Continued from [x] with @mannequinentity
Sitting on her throne; eyes semi-closed or rather hidden under her long lashes, Nunnally was observing the man who had requested her attention. A visitor from the past. Manny. The mannequin. It was strange; the man coming to her but why? For help? For understanding? For consolation? Her face was seemingly unchanged, but inside she was laughing. A bitter laugh. He left a girl forced to sit the throne. Reluctant to take what wasn’t meant to be hers, but now he was meeting a cruel tyrant.
Fists clenched on the arms of her throne, she looked at Manny with the gentler eyes; the little girl inside her wanted to run to him and hug her friend, but the grown-up woman remained still and sited. She couldn’t. She simply could not.
“Things here have not changed.” – a cold voice but laced with sadness and regret; perhaps audible only for Manny – “But it is obvious you have experienced hardship. I am glad you decided to seek your refugee here.” – Nunnally hated herself for being so distant, but that last sentence was everything she could offer him. Apart from the room and some…care?
A half of a smile. This was a castle. Now her castle. There were plenty of rooms. Nunnally stood up. Slowly.
“Of course, Manny. Your old room is still waiting for you. Always and for ever. Just as I had promised you on the day you decided to leave.” -- … me … -- “You know the way, but I will still lead you there.” – she pretended not to see his injuries. When the door behind his chambers would be closed, she would try to deal with them.
“Is there anything else you need? A doctor perhaps?”
(“You shouldn’t have left me back then, Manny. You shouldn’t have. If you hadn’t, things would have been much different for me.”)














