𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙖・tpn

11・recall

♪( 'θ｀)ノ warning- nothing!
—
・3rd pov

Visha, one of the great promises of her family title— known to be calm but arrogant at the same time.

She felt, no, she knew she had more power over her siblings as she was the one who was gifted with photographic memory. Everything she sees would be caught in her grasp in the chamber of her memories.

Everything, and only everything.

Though her life only consisted of studying, not once had she need to worry about her grades nor future. From the start, she was praised as the best.

But at the same time, seeing her rapid success only made her half siblings getting fueled with jealousy as they themselves weren't gifted, everything they had was earned by their own hard work unlike Visha.

Did Visha care?

Hah, why would she?

Sure, it gets tedious when she has to wake up to the repetitive cycle of studying and eating, but her work would soon shine through over the others when dinner arrived where she gets the approval of the matriarch— her mother.

Yes, one day she will sit down in the same chair as her mother and become the next matriarch as promised.

Was what she thought.

Andrew, oh her lovely half brother, had to push his luck onto persuading their mother into forcing Visha to test her skills into becoming the next head.

Visha was so young, yet how did he manage to persuade their mother into putting you up the spot in doing the test ten years too early?

The clicking of pens and the cold sweat dribbling down her tear-stained cheeks, her fingers rapidly scratching against the paper's surface as she annotated passages over passages of textbook letters.

A beautiful scene of the moonlight shining down her hair, the drip of water glistening down her eyes. It would've been a beautiful image for all if she wasn't seen in such a hurried and stressed position.

The paper, the ink, the highlights, the questions— she felt as if they were all taunting her, wait no, they were taunting her. The overwhelming amount of letters and words escalating from one minute to another, she felt sick to the stomach.

She didn't remember the last time she even had a break, what time was it anyway? Probably two o' clock in the morning based on the moon reflecting her, but she didn't have time to think about that. She needed to think harder.

The girl had to use her talent, her only skill in surviving this stress-building household... so, why? Why is nothing coming to mind? Her future was already written to the line of destiny, right?

Her memories were supposed to be stubbornly plastered in her brain— it was the key to her survival, yet nothing related to her work came to mind.

The textbooks she read, the articles she memorized, they aren't coming into view! She could practically hear the voices of disappointment from her mother,

"Look at you, you had so much potential back then... what
on earth happened to you?"

No. She didn't have potential, she was a cheat. It was only one to a million that she was able to have photographic memory, the rest of her siblings had talent. She didn't.

For once.

For once, she felt utterly useless.