Wysteria

Chapter 2

(Not edited)

Desolate /deselet/- deserted, in a state of bleak and dismal emptiness.

Have you ever felt like life was slowly passing you by? Like the ground is shifting and you can't find your footing? Surrounded in a room full of people and yet as alone as the sun in the day sky. That was my life, and seemingly my purpose for most of my life here on earth. Every day, wake up, eat, train, sleep and repeat. I was more than ready, more than prepared for the beginning of my destiny. I ached for it, hungered to fulfill the promises I had made so long ago. Yet, what I hadn't prepared for, was that it would be the start of my end.

Tomorrow begins the twenty-first year of my life, a monumental occasion for multiple reasons. I wish it were as simple as being legal to drink.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts swirl around my head. It would be a lie to claim I hadn't thought of the weight of my responsibilities over the years. It loomed over my head like a shadow, filling my otherwise desolate brain with dread. Maybe it was a sign of things to come, the dread. My mother would tell me to be optimistic, brave even. You cannot escape the confines of your own fate, of course. But my mother isn't here.

Over the years, I had thought about this night with heavy anticipation, excited for the change in pace. Finally, I'd be getting somewhere, doing something. But now, now as the sun sets in the distance, and the crickets begin to sing, I ache for time to stop. I don't want the time to come where I will have to once again leave what has become my reality. I don't want to see the Earth for what it has evolved into. And I definitely don't want to face my fate.

Perhaps it's melodramatic to complain while laying in a giant bed, wrapped in silk coverings and draped over soft, foam pillows. Maybe it was wrong to mope in such a grand room, with real silver embedded in the walls. And maybe it was downright disrespectful, even, to feel such dread when I have the opportunity to be waited on hand and foot.

I understand that good and well.

I just simply don't care.

You wouldn't either, if you were in my position.

I meander through the halls well past my usual sleep time. I wonder if everyone is privy to my nerves the past week, as none of the maids or guards bat an eye. A simple tilt of the head greets me as I clutch the dragging trail of my dress to move faster. It's bothersome, the old thing, but also my most comfortable. After a year or two of wearing it, I had hoped to grow better into the length. Apparently, it needed tailoring.

The bodice was loose, brushing against the slim of my waist as gently as the skirt, which billowed out due to a smaller underskirt. Old, slightly torn lace covered the blue fabric in wild flowers. The train trailed a few inches past the bottoms of my bare feet, which caught on the dress every few steps.

'I look like a drunkard,' I grimace to myself, and then laugh. Imagine, a princess, drunk on the night before her twenty-first birthday.

I find myself in the kitchen, bathed in pale moonlight that pours in from the high windows. I stick to the shadows and head to the large walk in pantry. I travel the shelves, grabbing things at random until I had enough snacks to feed the entire staff. Walking back into the kitchen, I fill a tea kettle with water and set it on the stove. The soft clicks of the stove sound deafening in the night, though I know there isn't a single person in all the castle to scold me.

"And what are you doing Amaris?"

Except maybe one.

"I'm making tea, Vizen. Would you like some?" I say innocently, lifting my body onto the counter beside the stove. Rolling the herbal leaves into the empty tea bags, I prepare two mugs with sugars and honey, the way my Mom taught me.