The Prototype

36. Unveiled

TEMPEST

The morning sun, an expansive and radiant disc, pours its golden brilliance through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bathing my room in a cascade of warm, shimmering light. The once-dim space now pulses with a gentle vibrancy, each ray of sunlight weaving through the delicate lace curtains, creating intricate patterns on the wooden floor.

The brightness gradually intensifies, slowly lifting the veil of night and ushering in the day with a soft, embracing glow. Outside, the world is stirring—leaves rustle, birds sing their first songs.

In the bathroom, the tranquil light continues its journey, casting a warm halo around the room's polished fixtures and pristine tiles. I stand before the mirror, its surface a flawless expanse of reflective glass, framed by gleaming silver. The mirror captures my image, now softened by the morning's tender illumination, and I take a moment to study the reflection before me. The early hours have become a cherished ritual, a peaceful prelude to the day's bustle, and this quiet routine is a familiar comfort.

With deliberate care, I reach for my hair scarf, its fabric cool and smooth to the touch. I begin the process of untying the scarf, my fingers working carefully to release the intricate knot that has secured it through the night. As I unwind the silk, it falls away in a slow, graceful descent, revealing the contents it has lovingly protected. My hair, now freed from its cocoon, spills out like a river of polished silk, each strand shimmering softly in the light.

Setting the scarf down with a practiced hand, I turn my attention to the wide-tooth comb resting on the countertop. Its teeth, robust and spaced apart, are designed to glide effortlessly through my hair. I take up the comb and begin to work through the hair that has lain bound and still. Each stroke of the comb is a soothing, deliberate motion, as I coax my hair from its overnight shape into a more natural, flowing arrangement. The process is gentle, the comb's teeth sliding smoothly through the strands, detangling and reshaping with a rhythmic ease.

As I continue, my hair gradually transitions from its earlier confinement into a cascade of lustrous waves, each strand falling into place with a fluid grace. The morning light plays over the newly freed strands, accentuating their glossy sheen and adding a touch of natural radiance.

A subtle yawn escapes me from the night I've had helping Romeo so he could please his big Boss Marcellus. Knowing how much Romeo worships the job he does for Marcellus and since he is taking care of his family with the money that Marcellus gives him, I guess it did pull on my human side because although I did not arrive here in the same form as Sapphire. And Marcellus didn't 'find' me needing help like he did with Romeo.

Unlike Sapphire or Romeo, I hadn't arrived here under similar circumstances. I don't consider Marcellus men kidnapping me as being 'rescued' by Marcellus or saved from a dire situation. I was fine with whatever outcome that was going to happen to me at the Zyus event.

Sapphire, in her own way, seemed to have found a strange sense of belonging here, despite her apprehension about what might come next. She speaks of the Gillian and Galileli families with a reverence that bordered on devotion, portraying this life as something extraordinary, almost idyllic. Her fear of leaving behind what she describes as an 'amazing' existence is palpable.

Similarly, Romeo's situation is a testament to the transformative power Marcellus hold. The opportunity Marcellus provides Romeo is portrayed as a lifeline, a chance to escape his previous circumstances and secure a future that is, in many ways, brighter than what he had known. I understand, to some extent, the sense of debt that both Sapphire and Romeo feel toward Marcellus. Their lives has been drastically changed, and the gratitude they harbors is profound.