower. You don't even need to know what he has to say. His looks say enough.

"[ Name ]. You're a concubine. It is embarrassing to know and to hear. This family, and our future ones depend on our place in society. You being some lovesick loon, will not do us well. Marry Marquess Basil. He has good money and great supporters. He's financially stable enough to help build this house." 

Your Father leans forward, as he brings forth a cup of tea that burns with might on the wooden table. The smoke is faint but enough to tell you it is fresh. The aroma is smokey, as the drink is aided with wine snacks. You only blink and look at your parents again. Unmoving in your very form. Will it be right to say that you have become a beautiful tree?

‘Embarrassment?’ You thought to yourself. You squeeze your dress and say and think nothing else. All there is, and shall be, is a feat you have crossed. Maybe it was not like hitting the nail on the head with your pride like before, with those stupid concubines that grovel at any chance they get. This time, you hit that stupid nail with a stone.

You will and shall not be taken as a fool. Not some stupid rotten apple that lies by itself. But a virtuous fruit that had longed bloomed and yet shown it’s might to the very own people that see only the red.

"No. I am going to stay at the Ruby Palace for a while longer," you said. This openness, this freedom, is not true. If you leave you will just marry some random man you do not love.

"It is not time yet. I still love him." Words cut hasher rather than daggers. They cut so deep, that healing is almost faint. These words, they do not belong to you, they belong to someone else who is not you, rather, you are them.

"Stop being so stubborn Lavinia! Don't you care about your family?" your Mother calls out.

“No. Let's turn that question around, you see. Do you even care about me? Not even you can remember what My name truly is without getting it mixed up with the girl's name. My name is [ Name ]. Do not call me by someone who is long gone, nor some label, Mother and Father.”

You get up, and walk towards the door, as dramatic as it may look, this is for the very best.

Your Mother only looks at you painfully. You can hear her voice that echoes in your head. When you meet your gaze with your Father’s, he does not once blink, nor shout, nor do anything of the matter.

“Who is it that took good care of you? Why should it matter what I call you, I’m your Mother. That face, that look, is from me!” she shouts. Though your back is towards her, there is no need to see how she is feeling.

“Not you Mother, it’d never be you, nor Father." Thus, the doors close, alone with a husband and wife.

"That man was right. I should've never let her go. Don't you see, Finn? That man was right, she was cursed." Your mother looks at her husband, who only sips on his tea. Though his anger is shown from his neck and hands alone. his eyes do not falter, nor appear to be on the brink of despair. Just an empty void.

Your Mother only, silently, tears up. Her fingers curl with anger, but her tears intoxicate her face. This man. He doesn't love her. No one loves her. She is alone. Alone with the cold, alone with the end that has yet to welcome her. Unloved and ignored. In her home, her hell, her only place to breathe.

There is no prince, no charming, but the thorns that will grow once cut. No dragon to challenge anyone. Because she is a terrible, despicable, old lady that will never once know what love is.

"Do you love me?" she asks. But there is no response.

This seems too dramatic, LMAO. However, the tragedy of your mother is desirable, to say the least. I don't think that she's going to have a happy ending.

☆