Scorched

1

"You are aware that your ritual is prone to happen in about seventy days?" General Landon looks up at Cleo through his monocle from where he is swamped with paper work on the huge circular oak desk in the center of the meeting room, sitting directly opposite Cleo, warily watching her as if she will bite his head off. She was considering it if she had to be honest. Getting called to meetings in between bouts was a certain way to piss her off.

He looks back down again to where he is methodizing the work into the separate piles, some of which Cleo has attend to and rest  were his— well most of it. From what she could also see is that her pile was the highest. Bloody brilliant. The result of hundreds of days of procrastination.

General Landon is old. His gray-white hair curls around his ears, with thick sideburns stretching down the sides of his face, which he always trims very neatly for meetings like these. Then again Landon makes sure everything is neat. The stacks of papers is so orderly fashioned that none of the papers had edges around the ends, nor did it fall over one another— it's in one equally shaped rectangular pile.

She wasn't jealous. Not at all.

The top of his head is completely bare and there were cases when Cleo had to refrain herself from the strong urge to cut some of her hair off, and place it on his head so that that part of his head didn't  have to feel naked and cold. Not that it was cold here anyway, but she felt sorry for his head either way.

His black coat is clad in multiple badges from his highly recognized achievements in this court. He is the transcendent when it came to any hustles in the palace, hence why most people in the court called for him whenever help was desired.
He has endeavored for many years in this palace, if he were to leave or perish, the court will certainly fall into a depression, she was dead sure it would. Landon was  hopeful about everything.

She liked the old man however, he understood her.

"No. No I'm not." Cleo whistles it out through clenched teeth. This was something she is not looking forward to. She doesn't know the first thing about leading. Not even a snippet.

General Landon looks up again, meeting her eyes. His sky blue eyes are now murky, from the old age, it was slowly getting to him. She has also noticed his hand started shaking whilst he was writing a  letter to the lower court a few days ago, about the foods they were serving and he accidentally tipped over the ink pot—  falling over the letter he wrote, he cursed then snapped his quill in half in the process, but never spoke about it. He despised speaking about his frustration, but he knew his time was coming. She knows he did.

Cleo drops her gaze to his lips, a bluish tint started coating it-

"It's your duty— your lifelong duty to lead. Its what will keep this Earth alive. Without anyone to lead, this world is nothing, you need to keep the legacy going, you're the last Elemental. The only one who can do it." He looks at her sternly. His eyes wide.

"What if I don't want to?" She shots back.

"This isn't a matter of you wanting to do it or not. It's protocol. This is what you're born to do. You're lucky you're the only Elemental alive, or else there would of been war for this position." He looks down again, dips his quill into ink and starts writing, before looking up again and continuing,"Life would of been a disaster if there were another Elemental Cleo this opportunity is only open to you, this is the best thing that will ever happen to you." Cleo - he used her name. Not Miss or Majesty, he said Cleo. Meaning he was grave and solemn about this matter.

Cleo presses on." What if there were another Elemental alive? Could I just chop their heads off?"

"No."