Hers was a life of privilege.
His was a life of pain.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾
As the daughter of the Reform's leader, Paloma Santos has lived in blissful ignorance for as long as she can remember. Hunger, poverty, and death surround her at the hands...
Waves crash against the jagged rock of the cliff below me. A whisper of a breeze blows my hair. The night feels heavy against my skin, as if it were made of anguish. Or perhaps it is merely the haze of city air, and it's my burdens I feel the weight of. Even the moon has gone to hide, leaving me alone with the stars. Well, with the stars. For in this crystal palace, I am never alone.
"Have you seen the miss lately?" The distant voice of one of the guards drifts down to my balcony. From here, I can make out a pair of them smoking on the main balcony on this side of the palace. The one spanning the length of the ballroom. It's lower and to the left of mine. Their uniforms are a stark contrast to the night, pearly white against obsidian. I can see them, but unless they look up, they cannot see me.
"No. I barely have turns in her wing. The last time I did must have been a few years ago. Anyway, you know how the chancellor is. Hiding away his precious princess." He exhales, and the cigarette smoke drifts up over his head.
The first one laughs. "Well, I've seen her recently, alright. Let me tell you, if my daughter looked like that... shit, I'd want to hide her, too." At that, I burn with embarrassment and wish a hole would open up below me and swallow me whole.
I haven't left the citadel grounds since I was little, when my father started his campaign after the war. Everything I know of the outside, I know from the media and Papá. He says it's better this way—that I'm safe from dissidents' threats. It's for my own good, he says.
I fear he equates loving me with keeping me here like a perfect prisoner so that the world may not touch me. But I'm not his little girl anymore. I don't want to be kept from the outside. What was the point of winning the war if we were not going to be allowed to live anymore?
I've tried telling him this, but he has always brushed me off. "You say that now, but once you leave, you will wish you hadn't." That was what he told me last time.
I love my father, but I do not understand him. From what I grasp, the city has improved under his leadership from what it had been during the Dark Years. The darkened sky is no more, as pollution rates were lowered when cars were outlawed. Criminality has decreased due to the curfew being implemented. Resources are more abundant, given that overpopulation is more controlled after the law permitting only one child per household was placed. If his governance has been changing the world for the better, why am I to be scared of it?
The guards flick their white sticks of vice over the edge before they turn to leave the balcony. I see the twin cherries disappear into the abyss, and suddenly I wish I could have a smoke, too. I have never held one in between my fingers, inhaled the strange smoke. I imagine it would taste foul, but I would not care as long as it made me feel good. As long as it made me feel something.
I am about to head into my bedroom as well when I spot someone on the balcony who wasn't there before. At first, I figure one of the guards must have left something behind, but that can't be. They were only a minute ago wearing their uniform, were they not? This man is dressed head to toe in black. It is more accurate to say I am looking at a shadow because I can barely tell where his figure ends and the night begins.
My skin prickles. I have never seen any of the workers wear anything but the standard white uniforms. Guards, maids, cooks– they all wear the same color. Which means this must be an outsider. Perhaps my father had guests over for a meeting today? Though it would still be odd for him to still be here. My father never keeps his guests too late.
A warning bell goes off in my head, but instead of alerting the guards down the hall, I stay there, intrigued. For a moment, the shadow doesn't move. Then, slowly, he turns his face and looks up. Right at me.
I gasp, pushing away from the cement railing and closer to the wall. My heart wants to jump out of my rib cage. Trembling, I take a deep breath and peek an eye out from the column closest to the wall where I have hidden behind.
His nose and mouth are covered with some sort of cloth so his face is not visible. Black gloves conceal his hands. A hood hides his hair. Every inch of his skin is covered, except for his eyes. I can't make out the color of them, but I can see them sparkle under the starlight. I can feel them on me, staring as if he knows I have been standing here all along.
He lifts himself up on the wide cement balcony rail, and I almost scream. If he were to fall, it would mean his death. My bedroom isn't on this side of the palace for no reason. This fortress was carved out of a vicious declive overlooking the sea to avoid any unwelcome trespassers. I see now that the tactic is not completely effective.
"Please get off there! You'll hurt yourself!" I helplessly yell, frightened that I might witness a man's death. The shadow tilts his head. He puts a finger over his mouth as if to keep me from yelling again.
And he jumps.
Backwards, into the darkness.
This time, I do scream. I scramble to lean over my railing, squinting to see if I can spot him in the water.
Only it's a sea of black, and he's nowhere in sight.
☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾
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