@infantacarlota
weddings? witnessing two, apparently in love, royals unite in holy matrimony is enough for her to be reminded by that short period of her life, back when she still believed in fairy-tales. her mother’s icy & disapproving voice still echoes in the back of her mind like it is only yesterday - “there is no happy marriage, la meva princesa, but there is always an ulterior motive.” hot tears would lick her face as she ripped the drawings ( of a bride & groom and a castle on a high rock because she liked to be high above ) apart, shredding them into thousands of tiny snowflake looking pieces. she wouldn’t even give herself a minute to second guess her mother, the question of what if she’s wrong, would never, in any reality, cross her mind. to her, all the happily married couples are faking & nothing is sincere in this blue, dying planet.
then why is her face so .. moist? is she crying for a future she will never have? the ghost of happiness moving past her? is she jealous? again? for whatever reason, she cannot bear the thought of looking fragile - not when she’s surrounded by her much stronger enemies. normally she’d see an event like this as an opportunity for networking, but today, the blonde only wants to wrap herself under a soft blanket, forgetting who she is, along with her responsibilities. her grip on the glass of red wine loosens a little bit as she catches a sight of an awfully familiar figure, out in the chilly garden. NO. please - no. she knows the easiest way to save herself from a possible mess is walking away, directly to her warm room. she’s fighting every fiber of her being to ignore the urge to see her, to make sure she’s alright. “it’s probably not her anyway, i’m drunk.” her attempts at assuring herself fall idly as she hears someone else’s voice in the depths of her mind ( other than her mothers ). the voice is cozy & yet carries the weight of broken promises. it’s a laugh, one mixed with her own - the type of laughter she no longer gets to hear.
“wait! please- wait!” she yells after the shadowy & stumbling figure - only knowing they are in need of her help. under the dim lights of tiny lanterns, cosima gets a better glimpse on the enigmatic form, only to regret her idiotic decision right away. she stands there like a statue, hoping the girl in front ignores her frantic callings ( cosima doesn’t wish her to not recognise her voice, no, being forgotten would be too painful ). for the first time in months, she’s back to praying. ironic. “please make her walk away. please make her walk away.”
