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The air was heavy—inhaling it was hard—thinking was much harder. The fear of not being successful was taking over her. She reminded herself again and again, that it'd be fine. She can do it. There's a solution to every problem, but at the same time, she found no way. Movement hurt her—living, in reality, did more. Was she losing it? All-day she was busy racking her brain. There were merely wrong ways to get out of this.
"Is there anything more that I can assist you with, your highness?" The nineteen-year-old maid asks bowing in front of her after bringing a carpenter to renew her dressing table that had been cracked earlier today, while she was being embellished in the early morning and in a hurry and worry, a few of the maids were afraid, ensuing in throwing the casket of jewels unintentionally; it had resulted in a crack. Jasira didn't care since she solely was anxious about the outcome with her father. It had taken time for the dressing table to be restored.
"You're free to go." She unlatches her lips to merely respond with that. The maid bends again stepping away. She walks over to the polished door closing it behind wielding her hand over her abdomen in regard.
It was dark invariably. Not that she cared. The balcony behind her was open. Blue invaded her senses. It was her job to close it since sometimes she'd go there on her own will late at night. It was the only place that meant outside for her excluding the garden.
Her gaze lingers on the chair kept in an area as she slowly lies down over her white bed sheets still staring at it. Her hands kept under her cheek in contemplation.
