and i must pour forth a river of words
or i shall suffocate.
or i shall suffocate.
T
he smile does not reach her eyes.She is not sure how she notices — it’s such a small thing, easily drowned out by the lights reflecting in her eyes or the glow spreading along her skin. Maybe if she had not been looking at just the right angle and at just the right moment, she might never have known.
As it is, it feels a bit like ice dropped down her spine. Her hooves begin to frost over again despite herself. And despite the glowing lights, and the dancers, and the sculptures, and all the other things demanding her attention — she cannot look away from Ruth.
She has to remind herself that she is an adult now, that according to the law she was legally able to take on a rank, and have a job, and vote, and drink, and hold land, and think for herself, and all the other things kids grow up looking forward to one day being able to do. It was why she was here, why she had followed Delumine tradition and left the Court to see and learn from the rest of the world (although at the time, seeing the world had felt far more exciting than learning from it.) And yet all of a sudden, it feels far less glamorous than she had been led to believe.
All of a sudden, the facade breaks like a mirror, and the truth comes rushing back in the fill the spaces between the cracks. Sometimes, parties were only a distraction from reality.
Not all smiles were happy.
She had known this, of course, in Delumine. And it seems ridiculous in retrospect to have believed it would not be just as true in other parts of Novus, but childlike faith was often blind in that way.
Maret nods slowly along to the other girl’s words, listening. If she could she would spend the rest of the evening writing about her eyes, and the way the firelight reflecting off of them only helped to hide the way there was no light shining from within them. But it is a party, and she supposes they all have their parts to play — so she tucks the thought away, a silent reminder that she’ll have all day tomorrow to relive the night. She would, after all, be writing about the event for the local paper.
“Yes,” she confirms, and it only serves to make her feel even more like an outsider. “I’m from Delumine, where —“ these things never happen, she wants to say, but instead she only smiles politely, “—where the parties are often quieter, and the topic of the night is usually the latest research, not fashion.”
She gives the glass another twirl — a nervous habit, she knows it as soon as she does it, and wills herself to be more steady — but still she does not drink, and still she forces herself to smile (and mean it when she does.)
“Any advice you have, for a newcomer? Anything I should know?” And even when her tone is light, playful even, Maret cannot help but feel like she has no idea what she has gotten herself into.
{ @Ruth "speaks" notes: <3 }
