The 3rd son of the Marquis is crazy!

19[unedited]

I was sitting in the hallway of the royal family's estate; their palace in a sense, during the energetic enthusiasm of the nobles boot licking. The second prince, Cyril, was in the center of that mass, smiling perfectly; not too bright and not too awkward, but rather flattered. Though I doubt he was even listening to their exaggerated compliments.

I wore a sharp double buttoned blazer and matching pleated pants, which was a surprising gift from his highness himself, Cyril, who stated in his letter that he would like to make a formal acquaintance. My brother, Vincent, also received a gift from him. However, due some lingering discomfort and the burdensome tag the prince probably purposely left on the item, he chose not to wear it. In fact, it lays neatly on his end table still.

Tauntingly, in the palace's hall was tables full of uneaten snacks, I couldn't stay a moment longer in there or I fear I would have eaten them myself.

My younger brother gazed spitefully at my leaving figure as if I had betrayed him, or somehow pressed one of his many buttons. Almost everything agitates him.

Luckily though I don't have to deal with that now. I'll just pray for my future self later.

I can't quite remember what expression the prince was making as I left. He probably had none, or if so; it was a expression made up for my inconvenience. For some reason, I always felt like he was out annoy me. Cyril is off putting; an enigma, per say.

I especially do not like unknown things currently, having read the novel.

The cream coloured hallways seemed endless. Large French windows seeped the late evening sun, dying the hall in a marvel worthy pink.

My head was leaning against the wall, eyes gazing out of the window listlessly, and I sat on the floor. It was clean; I couldn't spot a single piece of dust much to my amazement.

For a brief moment I closed my eyes, expecting to see the beautiful garden of the palace when I opened them, but no. It was a silhouette; tall and lean, majestic in the pink hue of the sunset.

"Do you need something?" At the notice of their satin white sheen dress, invoking a sort of innocence, I ask with endless patience.

Completely silent to my quizzicalness, they poured red wine over my head, and I could taste it trailing down my lips to my chin where it fell in a light drizzle. Unfortunately, it would probably stained my clothes, and give off an unwanted mixture odour of alcohol and my cologne.

As I prepared to shout or even respond to their rude manner in fury, they suddenly break down into tears and shout while crushing the delicate glass in their hand, cause a slew of blood to pour.

She continues to cry, while I observed her features tenaciously, trying to remember if she had any importance to the story.

When I found she had none, and despite some curious nobles gathering, I left the hallway, exiting through a marvellous door which led to the garden.

I found no reason to humour that theatrical play which was likely because of some spite the girl may have held to the Marquis, or even Lilius. In the end, I chose not to run around like a headless chicken and become framed because of some classical cliché. I think the female lead had a scene like this, if I remember correctly.

The bushes were nicely pruned into a round bundle, and if not for my resistance I would have jumped into the bush excepting it to bounce back up. However, after realizing the stupidity of my desire, which still hadn't gone away, I managed to walk away after a regretful glance.

There was a maze made out of hedges, and if I ever went in I felt as though I would ruin the finely trimmed bushes by trying to jump over each, or go through one in a manner which suggests I'm quite literally curious if I could fit through the fine branches. Somehow snake my way in and out.

By the time it was to head back to the estate, and I had arrived meeting Rita, it was dark.

Rita greeted me, opening the carriage door, and I managed to ask her to get a sheet full of those who attended the party, celebrating the 2nd prince's birthday.

She smiled and asked, "Which noble would dare not come?"

"Lilius, probably."

"..."

Taking advantage of her stiffness, I repeat my words, "Please get a sheet of all the noble that attended." Then, changing my mind, I add, "...just the woman... whom are tall and relatively lean."

"Yes, young master."

My words and serious expression seemed to drill through her head, and she stopped joking around, giving me a firm bow.

Vincent, who opens the carriage door fairly violently, invites himself in just as we are ready to leave.
I refrained from speaking to him because of his grim expression. However, this seemed to make it worse, as his lips straightened and he frowns. At least before he pretended to smile, though; it looked rather creepy, giving me the chills.

I'm not sure if I should be relieved that he isn't smiling any more given his deteriorating mood. But a part of me is because I won't have to see that haunting expression. Shiver me timbers.

——
Small theater
Interviewer: What's your type, Lilius?
Lilius: My maid.
Interviewer nodding: What's yours, Eloy?
Eloy: Lilius's maid.