Highest ranking
#1 in utopia
-•-
"It's about how your hips move," the hand that sits on my waist finds my hip, his fingertips trailing lightly along the fabric of my skirt. "When you arch your spine," he continues on, letting that same hand migrate...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The room seems to still, just like the beating of my heart and the run of blood in my veins. Right through to my bones, a chill overcomes me as I wait for Eason to tell me this is all a ruse, a product of his twisted humour. All of me clings to the chance that he's lying and simply wants to see me panicked, trapped in a vicious frenzy that forces me to perspire a cold sweat, one that brings the fine hair on the nape of my neck to a stand.
Yet, quite like me, he speaks not a single word. Time stretches on, all while he remains quite, his expression impassive as his pellucid orbs darken with promise. It's then I realise he's being just about as serious as he can be.
My plans for marriage had been nothing more than a dizzy daydream, like most girls of my age. Picturing the dress, imagining the venue. How you hope to have ivy vines crawling up the wedding arch, blossoming flowers interspersed. How you hope that your isle will be one made of petals, tossed carelessly by your flower girl who dances up towards the alter before you. How you hope that as you make your way to your future, he sheds a tear upon realising his love for you knows no bounds.
These plans come crashing before me, shattering on the ground around my feet, unable to be salvaged, a cruel taunt in this nightmare reality. In which a man I know no more than a stranger claims our engagement without my knowing so. One where I am soon to be married against my knowledge.
The noise that escapes me is strangled. Something between a choked sob and a gasp of disbelief. I fan myself with one hand and clasp another to my forehead, spinning frantically on my heels before fleeing his presence, puppet to my brain which is all but screaming at me to run.
A sudden onset of vertigo plagues me, matched well with the acrid taste that rises in bile, grating against the back of my throat. The room spins yet my feet do not stop, despite my unawares to my destination. While I need air, I also need answers. Perhaps some water too, otherwise I could very well faint.
Only I could be so absent minded to have not noticed my wedding being arranged by my parents. A life changing circumstance of mine where my involvement has been disregarded. I can only assume they plan to coerce me into this arrangement, because I stray far from being willing.
So many thoughts tumble around in my mind, so many nonsensical, but one fixates itself at the most forefront of my mind. Why have they felt the need to do this? I'm nineteen years old, so time is hardly running away from me. My marriage should have no impact to them, not unless prenuptial agreements have already been drafted. Where money and status will be shared, as will the benefits of the generation that will follow. Somehow, amidst the complete absurdity of the situation, I can't find myself much surprised by their meddling behaviour.
Still lacking answers, I find myself in the scullery quarters. Clearly, subconsciously, I'm seeking out the only confidants I have in this Manor. The maids that cater to me.
