If It Be Thusly (Weiss Schnee x Reader)

The Girl Who's Nigh Perfect

Winter hath taken the Kingdom of Atlas, and her breath reigns longer than any king, weaving a webspan frost upon the windows and becoming the snow against the door. Indeed, like every day before it, this one is cold. It's of course to be expected when the Kingdom exists upon the northern continent of Solitas, and it does offer some limited protection against Creatures of Grimm, but Weiss has, to some extent, tired of the dreary, grey days passing by aimlessly, like a chain of dominos falling without a satisfying ending. At the very least she'll be gone soon enough. Vale is supposed to be far more temperate, and the mountains are meant to be stunning, like living under the corpses of giants. Provided she gets the grade from her practical examination her path is blazed and ready to walk, especially since she already aced the theory part of the final exams. In fact, there's no doubt in her mind that she'll ace the practical exam too and be out of Calypso Combat School before anyone can say 'bad home life.'

Her home life being one of the main reasons she wants to leave, not that she'll admit that, for now she'll play the part of the perfect doll, fashioned into father's favourite little heiress for his corporate empire of dust, which is the greatest resource man can covet, used as fuel, ammo and the propellant to modern aeronautics. It's the resource the world is founded upon, and the one grace given to mankind amongst so many struggles.

Weiss glances over the streets of Atlas from her balcony. The blizzard is heavy today, and a red glow soaks the city in an attempt to defeat it. It'll be too dangerous to take the car today, so she'll have to walk. Her mouth folds into a frustrated frown, and she pulls the school's crimson blazer over her shoulders. On her bedside is an affectionately made cupcake (A special treat for a stressful day, made by a man who blurs the line between servant and friend.), Weiss can't help but grin ever so slightly when she sees it, though it's weak and half-present. With a sigh she takes a bite, feeling the frosting melt into an overpoweringly sweet taste, like snow turning to sugar.

When she steps out into the hallway it's empty, bar a few haunting portraits of Schnee family members and historical figures. Most have gaunt, pallid hands and eyes set too far into their skull, like a sheet of skin stretched too thinly over a skeleton. As a child she would have nightmares about them, gaunt phantoms stalking her around the mansion. Sometimes she still does. Weiss marches past them, defying their presence and walking to the entrance. It's overly grand to be honest. An impeding set of stairs leading from the first floor to the ground level, rimmed by a balcony and preceded over by a chandelier that looks like a crown made from ice and candlelight. No one calls to say goodbye or to wish her luck as she leaves. No sound fills the room except for the clicking of her polished penny loafers against the cold floor. With a final sigh she grabs her coat from the rack, pulling it tight over herself. It's white, not especially daring for her, and filled with cotton candy-esque fluff.

With a deep and solemn breath, she takes her first step onto the Atlesian streets, feeling the blizzard rage above her and the street heaters tickle her legs. The idea is that by heating the lowest levels of the city first the heat will rise up and warm the rest most efficiently. She takes her first few steps onto the pavement, watching people pass by on the opposite side of the street. Most citizens will stay inside today, except for the businessmen and the emergency workers, those who can't really afford to miss work, or who are too miserly over any lost profits. A few of them look like her father, a predatory look to the eyes and a perpetual scowl that becomes a smile only when beneficial. Weiss' heart mangles itself with an emotion she can't quite understand. Maybe it's many masquerading as one: disappointment, anger, regret, sadness, hate. Sometimes it can hard to tell when one ends and another takes crooked form.

She turns another corner, entering the older part of the city, where much of the older architecture can display itself. It's much more elaborate than newer designs, with flowers and snowflakes intricately hidden in the curves of the buildings and where large sloping roofs and paned glass are common features. It's like being in a small snapshot of the past dragged forward. She finds it more beautiful than the plain white look of modern Atlas, it has more character and style at the very least.