"I always thought that the first time I'd be on my knees I'd be praying..." I held my breath lowering myself to my knees in front of him,
"Then worship," he smirked, "what do you desire?"
Being loved by the king of Socrates Academy is haunting, espe...
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I was born a glass half empty and I've spent my whole life dreaming of what it felt like to feel whole.
The word a l m o s t is tattooed on my spine and carved into my marrow, it's all I've ever known. To be almost good enough, almost the daughter my parents were proud of, almost born whole.
My earliest memory comes from when I was six at the grocery store with my mother, I glanced up at the tallest shelf and there lay the silhouette of the most beautiful porcelain matryoshka dolls I'd ever seen.
Even at such a tender age, I was able to recognize the flawless detail in the artist's hand. My beady eyes glistened with childhood wonder as I imagined how a woman I didn't even know could possibly possess such skill.
I tugged at my mother's long cashmere sweater, "mama, please may I have them?" I asked her, her hand reached over to smack mine away from the fabric with annoyance.
"Net Nadezhda!" She scolded in distaste, "put it back."
And so I did, as I did everything she told me to.
"But mama..." I sniffled, one last attempt to earn her empathy, "please."
"You have the finest chessboard at home, straight from India itself." My mother asserted, "maybe if you're good one of your brothers will agree to play with you."
I cried as she yanked my arm away before the cameras began to follow us, they always did. Mama and I weren't supposed to go out unguarded without my father's permission but we did regardless of his warnings sometimes. Growing up the only daughter of the General of the Soviet Communist Organization requires the utmost security.
I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth standing on the ghoulish bones of all those who'd lost their lives to ensure my family's powerful position. Their cries that I'd never heard haunted me during cold nights, I woke up sometimes my throat sore from a nightmare scream. My parents sent me to multiple therapists all my life in an attempt to figure out what was so incredibly wrong with me.
And yet they found nothing I've always had a flair for the dramatics.
My mother's womb bore three babes before I came to pass; three strong boys, Andrei, Nikolai and Dmitriy. Dmi is the oldest of the four of us, he is the most mature and headstrong, he is truly my father's son in many ways and intends to succeed him someday. Nikolai is hot-tempered like my mother, he has her dark eyes too, the only difference is that he has a good heart, virtue that wasn't of her doing.
