lotus

abnegation

"Don't look him in the eye. Keep your head down. Be polite and practice your manners. Smile. Talk only when he permits and be kind. Do not mention his appearance, or ask about his scar. Do what he wants, whenever he wants, and do not complain. And please, for the love of God, hold your tongue and do not talk back."

Your handmaid thought it best to constantly remind you that you had no choice in this arrangement, and to reap the best or least dangerous results, you were to be the perfect little wife, one who is docile and never speaks her mind, a stark contrast to the inner screaming raging in your mind, any and all escape ideas pelting your brain for the past couple days eventually building into a never-ending slew of unholy thoughts. 

The mention of the name you had blocked from your head pulled your attention back to the conversation at hand, as one sided as it was. "Zenin's a.. good man. Your sole responsibility is to deliver an heir, Y/n. For your father, for your clan, for your soon-to-be husband. We're all relying on you to bring honor to the family. Both families."

You swallowed down a particularly snarky remark, instead settling for a subtle roll of your eyes, a wave of sorrow coursing through you once again, the prickle of goosebumps on your skin followed by nervous butterflies already a familiar response.   

Good luck with that. 

The audacity they had to ask you of something so huge, so impossible.. it was honestly laughable. 

"Y/n. Did you hear me?" Silla sputtered, her tone plenty condescending, even more so when a disappointed sigh puffed from her lips.

Shaking off your less than favorable thoughts, you looked at your reflection in the floor length mirror before you, your maid bustling to pull the strings of your gown tight, her small lips tightly pursed in annoyance. "No, sorry. I was too caught up in the joys of my wedding day to listen." 

Although you were usually a very polite person, your manners had taken a turn for the worse with the approach of your doomed ceremony, any kind notions disappearing from the already tattered frays of your judgement. 

A sharp sting erupted at the back of your head, Silla's hand clearly bold enough to deliver a slap for your disrespect, swatting your hands away from trying to cradle the spot she'd hit. 

"That attitude won't fly either. You be a lady, and submit. Your father won't accept any shortcomings." 

Swallowing a grumble, you returned to watching her fiddle with your dress, any wrinkles or pills nowhere to be seen from the hours spent steaming the silk fabric. If you were being honest with yourself, which you really didn't want to be, you looked very beautiful. She, along with 12 other servants, had turned you into a woman rivaling that of a princess. 

Not only had the dress undergone extensive surgery, but you had too. Waxing, plucking, washing, scrubbing, brushing, cutting. Anything you could think of, they had done it. "Along with beauty comes pain" Silla would repeat, over and over,  for days on end. Yes, she worked for your father, and yes, you could not stand her hour long speeches about honor and loyalty, but she was the only person you could talk to who was even mildly understanding of your situation.

"I said, I know I told you the opposite but don't let him scare you into anything, okay? Be his, but also be your own person too. I don't want to see you end up like your m-" her words faded as she gauged your reaction in the mirror, your eyes meeting her own in a pleading gaze to not say whatever she was about to bring up. 

"-Nevermind that. Just be careful." 

Warm hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing sympathetically as goosebumps once again flared along your skin, raw and flushed from the hundreds of treatments it had received. You were tired, and nervous. And wanted some real fucking food, not the cucumbers and green tea you'd been supplied with for the past week.