Perfection in an imperfect world.
Tonight, it was especially cold. As rain rolled down the windows, I wrapped myself in a fleece blanket with hot chocolate at my bedside table. Mother was out in the hallway, pacing nervously.
"Your father should have been here ages ago," she said, taking her hand up to her lips to bite at her fingernails. She had blond hair and violet eyes, just like me.
"He's probably settling more disputes with the sides," I responded, taking a sip of the hot chocolate, which immediately brought warmth in every direction, all the way to my fingertips. "This whole war is rubbish anyway."
"Be as it may..." Mother ran her fingers through her hair. "Being part of the group of ambassadors is not an easy thing."
I dismissed her comment with a wave of my hand. "The old stuff, ho-hum. It'll be worth it if we can stop this madness with our efforts."
Mother smiled. "That's my girl."
Just then, Father burst in, drenched from head to toe. He was dressed in his usual blazer, and his glasses were covered with dots from the rain. I winced, trying to prevent my mild trypophobia from striking.
Rushing over to him, Mother took a stray towel off the rung at the doorway. "Oh, darling. How did it go?"
His expression suddenly turned grim. "They're trying to get us to choose a side. The session is-"
"But we did choose a side!" I protested, stomping my foot. "We're Loyalists, only ambassadors. Or Conservatives, whatever those Radicals want to call us."
Father eyed me disapprovingly. "Like I was saying, the session is tomorrow."
"Well, I'll be at home as usual," I said with disgust, flouncing up the stairs.
"You too, Flora. You're of age."
Irritated, I acted like I couldn't hear him and continued my way up to the second floor. To prove my anger, I slammed my bedroom door and flopped on my bed. So what if I was of age? Tracing my father's footsteps was definitely not something I wanted to do. Being a daring warrior was what I dreamt about. Most Radicals seemed to be in that group, while us Loyalists were the prissy cowards.
A clap of thunder overhead brought me back to earth. Walking to my window, I stared into the distance for a while. The rain was obstructing most of my view, but it also blended with it.
My reflection was also present from the angle I stood. The rain rolling on the windows were placed perfectly on the reflection of my eyes' lower areas, which gave the impression that I was crying. Small droplets broke apart, combined, and slid down in uneven speeds.
It took some time to realize that I actually was crying.
