your father expects you to be perfect. get good grades. get a high ranking position as an arcanist in the same department as him. get a wife. have a kid. follow in his footsteps and continue helping the country progress, continue shaping the nation.
but you don't want to do any of that.
you're tired and sick and don't want to be anything like him, that sharp-tongued, hard-hearted man that's always lurking in the corner of the house. you want to spend your days sleeping and hanging out with your friends and eating fresh berry jams with your fingers instead of a spoon, and you want to go for long walks and explore old tomes out in the middle of the forgotten and written off forest just beyond your family's domain.
you want to do your best friend's hair and watch cute boys work-out while you Just Don't Do That and maybe once in a while do something cool just to remind everyone that you can and maybe to get your teachers off your backs.
you want to fade into the shadows.
but there's a sun burning in your hearts, and your dreams, and the back of your fucking eyes, and it's going to burn down the whole fucking world if someone doesn't do something about it. if you don't do something about it.
why do YOU have to be the one to do something about it?
it's not fair. none of this is fucking fair. and people wonder why you started smoking.
