The Selection ✓

fifteen - a figment of home

The etiquette lessons were becoming Sylvia's new obsession. Every day, she'd walk into the room with quizzes made off the tip of her tongue and an extensive background research on each of the topics we were to cover.

In fact, she had even put in a proposal straight to the Queen, (who was responsible for the selected) that the lessons were to be done twice a day, which nearly got accepted. Instead, it would be ten lessons in a week, excluding Fridays, which were reserved for The Report, and the collation of the extra footage.

Basically, they were tightening our schedule and keeping us on leashes.

Although I had found the topics remotely easy enough to get within the first line of Sylvia's extensive widespread, I knew that she was properly testing us when I had found a notebook nestled in between her hands as she handed us the letters written to us from home.

And I was yearning for a reminder of my family. I was homesick. But this was a test, one of the few things at life I don't fail at.

Sylvia called out names, unbeknownst to the girls that they were being watched with a judgemental eye today, catch them off guard, the most insane strategy in acquiring results.

But really, anyone with at least half a brain would actually see Sylvia writing down each girls' responses. And may I just add, they were really not doing it well.

"Holly Mane." She called, a letter within my grasp.

A figment of home.

I walked as poised as I could muster, the silence of my steps unchanging. My face remained collected, though I wanted nothing more than to squeal in happiness and caress the piece of paper like it was the winning ticket to the lottery.

A small smile was pursed on my lips, in all my life performing, I had learned to hold one it evenly, especially when I was three seconds from exploding, but this time, it was a habit I found useful, especially in an environment where one crack of a muscle and you'd lose.

I loved the competition, this was no different, but this time, I was fighting for something I realized that I'm couldn't not be around. Something that would make me feel hollow when gone.

Now which Prince was actually one who made me feel whole. 

Here lies my problem.

***

I decided not to open the letter until I reached my room, I didn't think my facial expression could last not betraying my outer appeal of 'consistent class'

But as soon as the door was shut tight and I was in the safety of my privacy, I could tear the paper with all of the hunger I once had. I wanted to read the letters over and over again, and pretend my family were with me, at this very room, and speaking to me normally.

I wanted to be as neat as possible tearing only the seal and tape that held it's entire base together. All the envelopes of the Selected were uniformed. They looked identical with the same envelope, using the same seal. However, once underneath, everyone had different papers. Some of the parchment, others of bond paper, or diary-like pages.

It was euphoric to feel the touch of home, the scent of it. The tiny coffee stain my mother had accidentally added to the decorative piece, and of course, the tiny mark of correction fluid, every time the sentence didn't add up or wrote something by my sister that my mother would rather unsee.

I didn't notice my maids scrambling to the door, or Will entering my room until he covered my eyes with his hands and whispered so that I could feel his hot breath on my back, "Guess who I am."