A Court's Maim

محبت | Love

If I don't see a 100 comments on this chapter I'm gonna start crying. This is my favourite-est chapter EVER! Dont flop besties. Thanks.

Chapter 19.

Grant no chance to spare an expense — rule number one, she wrote in a cursive over the manilla pages. Hardening ink underneath the innocent sunlight, inside her maternal home, a plan was underway in the apex of her frontal lobe. The emblem of her beloved grandfather's enterprise on the bottom left of the crème page deterred her from her goals ; not even slightly. It was a sight to see, the vines intervening in the shapes of roses and a tiny bird perched on to a branch. What had once been but a small corner shop, was transformed into a large empire worth billions — though somewhere along the way they had lost their authenticity.

Make it a larger than life affair — she mused over the second line at the top of the page that had been written in the state of a sloppy sleepiness, the i's mixed with the f's. The penmanship of a child. Spreading her arm over the page that flew from the corner, slapping her skin every now and then, she searched for ways and methods to woo. An alarming contrast from the usual 'how to get away with murder'. A soft stunt next to the gory details that had since assisted her job. Tapping at the keyboard with an inhumane pace, her eyes filled with a power skimmed over the blobs of singular words. Lists upon lists, most highlighted purple from clicks.

Nothing genuine though.
Nothing Aliyaar.
Not in the least.

Running her long fingers through the blow dried hair that curled underneath her chin, she pouted internally. The crimson pattern of her matte lipstick matched the deep tone of her nails, and the jumpsuit she wore. Straps ran down her thigh all the way to the spine of her pencil heel. Carnal in it's making the satin jumpsuit hugged her chest and the attached trousers slouched over her figure.
Comfortable.
Chic.
Gold hoops — chunkier than the eraser she had thrown Aman's way this morning curled over as accessories. Clasping in her fingers the black suit she sauntered out of her bedroom, the rumbles of her stomach loud and clear.

It was windy and life was abuzz in the manor. The windows thrown open with their latticed grills and covers removed for more affect. A chilly zephyr blew her hair around like the call of a lover in the fields beyond. It's iciness turned her pale cheeks a deeper hue, in competition with the lusty shade of her lips. With the disposition of kings Barekhna's eyes were power renewed. A line ran through her swollen eye lids — tears and lack of sleep the main culprit. Tracing the walls with a distance of but a breath between them, she took her last steps, turning into the private lounge.

Unfiltered and beyond raw — the sun's rays crashed over the wide room. Narrow in it's roof, the slight slant over the hunched altar and mantle were attractive. More than ever with the addition of a few period paintings. Drooped curtains curled around the iron frames like servants in attendance, behind their thick gaits the Parakeets flew and performed routines of great extravagance. The sounds of their chirping was alluring in the silence that morning had to offer. Perfection. Limitless joy seized the moments. A morning star and it's performance with the loud clouds. Dark and light battled to find common ground — the winner though was clear.

Sweeping her woody eyes over the empty room, Barekhna threw her figure over the couch. The rest of her family had left — her parents on a brunch and his brother for his duty. Taking in the fresh air, misty in it's might, she sipped on the glass of water — the only thing present. Fluttering her lashes, she tapped the warm skin above her bosom, fingering the thin gold chain there.
Classic, unoriginality runs in this clan.
Amassing her valuables she stood up with power — demanding it even from the tiny ants that managed to crawl in her path. Through the feminine tones of her perfume the scent of respect overpowered.