Why She Drowned [1]

the fourth gulp

• iv. •

YOUNG AND ALONE, CLAIR PUSHED THE doors to her room with timid hands, unsure whether she was supposed to act indifferent to the opulence or act as if her new family—or people who wanted government funding—hadn't shifted her world off axis until she'd learned that her planet was not flat.

(Learned that when she'll fell off the corners, no one would help her up).

"Your father and I lost contact years ago." Her uncle, Ruji, was an attractive older man. His pepper and salted hair stood bright under the hallway chandelier, and made his spectacles flash. "That being said, I'm sure there would be no greater duty of mine to make sure his daughter lived well-off."

Clair took a step backwards into the room when her uncle leaned in to tell her something. "Your father was a good man. He might have been younger than me, but he knew what he was doing—until he met your mother, that is."

Twisting his mouth into a sneer, Clair gulped at the dark look. Riju shook his head after a moment, plastering a smile. "Ah, bygones are bygones. Just don't do anything worth shaming the family name and we'll do fine!"

"Thank you," Clair said quietly, "because I just lost my father, and I can't imagine replacing him in an orphanage just yet."

Riju's smile softened slightly, tilting his head. "Blood is blood. Now, if you excuse me, I've got to get to your aunt." He let out a belly-shaking laugh. "She will drive everyone in this house mad. Wonder if she was the best mistake I made or the worst gift I got."

Clair gave a thin-lipped smile before tugging her luggage into the room. Closing the door, she sagged against it, took a deep breath, and finally let herself enjoy the solitude of her own confinement.

Uncomfortable under the sheer expense clearly paid to renovate such grandeur, Clair yearned for the familiarity of her wooden apartment with ripped couches and checkered tiles. She sat on the bed, and wondered how silken drapes could feel so much like a noose around her neck (like her aunt's words manifesting into rope).

Dragging her fingers against the edge of her bedside drawer, she wondered if she should be grateful or afraid for her future.

For a content prisoner was still a prisoner, and a beautiful prison was still a prison, nonetheless.

• o •