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fairytale.
chapter 002 ━━━━ the painting
WALKING THROUGH THE HALLOWED HALLS of the academy's museum, the air thick with the weight of centuries-old history, your eyes are drawn to a particular painting hanging on the wall.
the grayish-blue-headed boy lost in the contemplation of the artwork, doesn't notice as you suddenly appear at his side, your voice breaking the silence of the museum's solemn atmosphere.
you nod at the painting, a sense of respect in your voice. "this piece, it's about love and sacrifice, you know? it's all about the complicated dance between people."
he glances over, cautious, but you keep going, your words steady. "it's like a snapshot of how power plays out in relationships. one person has all the control, while the other is left with nothing."
you meet Sunday's eyes, a small smile on your lips, even though he doesn't react much. "but it's more than just a painting," you continue, your voice taking on a deeper tone.
"it's a symbol of the unfairness that exists in our world - the rich get richer, the poor get poorer. it's about how some people have everything handed to them, while others struggle just to survive."
Sunday's brow furrows slightly as he listens to your words, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. "what are you doing here?" he finally asks, his tone clipped and guarded.
you shrug, unfazed by his hostility, choosing instead to meet his gaze with unwavering confidence. "just appreciating the art, Sunday," you reply, your smile unwavering.
"after all, there's wisdom to be found in the brushstrokes of the past."
and as Sunday turns back to the painting, lost once again in its intricacies, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at having shared a moment of insight amidst the palpable tension that hangs between you.
your surprise flickers briefly across your features as Sunday, to your astonishment, begins to share his opinion about the painting.
his voice, usually curt and guarded, softens as he delves into his interpretation of the artwork.
"i see it differently," he starts, leaning in with a surprising earnestness toward the painting.
"this piece, it's like a snapshot of humanity. it's not just about what's on the surface, but the deeper layers of meaning."
you lean in closer, captivated by Sunday's sudden philosophical insight. "keep going." you urge, eager to hear more.
Sunday motions toward the figures in the painting, his expression pensive. "notice their positioning? it's like a delicate dance between power and vulnerability,"
"the woman, she's holding back, yet there's a fierce determination in her eyes," he observes.
"and the man, he's towering over her, but there's a hint of sorrow in his expression like he's shackled by his own expectations."
you nod thoughtfully, taking in Sunday's perspective. "so, what's the takeaway here?" you inquire, genuinely intrigued by his interpretation.
meeting your gaze, Sunday's eyes shine with a newfound intensity. "it's about finding balance," he explains.
"between desire and restraint, dominance and submission. it's messy, it's complex, but it's what defines our humanity."
as Sunday wraps up his philosophical musings, a sense of defiance wells up within you. despite his articulate words, you feel compelled to challenge his viewpoint.
"interesting perspective," you remark, your tone steady but resolute. "but aren't you overlooking the real power dynamics at play here?"
you elaborate, pointing out, "the woman may appear strong, but she's still confined by the expectations of society, while the man holds all the tangible power."
Sunday's reaction is a blend of surprise and irritation. "that's not what i meant." he responds defensively.
undeterred, you continue, spurred on by your determination to convey your viewpoint. "it's easy for you to speak of balance when you haven't faced the inequalities that others endure daily." you assert, your words slicing through the air with precision.
a glimmer of frustration flickers across Sunday's face. "you think you've got it all figured out, huh?" he retorts, his tone tinged with exasperation.
refusing to yield, you hold your ground, your voice unwavering. "maybe i do," you counter, your resolve unshakeable.
"but unlike you, i'm not afraid to confront the harsh realities of life, rather than hiding behind lofty ideals."
Sunday's frustration boils over as he gets straight to the point. "what are you after?" he demands, a hint of exasperation in his voice.
meeting his gaze head-on, you unfold your arms and address him directly. "my parents are scheming," you reveal bluntly, suspicion lacing your words.
"they've arranged a dinner with your parents, and that's never a good sign."
confusion clouds Sunday's expression, mixed with a touch of apprehension. "why would they do that?" he asks, his voice guarded.
you sigh in frustration, weighed down by the implications of your parents' actions. "who knows," you respond, shaking your head in frustration.
