Fragile Desires (18+)

Seventy-Nine | Pink Tulips

She sent me flowers today just as she had every Sunday of every week.

A whole bouquet of pink tulips, just like the way she used to apologize.

Flowers have always been so beautiful to me.

Their fragrance fills the room, their petals holding so much life.

But they can't mend a broken vase. 

You can glue the pieces back together, sure, but the cracks will always be there, a silent reminder of the damage done.

And she left a lot of unfixable damage in her wake.

Flowers used to feel like a temporary fix.

They're used to soften the blow, offer a promise of fragrance and beauty. 

But the hurt, the shattered trust, that lingers.

It becomes a part of the story, a scar etched onto the landscape of what's left of our relationship.

If there's even anything left at all.

- Azzy

♛Chapter Seventy-Nine: Pink Tulips♛

"Your Majesty," a woman with a soothing voice cut through the noise of people, "There have been whispers of tensions with the British Royal Family. Can you shed some light on those?"

I glanced over, "Those are matters best discussed through diplomatic channels, not at a press conference," I said, smiling at the woman who inevitably nodded and sat back down.

Another woman stood from the crowd of the press, "Your Majesty, do you have any comments to make about your plans for marriage?" she asked, easily making whispers break out among the crowd.

I remained still for a moment—expressionless.

Yet, there were so many different emotions swirling inside of me.

Even after six months.

She still holds this annoying power over me.

Well, not anymore.

"Actually," I suddenly spoke, turning to one of the cameras with hopes that somewhere, somehow, she was watching this broadcast, "I plan to begin searching for a match in the next coming weeks."

The whispers suddenly grew excited and louder, now breaking out into a full-on chatter.

"I think that should conclude this conference," I determined, suddenly uncrossing my legs as the chatter grew into random questions thrown at me, "Thank you all for attending. Have a wonderful day."

Stepping off the stage, the harsh lights felt like a physical weight lifting.

My smile, practiced for the cameras, faltered.

"You did well, Azzy," whispered a voice beside me as we walked towards the exit doors.

It was Antonio, his lips tilted up into a smile, but his eyes held a flicker of concern.

"I feel like a performing monkey," I mumbled, forcing a smile back on my face as we exited the side stage where more press awaited blocked off by security.