Worlds Apart

Two

I paused, looking at them back and forth. "You what?"
They turned to each other. "I thought this was what you wanted," my mother's brows drew up. "We talked about this many times, Anastasia."
I swallowed hard, barely tasting the food. "No, this was what you wanted. I expressed my distaste for being married."
"This isn't your decision; this is what is best for the kingdoms," Father said, louder than both of us.
I eyed him for a moment longer, giving him time to elaborate on what exactly that meant.
He took a deep breath. "You know things have been difficult these past decades due to our rift with the Rambova family." Father then turned to me. "We have found a solution."
"And what would that be?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
He looked at me as if the answer were obvious: "Their eldest son, Solomon, is around your age. We agreed to end our disputes if you both performed the ritual."
I felt my heart grow heavy. The Rambova family was infamous for their ruthlessness, or how they made you feel less than dirt when they crossed your path. Hell, they made you look like dirt, considering they had been dubbed the most attractive monarchy for miles. I had never met Solomon, and a part of me hoped he wouldn't live up to such a legacy of arrogance.
I stood up from my chair and said, "Thank you for supper; I'm going to my bedroom now."
As I passed my parents, I felt my father's firm grip hold me in place, forcing me to meet his eyes.
"This will go as planned, Anastasia. You will marry Solomon; this is final." He let go, turning back to the table.
I almost had to catch myself as he tossed me aside, biting my lip and quickly exiting the dining room. I was too young to be married and never be seen again; I never got to explore the world like I wished. I felt my life being stripped from me every step I took up the stairs. Once inside my room, I shut the door, trying to slow my breathing. I wanted to throw my books, pull my curtains off the rails, do anything. Anything to put my anger into physical form. All I could do was collapse against my door in defeat, watching the rain hit the glass. The sun was starting to set, bringing a familiar and beautiful night. There was no point in pouting; this was how my life was going to be, and I had to grow used to it. I sat on my large vanity, staring at my features. My platinum blonde hair rode just above my waist, curling naturally into thick, luscious swirls that cupped my face. My pale skin was complimented by the dark red and black makeup I applied religiously. My mother said the red eyeshadow looked ghastly next to my purple eyes, but I thought it was beautiful. I started removing my hard work from my face with whale wax, an old and undoubtedly expired method of removing makeup. I knew humans had progressed immensely over the years, but Mother refused to progress with them. She says our methods are just as good, if not better. The only thing I could convince her to use was a modern mirror since they don't use silver like the ones in our time. I remember my parents arguing that day over how my father let my mother walk around with lopsided hair or makeup. He defused the situation by saying he thought she always looked beautiful, so he couldn't tell. I wouldn't mind exploring their new technology if it weren't for Mother strictly forbidding me from nearing any human civilizations. One memory I always thought about was when we accidentally ran into a few humans on our way to our carriages. They had wandered too close to our property, pointing their technology at our home and courtyard. My mother was furious; she had our servants escort them out, and she wouldn't let me ask any questions about it. I brushed my hair gently, running my fingers through the silky strands until I had gotten all the knots out. I started to braid it when I heard a soft knock at the door, and before I could answer, it cracked open. Mother entered, accompanied by a servant, as always. She sat on my bed as I continued to face the mirror and braid my thick strands tightly.
"The Rambova family will be here tomorrow, so you can meet Solomon," Mother said softly. "I want you to be on your best behavior. That means dress appropriately, speak when spoken to, and no mud."
I sighed, "Yes, mother."
She watched me for a moment longer, as if waiting for me to say more. I examined my work, and two neat braids sat equally on my shoulders. After all, I had decades of experience and many more to perfect. She sighed and stood up, dusting her dress off like my bed wasn't clean enough for her. I waited for the two of them to leave before I stepped away from my vanity and back to the window. Tomorrow would be the day I met the man I'd spend the rest of my life with, which did not excite me. I wasn't fond of men; their awkward smiles and small gestures distract you from their true intentions. I've had my fair share of awful suitor encounters, all from when I was forced to attend lavish parties at another castle. I shut my curtains, letting what little light was left drain from the room and leaving it in complete darkness. I located my bed and buried myself within the thick comforters; maybe the Rambova rumors weren't as true as they said.

