She's not perfect, she's a raging storm.
He's utopian, yet far from Elysium.
Kang Ambrosia: the quintessential femme fatale, an austere workaholic with absolutely ZERO time for romance.
Perfect on the outside, yet an unfinished masterpiece.
Park...
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Tell me, have you seen a sunset Turn into a sunrise Kiss right through the night? -What Am I by Why Don't We.
"AND HERE, APHRODITE, is where the final draft of the constitution of Sykaria was finally passed," he opened a humongous door, revealing a large hall-filled with wooden seats, sort of like an auditorium, except the stage was tiny, housing only one chair and table, "Because of its historical importance, this building is now the Parliament House."
Ambrosia stifled yet another yawn, her third since this excursion started nearly four hours ago, "Nice. I like the...uh, pillars. Nice pillars. Big."
"The Act of 1849 was passed here. That Act defined the sovereignty of our nation, it has brought us to where we are today. That's where the King, my father sits and mandates the sessions of the Parliament—" he droned on, pointing at a huge armchair on the little raised platform. He paid no heed to Ambrosia. Even the cooked snails she'd arranged for a French wedding last year would've caught on the fact that this tour was tedious, plebian and overall infuriating.
She'd managed to protect whatever little crumbs of her sanity were left by blocking out his usual silvery, but now monotonous voice. If he didn't look as sophisticated as he did, she would've assumed that a fanatic preteen Justin Bieber stan had suddenly developed an obsession for political history and had proceeded to tell her all about it.
If that were the case, said kid would now be in a straitjacket with animal control on the way.
The conversation took a dangerous turn. He began to recite the minutes of every single parliamentary session held in these holy walls since the stone age, making him extremely susceptible to a smack across his silvery head.
She had to work. Work didn't involve listening to one of his bajillions of speeches about his country. Knowing what which chairperson said a hundred years ago would be of no use to her in planning a coronation.
He didn't notice the sheer agitation and impatience on the girls face and continued anyway, "In the summer of 1966—"
She could stand this torture no more, "Uh, Prince? Can we head to the palace gardens already?"
Her tone was far from respectful, although every ounce of her power had gone into keeping that sentence as level as possible.
"Why, is there a problem, Miss Kang?" he asked, slightly thrown off, having been interrupted during his invaluable sermon.
She took a shaky breath before beginning, "As facinating as the Act of 1857 was—"
"1849."
She bit her lower lip, nails digging a little too deep into her golden pochette, "The Act of 1849 was, I don't see how obtaining that information will benefit my immediate cause. Forgive me for saying this, but I think you misunderstood what I meant by a tour of the royal grounds."
