My calculating eyes carefully shut one of the last moments of short-lived peace. Before everything radically changes, I sit uneasily in a gaunt tower feeling powerful even though I am merely a promoted pawn in everything. I sit nervously on the satin cushions, gently folding and fidgeting uneasily with the blood red fabric. Ironic, showing their blood color. A dismal showing of their personal status, my political family was one of the wealthier ones. My golden platinum hair cascading down my graceful shoulders like a rolling waterfall of polished gold. It was curled scornfully to personal perfection. I stand impatiently up, the large dress bouncing as I walk nervously.
My Eyelids accurately captured a pale gold color that shimmers as I step delicately into the mellow light. I instantly recover my jeweled crown gently placing it on my glossy head. The diamonds shine and sparkle in the light sending small rainbows sliding around the uninviting room. I eagerly snatch a deep breath, not exactly nervous. My social father was merely meeting with some of the local governors. I only just had to sit properly and politely eat. Don't spill, don't slouch, stay quiet, and most importantly don't bleed.
I look down at the city where there is a hustle and bustle in everyones steps as they rush to their jobs in the city. I then look around my dull room filled with jewels and odd sorts of trinkets I have collected over the years. It felt stale and cold, as if someone had lived in it before but that they had left, a hollow shell. As if someone was about to take a picture, everything meticulously placed in preparation for the aesthetics of the room to be seen. Even though it wouldn’t have to boast to anyone. I hymn, as the sound resonates in the room the vibrant wave giving the room some feeling to it, to bring it some life. The sound vibrates and moves scattering and scattering, as it moves in the light and the shadows.
I look at the room and it stifles me choking me, reminding me of who I am and what I do. I feel useless just for show, just like my room is. I am Rosemarie, minor daughter of President Edward, the political title is misleading it is more of authoritarian monarchy more than anything. My independent kingdom is known as The United; it traditionally used to be undoubtedly The United States before the 100-year war that instantly changed everything.
I glide gracefully down the shallow stairs my precise clean cut gold dress glimmers. There are inevitably enough used diamonds throughout my outrageous outfit to blind someone. I am admittedly the unfortunate princess after all, a lifelike doll to be dressed gorgeously and given away for political power and personal wealth. I've dutifully accepted it, though; it's undoubtedly just the way it is. I ultimately arrive at the used table all the governors look up at me. I sit down at the used table my back straight up and down, I can't slouch. My authoritarian parents come down their stern and overly beautiful faces stare the corrupt governors down. Their blue eyes matching mine, wise and calculating.
Suddenly a crash sounds throughout the dreary room, and I scarcely hear screams echo, or maybe they were frightfully my own. The screams echo and ramble throughout the room inflicting chaos throughout it. Suddenly the dull table thuds on top me, knocking the wind out of me. Fire floods the room along with pressurized water and the ground shakes, wind swirls knocking the shattered glass wear down. The king and queen have already been evacuated. I try mightily to get up and follow them but I'm stuck doggedly under the heavy metal table that is wedged on top of me.
The short-lived rebellion of the black bloods has risen up again, it so it seems. But I can’t think clearly as my head pulses, and my body tenses. Red blood has been in power for years, but the black bloods have tried rising up. There was scarcely a few attacks after the prolonged war violent years ago, ancient history that I never had bothered me. But now it was observing her dead in the face. Twinkling dark eyes flood her wavering view. I barely feel something being shoved over my mouth before the world fades to black.
I wake up my sore head spinning, not sure of how much dull time has overwhelmingly passed. It's pitch-black so I can't see but I can feel I'm moving. I gradually move my hands feeling around my surroundings or trying. I couldn't frequently shift my feet being that they were bound. A small pang strikes me in the chest, hopelessness. But burning behind the fear and hopelessness represents the burning sense of escaping, an impassioned determination. Like a budding blood rose blooming inside of me. I feel stuck in this tiny box, feeling like the walls were closing around me getting closer and closer.
