The Elite ✓

five | not today, satan

How very lovely.

It was at this second where I felt myself finally reflecting on my journey, and the path I had ahead. One moment, life was a blur. Girls hanging out, separating in cliques. We were doing our own thing, and the carefree environment enclosed us in a warm place.                                             

Then elimination came about, drawing the suspense out of the girls, the public.  And within the smaller selection of girls, more intense training, homework, in came the drama. If that still wasn't enough, the palace still had something up its sleeve.

Somehow, besides all of that nonsense, we were here, wasting precious time in this useless extravaganza. I was well aware of Lucas' revenge-like intentions, but the unnecessary overreacting not only took its toll on our overall mood but tore us away from fulfilling obligations.

Nothing gets tougher than the Elite, the stereotype says. And it's not wrong. The Elite is the battle for the fittest; who can survive under pressure, who can still manage to steal the Prince's heart despite all his, or the palace's flaws. There was a point where the fun and games stopped.

So now, I'll be expecting my dinner at midnight, or perhaps even later. Plus, today's agenda of fifty pages before I sleep from the obsessively thick booklet that Sylvia had so graciously laid upon us, will have me procrastinating... but not by choice. I mean, who does that?

I drag the bow against the strings of the violin taking a violent jerk of anger, creating an unpleasant squeak of noise. The girls turned to me. "Sorry," I muttered, placing my fingers on different strings. It wasn't working. 

"This is hopeless," Isabella deadpanned, body collapsing at the realization, but I only smiled, moving across the room and placing my violin on the bench to recollect my thoughts. I trace the engravings carefully and remember every tiny scratch I've ever put on it. The day when I first dropped it, when my bow dragged against its surface, when I held it as a shield, knocked it into the wall by accident. Despite the jagged line down the center, Lucas had still managed to repair it back to perfect shape, and somehow, I couldn't be more grateful. This instrument has been with me through it all, and there's no reason for that to stop now. 

It was still with me for a reason.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sarah snapped as soon as I made a move to leave the room, "In case you haven't noticed, you can't exactly run off as soon as work is to be done."

My eyes grazed against hers, my sharp fingertips yearning to be put to use, but I don't succumb to my anger and instead, clench the hem of my skirt tightly. Not today, Satan. "Sue me, Sarah. I thought we had a Queen to impress. Unfortunately, that requires us to find a Queen first. And as you already know, she's in the other room." 

---

America sat on one of the plusher chairs in the Women's room. Current renovations included two effortlessly grand and undoubtedly comfortable recliners that stood on a pedestal on the far right corner of the room, meant for the Queen, and her successor, also known as Lucas' future wife. She was flicking through a modern pop magazine but shut it abruptly as we entered. "He's petty, I know." Her smile is partially cryptic, towards the sly edge. "Are you ready?"

Nope.

"Ready as we'll ever be." Genevieve glances in my direction, "Holly, would you like to begin?"

I nod, slowly. Curtsying before my performance. I notice that a small light is aimed in my direction, and though it's not obvious, I feel my sweat glistening. This is just like any other performance. I hope.