Fragile Desires (18+)

Twenty-One | Boundaries

Tonight, the air crackled with a tension far greater than any formal event, especially with the death of Marcela Rivera at the forefront of everyone's minds.

It felt like a dam was on the brink of breaking open, a feeling I vaguely remembered from a childhood incident.

I was seven, with dark hair as wild as a windstorm refusing to be tamed.

The ironed white dress my mother insisted on felt like a straightjacket, its pristine fabric a stark contrast to the earthy playground I craved.

Escaping her watchful gaze, I'd escaped down a forbidden path, the manicured hedges giving way to a wild tangle of overgrown roses and forgotten corners.

There, nestled beneath a looming oak tree, lay a world waiting to be conquered—a muddy patch bubbling with possibility.

With recklessness, I flung myself down, the cool, damp earth a welcome sensation against my overheated skin.

Hours melted away as I transformed the mud into a magnificent kingdom.

Pebbles became glistening jewels, fallen leaves transformed into royal flags, and a particularly impressive puddle became the shimmering moat protecting my domain.

I, the fearless Queen Azura, ruled supreme, my crown a crooked dandelion and my scepter a twig adorned with a plump, juicy worm.

Laughter echoed through the trees, a sound both triumphant and defiant.

It was a world of my own creation, free from stuffy expectations and constricting etiquette.

Then came the inevitable discovery.

My mother's horrified gasp echoed throughout my earthy kingdom.

But even as I stood there, mud-caked from head to toe, a defiant glint still sparked in my eyes.

It was a fleeting rebellion, easily put out by a long scrubbing down in the bath.

Yet, that memory flickered in my mind tonight, a spark of defiance igniting within me.

In this gilded cage, surrounded by suffocating expectations, I desired that same sense of agency.

The freedom to create my own path, even if it meant getting a little messy.

- Azzy

♛Chapter Twenty-One: Boundaries♛

The gold gown dripped delicately down my body, clinging to all my curves as the sleeves spilled down my arms.

The heart neckline plunged ever so slightly at my neck, leaving my chest slightly exposed.

My pink hair was pin straight and flowing down my back with a few of the pieces precisely braided back.

With my body dripped in gold and my face covered in a matte nude makeup look—I felt powerful.

More than I ever did on a throne.

It was the contrasted look—feeling as if I were finally stepping away from the soft shell I was forced to mold into.

The air held something different—it was tense and full of anticipation.