Two Worlds Apart

CHAPTER V - CHEVERIE

Cheverie sits at her desk, her back stiff and straight as she pores over the lines of a math problem, her eyes skimming from equation to equation, memorizing each step with careful precision. But her mind keeps drifting, her focus slipping like sand through her fingers.

Outside her window, the Upper Slate's towers rise in solemn formation, a city of perfect lines and flawless symmetry, bathed in cool, unfeeling light. The sight used to fill her with a quiet pride, a sense of belonging to something pristine and untouchable. But lately, the view feels more like a cage, as if each tower stands not as a marvel but as a watchful sentinel, ensuring everyone plays their part, upholding the image of order, grace, and control.

"Cheverie?"

Her mother's voice snaps her attention back to her notebook, and she forces a polite smile, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Yes, Mother?" she says, schooling her features to look attentive.

Her mother steps into the room, her eyes cool as she scans Cheverie's notes, her mouth pulling into a slight frown. "Your tutor tells me you've been distracted lately. I do hope that's not true."

Cheverie's hands tighten around her pencil, her heart thudding against her ribs. "No, Mother. I've been working hard."

Her mother arches an eyebrow, and with a careful, practiced gesture, she reaches out, smoothing a small wrinkle in Cheverie's collar. "Hard work isn't enough, Cheverie. You know that. You must be focused, disciplined, impeccable. There's no room for errors or distractions."

Cheverie nods, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. "Yes, Mother."

Her mother lingers for a moment, her gaze searching, before she finally gives a nod of approval. "Good. Now, dinner will be at seven. Wear the blue dress - the one with the lace trim. We have important guests tonight."

Cheverie's smile falters for just a second, though she quickly masks it. The blue dress. The one that fits so tightly it's hard to breathe, every seam pinching her skin, the lace collar stiff and scratchy against her neck. "Yes, Mother," she says, her voice quiet.

Her mother glances at her, and a faint smile touches her lips. "Remember, Cheverie - as an Everien, you represent not only yourself but all that we stand for. Perfection is a reflection of our values."

"Yes, Mother." The words feel like stones in her mouth.

Her mother nods, then sweeps out of the room, leaving Cheverie alone with her notebook and her thoughts. She waits until she hears her mother's footsteps fade down the hall before she allows herself to breathe, her shoulders slumping as the tension eases from her back.

She picks up her pencil, but the numbers on the page blur together, refusing to settle in her mind. Her gaze drifts back to the window, to the distant lights of the Dark Slate, warm and flickering against the evening sky.

She remembers the stories she's heard - stories whispered between children at school, passed from ear to ear like forbidden secrets. Stories of music and laughter, of streets filled with color, of people who live without the constant weight of expectation. It's a place where people can dance and laugh, where no one cares if a dress has a wrinkle or if a smile isn't perfectly polished.

She wonders what it must feel like to be so free, to live without the constant pressure to be perfect.
Before she can stop herself, she rises from her desk and moves to the window, pressing her hands against the cold glass. Her gaze travels over the city, over the rigid lines and cold light of the Upper Slate, to the distant, flickering warmth of the Dark Slate. It's a world she's been taught to fear, to look down upon. But every time she sees it, her heart stirs with a longing she can't quite understand.