Chapter 4. [Flashback #2]

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SOFT, THICK PASTE covered Azalea's hands. She kneaded and rolled, pulled and punched. The clay became soft and moldable under her hands. She cut a chuck off, and started to sculpt. She wet her hands, used brushes, and knifes, turning and trimming tools. She gave the sculpture all her attention, her wrist moving with great skill. All she saw was her masterpiece, her work of art.

   Her door slammed open with a loud BANG, startling Azalea. She jumped, and her arm hit her work, disfiguring it. But she didn't care, because there was her father, standing at her doorway, fuming.

   "What," her father took in a deep breath, "is," another breath, "this?"

   "I-I-"

   "You are supposed to be studying! How else do you expect to get into Foxfire! You don't expect to get lucky like your brother, do you? This is what the both of you want, isn't it. To anger me. To be delinquents!"

   "No! Father-"

   "How dare you disobey me? Playing with this... rubbish." Her father gave her sculpture a glare.

   "It's not rubbish! I like to sculpt!" Azalea tried to defend herself. But as soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Her mind flashed to the time her father saw the sketches Keefe made and he tore it up.

   The man in front of her widened his eyes. His jaw ticked. "Sculpting." He scoffed. "That sounds like something a talentless would do. Though, with your ability, I think it's better if you are a talentless."

   Azalea stared at her hands, covered with hardened clay. She bit her bottom lip and tears threatened to spill.

   "Where did you get this nonsense?" Her father asked.

   Azalea didn't reply. Her brother had sneaked away and bought tools for her. She managed to hide them. Then her brother did the same thing again. Except this time, he bought her something she could work with. Keefe had covered up for her so many time, she wanted to do the same too.

   "Where did you get this?" Her father yelled.

   "I sneaked off last week and got it myself." Azalea said hurriedly.

   "Why you-"

   "No!" Azalea turned her head to the door, where Keefe stood. "It was me. I bought it for her."

   Their father looked between the both of them. Then he chuckled. "I always knew you were a disappointment. But buying this rubbish for your sister? You're a bad influence on her."

   "No he's not!" Azalea said.

   "I didn't speak to you," her father replied sharply. "You see what you've done. Now your sister is talking back to me."

   "Maybe, you should stop finding someone to blame and think about what you've done." Keefe retorted.

   "How dare you-"

   "How do you think he got it?" Azalea yelled. "He got it when you forgot us in Atlantis. You forgot us! For like, the third time! How do you forget a ten and eleven year-old?"

   "Your mother and I had to close a business deal!"

   "Because that's more important than your family!" Azalea scoffed.

   "I'm doing this for our family!" Her father argued.

   Keefe managed to creep towards Azalea. He stood in front of her in a protective manner. "We don't need money or fame! We aren't like you!" He spat. "Pride means nothing to us if family isn't there."

   "You-" Their father stepped forward before he paused and fumed. "You're grounded. Both of you!"

   He stormed off, but not before he ordered the Gnomes to clear away the 'rubbish' on Azalea's desk.

   Azalea stood behind her brother, clutching at his tunic as she watched the scared Gnomes cleaning her desk.

   When they left, her body racked with sobs. As if the heavens were crying for her too, rain started to pour.

   Azalea sat on the huge arm chair near her window, Keefe beside her. She leaned her head on to his shoulder and the two siblings sat together, reminiscing on a past that never was.

   The younger Sencen stared out at the open field. She could barely see the ground. Her room was on the sixtyeith, sixty-first, and sixty-second floor. It was the mirror image of her brother's.

   Sparkling crystal walls, swirling chandeliers, and tons of ornate furniture in shades of black, white, and gray. She wasn't allowed to decorate it, she tried to but all the items mysteriously disappeared the next day. The first level was the bedroom and the study. There was an enormous glided desk, oversized armchairs, walls of bookshelves. That would have been Azalea's favorite part of the room, but the books had to be all approved by her mother. There weren't any fiction books, just autobiographies and history books. Azalea often found herself in Everglen's library, reading to her hearts contents. Azalea's bed had decorative pillows piled on top, with an unused vanity on the side.

   The second level was full of couches and armchairs for when Azalea had anyone over. But the Sencen's never invited anyone to their household.

   The third level was the bathroom and closet. The bathroom had a humongous bathroom, complete with mirror-lined walls and a swimming pool-size bathtub. There were racks of clothes, all chosen by her mother.

   Despite all the space available to her, she felt suffocated in her room. The crystal walls she stared at for years. She'd memorised every inch of her house, hundred levels and all.

   "I wanna play in the rain," Azalea murmured.

   "Wha-" Keefe said, as if he just woke up, which he did.

   "I want to play in the rain," Azalea's fingertips pressed against the cold window.

   "That'd never happen," Keefe said. "As much as you want it." He pressed his lips to Azalea's temple. Azalea kissed his cheek in return. "I'll get you more clay, I promise you. And maybe one day, you'll get to play in the rain."

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