Be Not So Sorry For What You've Done

It was the night of Christmas Eve and the streets of New York City were filled with shimmering snow, twinkling laughter, and glittering lights. The different colored lights that were strung onto the high buildings blinked red, green, yellow, blue. Cars rushed to and fro as the drivers all hurried to return home and spend the night with their families. Somewhere in the distance, the melodic voice of the local church's choir and the gentle melody of the orchestra drifted above the traffic, encasing the city in a warm blanket.

[Be not so nervous, be not so frail]

Diana sat alone at a table of a café that was facing the lively streets. Her cheeks were a rosy red as she cupped her cup of coffee tightly, trying to soak the warmth into her frigid fingers. She glanced around nervously as she reached up to adjust the thin scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.

The voices of the couple sitting next to her rose in volume as the woman laughed loudly to something the man said. The woman wore a bright red coat with golden buttons and a golden trim. She wrapped herself in a plaid scarf with a rose pin that glittered under the light. Her silky brown hair was pulled up into a puffy bun, and she painted herself with so much make-up that the colors were beginning to mix together.

[Someone watches you, you will not fail]

Diana suddenly became conscious of her own ugly and cheap brown jacket that did little to block the cold. She shivered as she looked down at her jeans and saw that the color was fading badly after being worn one too many times. Her once shiny boots looked worn out and were covered with grime, but, thankfully, a fresh layer of snow covered the brown spots.

Even though it wasn't much, it was her best outfit. No, it was the last outfit that didn't have any holes in it, the last outfit she could actually wear in public.

[Be not so nervous, be not so frail]

Diana tightened her hold on her cup of untouched coffee and looked away from the young couple. She ran the script of what she was going to say over and over again, trying to distract herself from the butterflies flapping wildly in her stomach.

[Be not so nervous, be not so frail]

She knew that she only had one chance and, if she didn't grasp it as it came, she wouldn't be able to return home.

Home. The word echoed emptily in her mind. It held such a foreign taste each time she used it as if her true home was not the place where her mother, driven crazy by fame and beauty, laid dead to the world, piles of empty bottles and cigarettes strewn about. Diana shut her eyes tightly, trying to push the vivid image out of her mind.

[Be not so sorry for what you've done]

And then, as if it were a miracle to save her from her own thoughts, a voice asked, "Hello, are you Ms. Greita?"

[You must forget them now, it's done]

Diana's eyes flew open and she looked up quickly to see the face of a handsome young man. He appeared to be no older than thirty and wore a black coat and a black hat to cover his light brown hair. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled under the blinking colorful lights as he extended his hand, "My name is Aile Nightingale and I am the director of the Turner Company. Do you mind if I take a seat?"

Diana was so mesmerized by the man that it took her quite a moment to respond. When she finally managed to find her voice, she croaked out a small, "Yes." Then she quickly cleared her throat and said in a more formal way, "Yes, of course! Help yourself."

The man, Aile, smiled as he sat down across from her. He took off his hat and placed it on the table. Diana unconsciously smoothed out her coat and dusted off the stray white specks that had found their way onto her clothes.