"but the last time they pulled something like this, it was years ago. it's always just the parents who attend these dinners, never us."
the atmosphere in the grand dining room was tense as Sunday and you sat across from each other, your eyes avoiding contact with him as you picked at your meal.
the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation filled the air as your parents engaged in polite small talk, oblivious to the brewing storm between their children.
you focused on cutting your steak into small, precise pieces, unwilling to acknowledge the weight of the impending conversation.
but as your parents cleared their throats, drawing everyone's attention, you couldn't ignore the gravity of the moment any longer.
your father cleared his throat, his voice carrying a solemn tone. "we need to talk," he began, his words piercing through the tension like a knife.
taking a deep breath, Sunday's father plunged into the heart of the matter. "as you both know, Sunday, you're reaching an age where certain decisions need to be made about your future." he explained, his gaze flickering between Sunday and you.
Sunday's mother nodded in agreement, her features tight with anticipation. "and after much consideration," she continued, her voice trembling slightly, "we've come to a decision."
Sunday's father leaned forward, his eyes boring into Sunday with a steely intensity. "Sunday," he began, his voice measured but firm, "you will be marrying (Name)."
the words hung in the air like a heavy cloud, casting a pall over the room as Sunday and you exchanged stunned glances. your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to process the enormity of what had just been said.
from across, Sunday remained silent, his expression a mask of unreadable emotions. his silence only added to the weight of the bombshell dropped by his father.
"why?" Sunday finally spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper, but the question hung heavy in the air, demanding an answer.
Sunday's father cleared his throat, his gaze unwavering as he met Sunday's eyes. "son," he began, his voice tinged with a mix of regret and determination.
"as i grow older, i need to ensure that the legacy of our family's business is secured. and for that, i need you to marry (Name)."
the weight of his father's words settled over Sunday like a suffocating blanket, the enormity of the situation crashing down upon him.
"why (Name)?" Sunday voiced out, confusion flickering in his eyes.
his mother interjected, her voice gentle but firm. "why not, Sunday?" she asked, her gaze softening as she regarded her son.
"you and (Name) have known each other since childhood. you understand each other better than anyone else."
you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the weight of their assumptions pressing down on you like a leaden weight.
yes, you and Sunday had known each other for years, but the truth was far from the idyllic image they painted.
his father cleared his throat, his expression stern as he addressed his son. "marrying (Name) is the best decision for both our families," he explained, his voice breaking no argument.
"you need someone you can trust by your side, and (Name) is that person."
"but we're just friends." Sunday protested weakly, though even he couldn't deny the truth in their words.
Sunday's mother sighed, a sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. "perhaps it's time for you to consider the possibility of something more." she suggested her words carrying a weight of inevitability.
you remained silent, the weight of his parents' words hanging heavy in the air. and as Sunday's gaze met yours across the table, you searched his face for any sign of protest or resistance but found only stoic acceptance.
as the reality of the situation sank in, you felt a surge of anger and frustration welling up inside you. how could they decide your future without your consent? how could they disregard your feelings so callously?
but as you glanced around the table at the expectant faces of your parents and Sunday's family, you realized that your objections would fall on deaf ears.
the decision had been made, and there was nothing you could do to change it.
at that moment, a bitter irony washed over you as you recalled the words you had spoken about the painting in the museum.
it was happening now, right before your eyes, as if you were trapped in some stupid fairytale where you were trapped in a role that you never wanted to play.
you clenched your fists beneath the table, struggling to contain the whirlwind of emotions raging inside you. how had everything gone so wrong?
and as Sunday's eyes met yours across the table, the weight of inevitability pressed down on you both, and a silent understanding passed between the two of you.
however, his angel wings behind his ears faltered, their ethereal glow dimming ever so slightly.
it was a subtle shift, but you noticed it immediately, your heart clenching with the realization that Sunday was just as opposed to the idea as you were.
with no escape in sight and the expectations of your families looming large, resistance seemed futile.
with a heavy heart, you nodded in acceptance, acknowledging the path that lay before you even as a part of you rebelled against it.
the golden-eyed boy mirrored your gesture, his expression a mix of resignation and determination as he silently vowed to fulfill his obligations.
as your parents exchanged satisfied smiles, their plans falling into place seamlessly, you and Sunday shared one final, fleeting glance, knowing the roles you both play in.
"the woman may appear strong, but she's still confined by the expectations of society."
"and the man, he's towering over her, but there's a hint of sorrow in his expression like he's shackled by his own expectations."
end of chapter: 002
🦢 ━━ FAIRYTALE , @ YYANQING ,
04 / 10 / 24