I woke to the sound of my mother's voice booming through the halls. I shot up, trying to shake away sleep. Without knocking, she burst through my door with an obviously fabricated smile plastered on her pale face.
"Get up, dear!" she waltzed over to the curtains, pushing them both aside.
I hissed as the light poured in, but there was less than I thought. It was still gloomy from yesterday; some rain even sprinkled down my windows.
"What time is it?" I asked, blinking until my vision adjusted.
My mother flew out of my room, calling for me from the hallway, "Come now; we need to pick the perfect dress!"
I mumbled under my breath and crept out of my room. To my surprise, I could see candles lit in every corner. The vanilla and rose scent burned my nose from how strong it was, making me cough a little as I approached her. When I peeked inside one of my rooms, she already had every drawer and closet door open, emptying all their contents. I had to bite my fist to keep me from telling her this was all so unnecessary and no one cared what I wore. She turned to me with an expression I rarely saw. As she held up one of my ball gowns, drenched in black and white lace pouring from every exit, she smiled. I only caught smiles like that on nights she convinced my father to dance with her in the ballroom alone. She must have noticed because the corner of her lips dropped dead and she cleared her throat.
"This one would be lovely."
I bit my lip. "This is a ball gown; we're only meeting the Rambova family, right?"
She examined the dress further and said, "You're right, it's too much."
I was right? If I wasn't seeing my mother in the flesh now, I'd be sure she had been replaced with an imposter. She rummaged through more of my rooms, having me trailing after her until, finally, she gasped as she held up one of my more casual gowns.
It was almost completely purple, safe for the sleeve puffs, and the corset was inky black. The underskirt and lace that traced the ends of the dress, neckline, and sleeves were an almost black color. It looked lighter; I wasn't sure if it was on purpose, though. I hadn't even seen this dress in years.
"This one," she said, handing it to me. "This one is perfect."
I put it to my chest and asked, "Would it still fit? It has been many years since I wore it."
She waved me off. "Only about 30, dear. You haven't grown barely a few inches since."
I scoffed. Of course I grew. I think. I almost expected her to put all the clothes away herself, but that would be too much for someone like my mother. She snapped her fingers, and quick as a wink, her servant was there to deal with the aftermath.
"Go try it on and come downstairs. Your father would love to see you dolled up." Mother smiled—a real one, I hoped.
I closed my bedroom door and tossed the dress on my bed. It wasn't as big as a ball gown but definitely took up room.
I sat at my vanity and began applying my makeup. I applied black to my eyelids and dashed purple, so if you looked closely enough, you would see it. Maybe Solomon would look close enough to notice if he was the observant kind. I lightly tapped my lips with black to darken them but maintain the original pink color too. After powdering my nose and cheeks, I smiled into the mirror. If Solomon wasn't the observant type, I could change him; most men are moldable if promised favors. I neatly placed my makeup back in its container and started undressing. I slid the gown over my head, tying the corset so it fit comfortably around my waist. I pulled the black gloves up my arms till they reached my elbows. At a closer look, they had small embroidered designs that made me smile a little. Whoever made them took time to make something so small and insignificant, but it made a difference to them and now to me. I would put this pair with my other favorite gloves after this event was over. I lifted my dress to pull up my stockings. There was something erotic about wearing something no one could see or know but yourself. I took my hair out of the braids and watched as my curls bounced when they were set free. I ran my fingers through them until I took the two front pieces and pulled them back to clip them to the back of my hair. I left two thicker strands over my shoulders to frame my face, and I left the rest on my back. After fastening the bows on my shoes, I left my room and floated down the stairs. My heels clicked as I walked, alerting my parents of my presence and interrupting the conversation they were having. My mother's furrowed brows drew up at my appearance; she bent down to me and kissed my forehead. What was with her today?
"You look absolutely stunning," she turned to my father, "doesn't she, Colin?"
He only smiled faintly, quickly returning to the servant beside us to probably discuss decorations. This was all too much for me just to meet Solomon. I've met suitors before, but we never dressed or decorated for them. I suppose it was because my parents wanted to look respectable for one of the most well-known families for their beauty. My mother guided me to our big leather couch, which was half a square and faced the fireplace. I sat on it, liking the way my long dress flowed over my shoes, I looked like a cloud. My mother handed me a cup of tea that was placed on the coffee table before us. I examined it for a moment. A creamy white swirl in the middle of the liquid caught my eye.
"What's in it?" I asked her.
She looked almost surprised when I noticed, "Calming ailments, dear. So you won't be nervous."
By the look of her, she could use some. My lip coiled as it touched my lips; it was thick and odorless. I set the cup down and waited for any effect.
"It isn't instant. You'll likely not even notice; it'll be relaxing."
On a regular day, I would have hesitated to take something suspicious from my mother. However, she seemed in such good spirits that I doubted she'd give me anything that would ruin our first impressions with the Rambova family. Just as I took another sip, her eyes lingered on me a moment longer. Before I could ask, they darted to the window, where I could swear her pupils dilated twice the normal size.
"They're here!" she shouted over to my father. "Stay here; we'll have them brought in here."
I nodded and felt my stomach grow fuller with every sip. I hoped we weren't having another dinner again. There was no way I could eat in my situation. I watched my mother usher the other servants out of the way, except for the one that kept on her heels. I listened for their shoes to depart, letting me know it was safe for me to get up from the couch and look out the window. Out of the fog came an enormous carriage pulled by horses about the same size. The chauffeur pulled them to a stop as they turned around our circular courtyard. I watched as my mother and father stood waiting as the carriage doors flung open and three tall figures stepped out one at a time. The first man looked younger, and he waited for the other two after him. The second man stepped out, holding his hand out to the woman, who carefully lifted her dress with her other hand and planted it on the ground. I watched them tower over my parents; they had to be over six feet tall, even the woman. They conversed for a moment before the older man shooed the chauffeur away and began entering our castle doors. I quickly jumped back on the couch, fixing my hair and fluffing my dress to not raise any suspicion that I had ever moved. The voices from afar grew louder as footsteps approached the living room, and I felt my heart about to explode with anticipation. My parents appeared first, not batting an eye at me. The Rambovas followed after them; they were a lot taller up close than I thought. I kept my eyes down as they talked quietly in their own circle until the overbearing feeling of being watched made my skin crawl. I stole a quick glance to see the younger man, presumably Solomon Rambova, staring right back.