The day the letter came, I was at home in Clermont.
The coffee I had just brewed was bitter and reminded me why I only drank it when I was desperate. Usually, that desperation meant it was hour 14 on set, when the cast and crew started to get grumpy, things started to get sloppy, and I, the director, had to be as sharp as ever.
I poured the coffee down the drain.
In my villa, on the seaside of Lauderdale, sunlight streamed in through the windows. The entire kitchen was basked in an orange hue from the sunrise, and despite feeling perfectly rested, I was uneasy.
I knew what it was. I already saw it on the news, and every eligible girl the country was about to be receiving the same letter.
The Selection application.
I sighed, finally taking a seat in a chair at the table. I clutched it, examining the fine lettering with my name on it: Indiana Connors. It was almost a shame to rip it, but at last, I tore open the envelope.
Inside, the paper was just as fancy. It had crisp, perfect folds. The writing was typed neatly, spaced evenly, and a border of golden markings surrounded it. It told me what I already knew was true.
Prince Arin was holding a Selection, and I was eligible to apply.
I huffed out a laugh, leaning back in my chair. To think, after everything Iâve done in my life, now there was going to be a Selection-- one that I had the ability to participate in.
My parents would have been ecstatic.
They, like a lot of parents whose family is a caste of six, probably would have insisted I apply as soon as possible, hoping that my promptness would benefit me, and I would be lucky enough to be selected.
But, now? Now, they arenât here.Â
It had been too long of a time to remember them properly. What I know mostly comes from my imagination and vague warm memories I hold dear to my heart.
Like, my mother for instance. Sometimes, when I close my eyes and think really hard, I swear I can hear her voice. A soft whisper here, a loving phrase there.Â
But, mostly what I remember from my parents is a loving embrace, a soft hand caressing my cheek, and the look of my fatherâs brilliant blue eyes.
Still, my orphaned, homeless, childhood brain gave my parents their own personalities. And because of this, my parents were built on the stereotypes of caste six couples and families.
So, they would have been ecstatic.
I reached for my personal phone, wondering if any of my friends were talking about the Selection letter.
Zero Messages.
I sighed, setting it down. Oh well, it didnât matter. Besides, it was early and most of my friends lived in Angeles, where there was a three hour time difference and plenty of film jobs to be done. If I checked my work phone, it would probably be buzzing off the hook with texts and emails that could be ignored until later.
Looking around, I smiled at my cozy little villa. From the outside, it was small, but it was the garden in the backyard that really set it apart from the crowd. That, and the ocean view, crashing blue waves substituting as a painting on the glass windows.Â
The interior was cute. It had everything a girl could need and it was decorated with every floral utensil I could find. It had air conditioning, which was a blessing in the Clermont heat, and had three more bedrooms than I needed.
Here I was, living a life of luxury after I had been raised in the dirty streets as a kid. What had been my goal back then?Â
To be successful. Give back. Inspire change.
I looked down at the letter in my hands.Â
âInspire change, huh?â I muttered to myself.
The Selection, after all, would end with a girl becoming a princess and then, eventually, the Queen. Queens could inspire change.
Part of me stopped myself. Would it be fair for me to join? Wouldnât it be better to give another girl an opportunity-- let them jump a few castes or so? What made me so special that I should be the one to continue caste jumping all the way to the top.
I stopped myself again. This wasnât about that.
I looked around at my home again. The clock on the wall ticked. The air conditioning hummed. Other than that, it was empty... like always.
I checked my personal phone again.
Zero Messages.
The Selection, at its core, was all about finding love. At the end of it, the Prince would marry one of the girls. They would have a life together-- one that was hopefully filled with happiness and love.Â
Looking at my empty, lonely home, that didnât sound like too bad of an idea. Since I was eight years old, I had been charging through life alone. I did have an amazing job and some genuine friends and coworkers, so maybe not entirely alone... but, romantically?Â
There had never been time for romance. And now, in my golden sunlight basked kitchen gazing over the ocean, romance was something I was sure I wanted in the future.
I picked up my pen, and I filled out the application.
Hey, y'all! I know I've been super absent this Selection, but I FINALLU finished! My tumblr always freaks out when I copy and paste fics, so I hope it's okay that I maintain my tradition of posting a link. Sorry, Ester and Bri lol â€ïžhttps://docs.google.com/document/d/1-3ClPYxFoTLZLRMine3y-GusMVKKPFlAfzZ6pi9KxjM
#project hail mary
#wlw
#lana del rey
