Cut the strings and set me free

Part 4- if the strings snap will you let me float away?

(Y/N) POV:

I stand in front of the mirror, feeling a flash of faint bittersweet nostalgia as I remember that the last time I'd found myself being trussed up I'd been comforted by Jimin and Tae's presences; two presences that wouldn't, couldn't show up today. 

"Let's take off a further two inches from last time. I want her to have the most stunning figure at her wedding, nothing should be a smidgen less than perfection. The future matriarch can be nothing but perfect." The Queen says, voice measured and calm, and I hate that now that we've reached such a point, now that we've reached such a path where there's no turning back, no hiding from this- now the happiness creeps into her tone, now she looks at me amicably, now she looks at me as if she sees me, remembers that I'm her daughter and she's my mother.

Her hand is soft and smooth- unlike my own, hardened from doing endless dishes as punishment as a child, of learning how to use a bow and arrow, how to hold my own in a fight, none of the rough hardness that comes from horse riding and climbing trees and sneaking away to be anything but the perfect princess. But now the hands that tighten into fists, hands that curl up to prevent myself from shoving myself away are soft, gentle- unrecognisable as my own.

Gone is the stiffness, the proof of my life and my activities, endlessly soaked in tonics and massaged with the strongest potent and intensely perfumed lotions to make them delicate. They're the hands of a future Queen, of a bride, delicate and gentle, soft to be nurturing and lover's hands the Queen had said as she'd squeezed them as she'd entered- not to greet me with maternal affection, but checking whether the efforts had paid off.

"You're so stunning, so beautiful. Your father would be so proud to see you like this. To see you on your wedding day, every bit becoming the radiant bride." She says softly.

I can't hide the flinch, the shudder that rolls through me, or the way my breath escapes me, which has nothing to do with the corset being pulled taut, the ladies pausing as the late King is mentioned.

I look at her, unable to stop the tears from trickling down my bare cheeks, looking at her with hurt and anguish and not recognising the figure who calls herself my mother, who tries to hold onto such a bond between us.

At some point during the years the mother I knew and loved and cherished faded away, became nothing but an illusion, something I longed for, desired for, chased after in wistful dreams had left me, had at some point abandoned me in the arduous journey that was maturity and growth. She had left me when all my responsibilities had come crashing down on my shoulders and she hadn't been there to lessen the weight, hadn't been there to lend a shoulder or a willing ear to hear the grievances that bottled up inside me, that Jimin and Tae had drawn out so I wouldn't crumble alone, wouldn't die and wither away inside. At some point when my father had died, a part of me had been buried with him and the shattered fragments he had entrusted to my mother had been carelessly discarded and flung away, her maternal love fading as she took his place.

Leaving me to spend endless nights alone mourning, eternal days where light flickered like a dying ember, too weak to pick up strength, too small to grow and burn with passion.

Jimin and Tae had remained. Had been the pillars of support I'd needed, had grown closer as they became more than friends, had become eternal mates, companions that I couldn't envision life without.

And yet here I was, standing alone.

I don't speak as her hand falls away, as she gives her final orders before moving back to recline into an armchair, every bit the mighty queen sacrificing the pawn, her daughter, so easily to gain more power.

"Suck in your breath Your Highness." One of the ladies murmur, today a few of the Queen's ladies in waiting given to help me dress, help me prepare and it's with deft hands that the moment I suck in, that they yank at the ties, punching the last bit of air from my lungs, crushing my ribs, constricting me and merciless hands that pull further, that pull until the corset isn't a second skin, but my only skin, a vice of iron around my heart, around me, squeezing every last bit of life and energy from me.