A Royal Rhapsody

Chapter 1;

“….so don’t forget to subscribe to see more and I’ll see you every Sunday. BYE!”

Doing my signature ending gesture, I turned off my camera and took it off the tripod to view it. Scroll, scroll, scroll-- ew was my hair that ugly?—scroll, play.

 OH GOD I’M NOT UPLOADING THAT.

 “I give up!” I threw my camera on my bed and leaned back against my chair. That was the sixth 20 minute video I had done in two hours without edit. I heard my sister coming in.

 “Stressed much?” she asked, flopping down on my bed. I looked up and rested my neck against the headrest of my swively chair.

“Why did nobody tell me that making a simple but decent 4 minute video for the entertainment of others could tire an individual to death?” I said, staring up to the ceiling.

“You signed up for it, sucker.” My sister replied. I rolled my eyes.

“you’re not helping you know.”

“am I supposed to?”

“well technically yes, you’re invading my space.”

“your space? It’s my house.”

“yeah so? This is my room.”

“but it’s my house.”

“my room.”

“my house.”

“my room.”

“my house.”

“UGH SHUT UP.”

So that’s usually how our fights end. With me giving in. well, I have to you see. Not like ‘because-I’m-your-sister-and-sisters-have-to-give-in-at-some-point’ kind of give in, and not like ‘because-she’s-older-and-I’m-a-wimp’ kind, but it’s more of a ‘if-I-don’t-give-in-she’ll-probably-kick-me-out-of-the-house-because-it’s-really-hers-but-that’s-very-unlikely-to-happen-but-just-to-play-safe’ kind of give in. My parents left us after I was born. Dianne was six then. We lived with relatives after a few while then we were transferred to a foster home. 7 years later I learnt that my parents left because they joined a group of  godknowswhat and the only way for them to enter the ‘spiritual group’ they would have to be single with no children. Hence, my parents filed for divorce although I’m pretty much sure they were still madly in love, and gave away their children. At first I didn’t forgive them for what they did like how sick can they get, but I somehow let it go. I tend to forgive, but not forget. Dianne told me that’s much worse than not forgiving but forgetting. I don’t know, I just think that way.

I heard my mother was extremely beautiful. And that my sister is the exact same copy of her. Blonde hair with green eyes. Oh what is life. Everywhere we go; people would literally stop and gawk at Dianne. And I would be like, hello how are you hi please close your mouth sir no my sister is not single oh sorry but no no I won’t give you her number sorry no, I don’t pass numbers too yes that’s right I’m so sorry though have a good day!

Then there’s me. They say I was more like my father. A total opposite of my prim and proper sister. Rebellious, zany, and witty. Recently I had dyed my hair red, like bright siren red. Neighbors shake their heads and little kids ask me whether I’m a vampire. I like the attention. So did my father. He did dance, singing, modeling. I don’t really know, but he did really try to be in the showbiz.

So continuation of the story of my life, when Dianne turned 22 last year, she had decided to buy us a small apartment for just the two of us. It was one of the perks of having filthy rich relatives that would sponsor a percentage of the house. But mostly it was from Dianne’s pay from freelance modeling. We were just a few blocks away from a pizzeria, a bakery, a thrift shop, a small bookstore and a dry cleaner. The place is decent and we have pretty cool neighbors.

 I turned on my laptop—such an old battered thing, was a birthday present when I was in the foster home—and waited for it to load. Which takes like a million years.

“You know, you should really buy me a new laptop. Preferably a macbook.” I suggested, smiling a little. My sister made a face.

“very nice,” I said sarcastically. “Oh, isn’t she the duchess of gorgeous?” I sighed, gazing at Catherine Middleton’s face as my background. Dianne sat up, saw my background, grunted, then went back to her previous position.

“honestly elle, you know she’s married right?”

I stroked my chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Reaaallyyyy….I never knew….” I pinched her toe. “of course I know, dumbass.” I said. My sister sat up again, this time like she really needed to tell me something. I thought she was going to hit me (which she always does when I pinch any body part of hers). I squeezed my eyes, preparing for the blow.

“speaking of which,” my sister started. I opened my eyes a little. “speaking of which,” she repeated.

“uhuh?” I asked, cocking my eyebrows. I have a feeling that Dianne is going to repeat the same thing again.

“speaking of which,” bingo. “have you checked the mailbox? For the reply?” the smallest of smirks creeping across her face. I swiveled around and flicked her forehead.

“ow!”

“hello? Earth to Dianne?” I asked, waving my hand in front of her. “did you  forget that she’s THE duchess of Cambridge? Like why would she reply my—MY—letter out of a thousand billion fanmails that they receive every single day?” I said matter-of-factly. Like, I didn’t even expect them to even glance at my letter. For all I know that if they were to reply my letter, it wouldn’t be them replying. Probably some assistant royal person. Sad truth.

“Well….” Dianne cocked her eyebrows suggestively, pointing towards the table outside, “then what about that brown envelope on table? Who does that belong to?” Dianne said, her eyes twinkling.

I snapped up from my daydream and sat up straight. Brown package? I know nothing of a brown package. What on earth is—

“here.” Dianne tossed the A4 sized brown envelope onto my lap. “I’ll be in my room...if you need me.” She winked. “just don’t scream.”

I stared down at the stamp.

Seriously? I flipped the package back and fro. Ooh brother.

It was heavy. It was big. It felt like it was filled with stuffs.

Curiosity got the better of me as I ripped off the lid. Then I flipped shit.