Of Tinted Future on Taunted Past

1770, Paris

1770, Paris

The cold Western breeze touched my cotton soft skin as I ran with my bare feet on the tiled floor of an odd place that I assume was somewhere in Europe.

This must be a dream come true for a girl who was fond of fairytales or someone who have been dreaming of running at least once in their lifetime down the stairs of a castle wearing a fucking ball gown.

Well, that was theirs and absolutely not mine but fuck the odds for I was living that moment right now.

It happened in a blink of an eye. In just a snap of a finger, I am surrounded of women dressed so odd asking me to lift the peticoat for the shoes. Frowning, I did nothing but blink my eyes at them.

"We must hurry, Princess, your father, the King is waiting."

And there I saw it, the woman in the mirror staring right back at me.

I almost fell on my knees as I looked at the room once more and with horror in my eyes, I ran away as fast as I could.

I have no idea how I got in here. I have no idea why from an off shoulder and a mini skirt, my body was now wrapped in a heavy fabric of velvet or satin or perhaps, both. I am, all of a sudden, have a peticoat underneath this shit and a part of my chest-cleavage-was exposed like hell.

For a second, it doesn't matter if I look like a nineteen-year-old Taylor Swift in her music video. I was just too eager to get out and go back to where I was five minutes ago.

But, as soon as my feet reached the gates, I know that I am way too far from where I am supposed to be. This is 1700's where I couldn't call my Dad to come pick me up, where there's no Grab to call and where everything was way worse.

The number of men after me made me ran faster. I was too desperate for escape eyeing every person just so I could seek for help.

And so my eyes, found his. In the multitude of people, he was there-just steps away from all the guards coming after me.

Even though, he was in an awful 18th Century attire most especially with such blue boots with a red heels and his hair was as messy as mine after running, I am certain of who he is. How could I not?

Only him could give me this feeling and so maybe, that's why I lost track of the moment and some men held both of my arms. It's funny how even in this era, he still feels so far.