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Sora had slow tears falling down her cheeks, both angry and sad. The demand her father was placing upon her was both ridiculous and barbarous. Customs would have her married off in less than a year and the nobles would see to it that the King’s daughter followed every custom to the letter of every word written. Her father was too old fashioned to embrace modern thinking, and too stooped on upholding the royal image than to let his daughter go waltzing about choosing her own suitor. The social gatherings would start in less than a month and all the suitable men would be coming to visit, and Sora would have very little say-so in who would be the right one. It all boiled down to politics and money and images, and although Sora was a bit spoiled herself, she couldn’t be arsed to accept the hand of a man that she barely knew.
She stood in a small private garden of the palace where she had ran off to after having this heated argument with her father, the King. It was a small alcove with flowering bushes meant mainly as decoration for the bay windows of the Lionel Hallway. It was a shame to see the flowers dying off as winter approached, and the chill in the air made her cross arms. She hugged herself, running palms over bare arms, and was stubborn enough to believe she would stand out there as long as it took until things started going her way around here. The evening gown she wore was hardly enough to keep the cold away from her bones, but she couldn’t care less right now.
Who was she fooling anyways? Digging down into the depths of her frustration she knew the real truth as to why she opposed these silly customs. She was scared of disappointing the man she is meant to be promised to. Sora couldn’t believe that everything can go as smooth as butter without churning the butter first, and it was ridiculous to think any man would be pleased with her without even laying eyes on her first. Never had she felt the touch of a man’s affection, so why was everyone so entirely confident she could satisfy the love of a man she will barely know on her wedding night? She was fearful of being a failure, and terrified of the unknown. No one seemed to understand any of this.
She stood in a small private garden of the palace where she had ran off to after having this heated argument with her father, the King. It was a small alcove with flowering bushes meant mainly as decoration for the bay windows of the Lionel Hallway. It was a shame to see the flowers dying off as winter approached, and the chill in the air made her cross arms. She hugged herself, running palms over bare arms, and was stubborn enough to believe she would stand out there as long as it took until things started going her way around here. The evening gown she wore was hardly enough to keep the cold away from her bones, but she couldn’t care less right now.
Who was she fooling anyways? Digging down into the depths of her frustration she knew the real truth as to why she opposed these silly customs. She was scared of disappointing the man she is meant to be promised to. Sora couldn’t believe that everything can go as smooth as butter without churning the butter first, and it was ridiculous to think any man would be pleased with her without even laying eyes on her first. Never had she felt the touch of a man’s affection, so why was everyone so entirely confident she could satisfy the love of a man she will barely know on her wedding night? She was fearful of being a failure, and terrified of the unknown. No one seemed to understand any of this.
