ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴅᴇᴍᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ❅ 𝕽𝖔𝖞𝖆𝖑 𝕮𝖍𝖗𝖔𝖓𝖎𝖈𝖑𝖊𝖘

❝𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞❞

K05 ‖ Master Of Ceremony: Festive Celebrations

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊:
Italic words — the thoughts of a character / a foreign language is spoken
Bold and italic words — a lie, only when Princess Caitlyn's around
Bold, italic and underlined words — the timeline of memories, past, hallucinations etc.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Year 2039
Ever Realm Academy, Elderbourne Isle

Ever Realm Academy had been known to produce undisputed villains of the world's bloodstained history, and no one understood that better than the students of ERA themselves.

From royal princes and princesses of the highest status, to the most graceful and elegant of nobles and wealthy children of the common folk. These young children had been given the best education and became the inhumane beings the masses believed them to be.

Smirks like serpents, the people would say, because everyone loved a good villain in a story, especially real ones. Deadly as the plague and silent as spirits. They'll hunt you alive and leave nothing behind.

Every rumor holds its truths.

While most hate to have their reputation tainted, others live to taint it.

The current generation of royalty have the perfect way to do so, making enemies everywhere they go. However, that does not mean they are short on allies. They simply relish the taste of reckless thrill.

Staring out of the window of her office, Princess Caoimhe of Ireland had the view of one of the smaller lakes on campus. Leaves of red and gold decorated the water's surface like a painting. She watched as younger children made a game of jumping into large piles of leaves as their shrieks of laughter filled the autumn air. She wondered how satisfying it would be if one of them accidentally jumped into the lake instead.

Princess Caoimhe shook the thought out of her head, turned away from the large window and returned to her seat behind the table where she was in the middle of reading a report. Caoimhe's fellow Student Council members often joked that her place looked more like a hacking lab than an office. There were four to five computer monitors clustered on her curved table with drawers remodeled into sliding keyboard holders. Her shelves were packed with all sorts of machinery, big and small, mostly products of her aimless tinkering. 

It was all dark, cold and digital, just the way she likes it.  

While the princess had similarly soft features like her older brother and younger sister, she wore those traits differently. Pale skin from a lifetime spent indoors, eyes the color of darkest nights, hair as dark as soot, matching her gothic-styled makeup. She wore black, the color of death and funerals. Her pockets always carried a discreet-looking voice recorder and a smartphone because where gossip was, that's where you'll find the first princess of Ireland.

Caoimhe played the perfect villain. Not because she was instinctively cruel and openly proud, but because she likes to be. Words are her weapons and the media at the palm of her hands. It was part of the reason why she was so valuable to her fellow royals.

A knock on the door did not stop her from her work. Princess Caoimhe's midnight blue eyes fixed onto the laptop screen as she said, "Come in."

A male of average height stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He carefully placed a file on the table before standing back up, keeping his hands behind his back. "This came for you, your highness," he said quietly. "It's from the island."

Of the thousands of islands in the world, Princess Caoimhe knew exactly which island her aide talked about. A smirk painted her lips while her eyes never left the screen. "Good job, Cian," she praised. "Be sure to leave a tip."

"Naturally, your highness," Cian Murphy murmured, turning on his heels and leaving the princess to her own devices.

Once he left, she slowly looked away from the laptop and at the black file placed in front of her. Princess Caoimhe took in and opened it to find a stack of pictures kept inside a plastic wrap. Tearing it open and flipping through the pictures, the smirk on the Irish princess's face grew wider than a Cheshire's grin.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

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