Refinement: A War of Europe

Chapter Twenty-Eight: West: A Diamond

Eloise~ West (England)

I was in a line of Inaugurates, filled with the anxieties of the Ceremony creeping upon us. We were inching towards Grayson where he was assigning his students to certain groomers, where they would tug on our hair, poke our limbs, and prod our skin. I was in front of Arielle, and behind Lex, but we dared not penetrate the thick silence that so clearly instructed us to remain mute, influenced by our apprehension. Lex, despite his light-heartedness, picked at his fingernails, and twisted his fingers. Arielle was stroking her hair, glancing back at Lex as though she desperately needed his strong arms to be wrapped around her. I felt like the wall that kept Juliette from Romeo. I motioned towards Lex, giving him permission to embrace nervous Arielle with his strong arms. She was scared of what the stylist would do to her, of course. Now that she had a boyfriend, I think she was even more scared of what he would think than anything. He whispered something in her ear, and her blue eyes relaxed. He smiled. Behind me now, was Carlton, who was big an intimidating.  

"Hey," I approached. He grunted, and stared at the back of Saphire's head intently. "You really love her, don't you?" He snapped his head in my direction. 

"Do you honestly think that I would date someone unless I loved them? This is Refinement. No one does anything unless they feel they have to in order to die happily, Eloise." I stared into his purple eyes, which were fixed on his rock. Saphire.  

"Eloise, you will be with Annie." Grayson pointed at a girl with a shaved head, white eyelashes, and purple eye liner. I walked over, and glanced to my right, where I saw timid Jenny stripping off her clothes. I averted my eyes for her privacy's sake, and stared ahead at Annie, my stylist. 

"Take off your clothes, and clean yourself." She pointed at a shower, and left without a word. I did as she instructed. I let the water fall over my face, into my eyes, and my mouth. The water was warm, reviving with every drop. I massaged my scalp with a fragrant paste that was provided, and rubbed my body with a thick gritty substance that smelled like wild blueberries. It rubbed the dry, dirty skin clean off of my body.  

I stepped out of the shower, letting my hair hang down with the weight of the water and paste absorbed. I wrapped myself in the cloth given, and sat on a cold metal slab.  

"Took you long enough." And she tugged at my hair. The scissors snapped viscously at my black hair, strand after strand falling to the floor in defeat.  

One 

After  

The 

Other 

My head floated higher than usual, because the weight of my locks were being eliminated. I was intimidated by the face of Annie. She seemed to be a soldier, but not one of War, but one of looks. She cut, trimmed, and shaved with an astonishing vigor. Her hands moved with and ease and grace, making my hair tremble with respect. She was training my hair how to obey her commands.  

"Done. You will go wash your face." I desperately wanted a mirror, but she did not provide me with one, so I obeyed reluctantly. I was handed bottles of liquid that I had no idea what they were. They were labeled with instructions as to when they were to be applied, and how. I did as the bottles instructed me. 

I came back, and she was waiting with a pile of makeup. I thought of my sister Helen, and the amount of makeup she gave me for my birthday every year. I had a whole box of it that I never used, besides the eyeliner. She rubbed my face, and massaged paste into it. She let the eyeliner glide around my eye, but this time the eyeliner was not black. It was a deep blue. The color of the sky at midnight. She spread different shades of brown on my eyelid in different places. She placed a nude lipstick on my bottom lip, but left the top lip as it was. A light shade of pink. She added gold to my eyelid as a finishing touch.  

"For your hair, we do traditional braid." 

"How do you do that with this short of a haircut?" 

"Don't question me." I slammed my mouth shut, and let her do what she wished with my hair. She weaved it back and forth around my head, leaving strands out here and there. At this point I lost all sense of direction as to what my hair could look like.  

She kept on, occasionally patting herself on the back.  

Finally, she handed me some clothing, and a badge.  

I was mesmerized by the badge's beauty. The badge consisted of a crown, obviously one that the queen wore in the days when we had a queen, with a lion mounted upon the crown with a majesty that could intimidate an army, but a stature that could make a child weep. The bones shone through the gold fur as clear as day, and its shoulders sagged, taking its dignified height down to a cowering one. But the expression on the Lion's face was what reminded me so much of my own. Weak, but driven by the ultimate passion of revenge. Surrounding the lion and the crown was a thistle, with it's purple blossom wilting under the stare of the Lion. Protruding from the badge, a white ribbon hung from the bottom of it. I rubbed my thumb across the jewel encrusted badge, and let my fingers wrap around the two inch wide white ribbon.  

"If you make it through Inauguration, there is a second ceremony. It is called the Systematizing Ceremony. It is a much bigger deal. In this ceremony, you will be systematized (a surprise, I know). Your job will be given to you by the General by placing a jewel on your white ribbon. According to the color of the Jewel, it will determine your rank, and your job. " 

"How will you know what color correlates with what job?" She stared at me annoyed. 

"You will know, because there will be a chart on the wall across from you." 

"What Jewel do soldiers get?" She rolled her eyes. 

"A diamond." My eyes widened. I knew what jewel I was going to strive for. This was my goal. This was what I wanted more than anything.  

"Do you want a tattoo? We give everyone the option." I seized the pants that I was wearing before I took a shower, and ripped something out of my pocket. It was the letter my father had given me for my sixteenth birthday. I pointed at a line from the letter. 

"I want this line in his hand-writing down my forearm." She nodded, and grabbed her tools. Pain inched through my arm, but I didn't mind. It was a line that my father wrote to drive him, and it was going to do the same for me.  

"You are what makes my soul thrive."