Divine Singularity || Reader x Murder Drones

VI

"Where is that godforsaken gardener?"

Tessa flinched, not because the question was aimed at her, but because she knew the tone all too well. Her mother's voice, annoyed and seething, was never a good sign. Her mother was mean, but she was even more volatile when she used that tone.

Louisa's narrowed eyes locked onto a nearby drone—it stood at attention with a serving tray, and limbs that trembled slightly as it stood under the scrutiny of someone who saw it as little more than a tool. It stood stiff, like a child caught in a thunderstorm with no shelter in sight, and merely shrugged, its mechanical fingers fidgeting together like it wanted to disappear.

Louisa exhaled through her nose, raised her porcelain teacup and took a quiet sip. Then her gaze shifted to her daughter.

"You wanted that hideous off-color to take care of the garden," she said, her voice now slick with accusation, "and yet I'm surrounded by weeds. And the hedges have even begun to overgrow."

Tessa's spine folded under her mother's disdain. Her eyes dropped to the floor, and her hands tightened into her skirt. She sat across from Louisa in the garden's gazebo, surrounded by flowering hedges that had dared to grow past regulation height. The air, warm and honeyed with plantlife, had once comforted her—before it became yet another metric by which she could be judged.

"I'm sorry, Mother," she said quietly. "I-I thought Father had taken them for other duties."

Louisa's brow arched. Her lips twisted slightly into a sneer, as if the idea of Tessa having thoughts at all was somehow offensive. She let the silence hang for a beat too long before she scoffed.

"Is that so? And what, pray tell, would your father want with that?" She waved her hand dismissively, "That recycled piece of landfill metal."

Tessa clenched her teeth. Hard. Her nails bit into the soft skin of her palms. It was always like this. Not just with you, but with all her drones. Was it really that bad to want to save a drone that had been tossed out? Was it so bad that she had grown attached to them? Cared for them? To give purpose to those who had lost them? She didn't think so, but her parents had always made her think otherwise.

Tessa bit down harder. And then harder still. The metallic taste of blood crept into her mouth, thick and hot. Only when it coated her mouth completely did she realize she'd drawn it, tongue pressed against her teeth in an effort to keep from saying what she really wanted to scream.

"Well," Louisa continued, "when your father is finished with it, take your little dumpster pet and clean this place up. This isn't a jungle, It's a garden. My garden, and I won't have it looking like this."

"Yes, Mother," Tessa murmured, not looking up.

Louisa hummed—content—and plucked a biscuit from a silver tray. She nibbled at it like a bird, then waved her hand without a second glance. "You may leave. But do remember, your piano tutor arrives shortly. And do try not to embarrass yourself with another late entrance. You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

Tessa nodded, already half-standing.

"Yes, Mother."

She curtsied—nearly as mechanical as the drone nearby—and turned on her heel, her shoes tapping softly against the stone as she left the gazebo. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her vision swimming slightly from holding herself so tight. Her steps were swift, but her thoughts moved faster.

She hated tea time with her mother.

She hated it with her father.

And today, she hated it most of all because now her worry for your whereabouts was growing evermore.