Amaranthine

3: Dinner With the Joestars

I WAS TIRED OF MUNDANE EXPERIENCES. Every life it was cooking, cleaning, bathing, sleeping, eating, working, etc. All of it was tiring. Life itself might be short, but my "life" was far too long. I was bored of all the little nuisances. The small joys of life meant nothing to me now, all except for food.

Just like anyone else, I enjoyed a well cooked meal. Sure meals were just another nuisance, but cuisine was one thing that hadn't become repetitive to me. Every place had different cuisine, the taste of food depending heavily on the cook and their choice of ingredients and measurements. The cook at the Joestar household made some of the best cuisine I'd tasted.

"Freya, Charles, how do you like your steak?" Mr. Joestar asked. The main entree was a steak, cooked perfectly throughout and plated elegantly. Regardless of my skills in the kitchen, it was far better than anything I could prepare.

Mr. Burrell answered the question before a stream of compliments could leave my mouth. "It's delicious," he said. "Cooked just the way we like." I noticed he slid the 'we' in there before I even had a chance to answer, but the steak was truly delicious and I wasn't about to complain. Being rich certainly had its benefits, one of which being the employment of a personal chef.

"I'm glad to hear that." George's eyes crinkled kindly at the corners as he smiled. Then they glanced over and narrowed at his son. "Jonathan, please. We have guests at the table. Clean up your manners and your face. Why don't you follow Dio's example."

Jonathan was a mess. He shoveled forkfuls of food into his mouth and finished it off with gulps of water that dripped from the corners of his stuffed mouth, down his chin. He had gotten food on his face and stained the sleeves of his white shirt. His plate was in no better condition. It looked as if the chef had plated the food with their eyes closed in the middle of a tornado, but it certainly hadn't looked that way when it arrived to the table.

At his father's praise, Dio smirked, hiding it with a sip of his drink. He was the picture of a refined young man. His clothes were pristine, spotless. He was in no rush to eat, cutting the steak neatly and eating smaller portions than his brother. He held his utensils perfectly and every movement he made was graceful and slow. He and Jonathan seemed like they couldn't be any less similar than they were now.

Jonathan looked a little guilty. "Yef fahher," he managed between bites.

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Don't talk with your mouth full." George sighed in exasperation. It seemed that this was a regular occurrence for him. He turned back to father and I with a slight frown. "I do apologize for my son's lack of table manners."

"It's quite fine. He's still just a boy," my father said. My eyes narrowed at him, knowing he wouldn't say that if I was in Jonathan's place at the table. I lowered my gaze to my plate and focused on the food; Mr. Burrell wasn't worth the anger.

After a while, the meal started getting a little too extravagant. The chef had truly outdone himself. We'd been served appetizers of delicious soup and bread. The entree of steak came with plenty of side dishes to choose from. Dessert had just arrived at the table, but by then I wasn't hungry anymore; I'd already savored most everything that was served. It was simply that good. But now, I couldn't ignore the fact that my stomach was not enjoying the food anymore. I felt bloated, like I was about to burst. I felt . . . sick.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom and stood in front of the Joestar's ornate, gold-framed mirror for a long time, wondering if I was going to vomit or not. I had always hated mirrors. They reminded me that I wasn't "me." I had almost forgotten what I had looked like during my first life. Hell, I didn't even know my real name anymore. But I knew my amber eyes and rusty red hair didn't belong to me. It didn't feel right; it never felt right. No matter how much I stared at my reflection, the person in the mirror would never be me. Immortality truly was a curse. And thinking about that just made me feel even more sick.