All is quiet in the Dechambeau estate. Typical while Adora is away, but it unnerves her nonetheless. How lively just her presence could make such a morning; a flickering light in this constant gloom. How very cold it is without that flame.
She’ll arise, getting dressed as usual– a servant buttons her corset, another brushes her hair, and no words are exchanged. Once finished, they hurry out of the room, as she takes in her appearance.
It is silent still, as she walks the hall. Her head picks up as more servants pass by her, none sparing even a glance. Hmph. Suddenly shooting her hand out, she knocks a vase off a nearby column. It shatters loudly at her feet. Her eyes peek over her shoulder, yet, the servants have already gone…
… Lifting the hem of her dress, she steps through it– crushing the tiny bits into even smaller fragments. They form a small trail behind her, along with a tiny red droplet.
Only she occupies the large dining hall, leaving thirteen other chairs unattended. Her eyes no longer look toward those empty chairs, nor wishes them full. Instead, her eyes focus to properly cut the food on her plate– and to chew, and to swallow it.
There is only one correct way to do so.
It is as tasteless as the water used to wash it down. Yet somehow it still manages to sully her tastebuds with such a disgusting aftertaste.. but it is pure. Clean.
After she’s finished, she sets her tupperware onto her plate; and goes back down the hall, heading now towards her lessons. It takes a moment to realize, but she will stop and look toward that column. The vase has been replaced, an identical model now sitting in that one’s place.
As if it made no difference the other had been shattered to bits. It is clean, almost as if she hadn’t walked this hall at all…
Suppose, her lessons are waiting for her.
tangentwithtanner
yousharknotpass
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