Maria could not be more bored.
Staring out the window and gazing at the sky, instead of listening to her professor drone on and on about this and that. When would the class end? It felt like an eternity till the next. She tapped her fingers across the desk and played with her pen, only to get a hiss near her ear.
"Will you pay attention?" her seat mate, Viva, whispered, "I am not lending my notes again."
"Yes you are," she muttered under her breath, "you love me."
"That is the worst thing you've said to me, and that's saying a lot." She rolled her eyes. Physics always felt like a pain in the side; something about alternate timelines being discussed. It just sounded like an unrealistic plot of the next movie to her ears, about dimensions and theories and what not.
Maria's never really given any of these things attention, and did not plan to. Just an elective for this summer, and she's out.
"Miss Maria?"
Shoot. "Yes, sir?" she stood, well aware of all the eyes pivoting to her.
"What did we just discuss?" he asked, Professor Kwon the worst out of all her teachers, "I think everyone would love to hear your thoughts too."
She coloured further, conscious of especially one pair of eyes on her. A glance at Viva, and she's as good as rat's ass. Practically useless. Her gaze strayed to the board, a large butterfly drawn in the centre. "Umm," she started, nervous, "about how different actions in one situation all lead to different outcomes? Like the same person may do something good or bad."
"Well," he turned up his nose, "that will suffice. Already surpassed my expectation with that answer." She sat, breathing out a sigh of relief, and Viva gave her a look that screamed 'I told you so.' She ignored it, chancing a glance to the front of the class, seeing the familiar mop of black hair.
Rayan Evans.
Her crush at first sight since orientation, and the only reason she took this elective instead of literature. They're in complete different buildings, so it's rare to bump into each other unless there's a party going on. He seemed unbothered, noting everything in his book, tan skin gleaming where the sun hit him just right.
"You're so hopeless," Viva said, passing her notes anyway, "class ends in three. Take your pictures before I change my mind."
*
You see, Maria lived a pretty simple life.
She took an honours in arts, because it's the only thing she found interesting at school.
Her parents didn't care as long as she had some completed degree to her name, waiting for her to be done so she could be paraded at business parties in hopes of finding an eligible bachelor; rich enough to guarantee a good deal. To them, Maria's greatest asset, and really the only one they want to care about, had always been her beauty.
She's never been allowed to cut her black hair above her waist, her mother citing a woman's true beauty lay there. Spas every two weeks, all the products one can only dream of owning stocked in her inventory. The latest fashion garments and accessories available to her at all times, and a dietician that dictated her entire food consumption.
Truthfully, there's not much to her than just another celebrity. Maria did not consider herself a wondrous goddess.
But her dark doe eyes, full lips and thin nose bridge all on a small face make any other person walking by do a double take.
Not to mention her secret late night snacking (Viva her accomplice who helps smuggle them in her fridge) making her hit the gym more often than not, maintaining her expected weight.
A voluptuous body with curves in all the perfect places, and yet she chose to keep them all under her baggy clothing.
Sometimes she sat in front of the mirror and imagined tearing off the picture perfect image. What if she scratched her face? Or marred her delicate wrists? What if she ate and ate like no tomorrow and gained a nice round pot belly?
It felt like a fantasy sometimes, to be anything but what she got to be. One that could only exist in her head.
Which may explain her lack of interest in really, anything.
When she knows it won't matter in the long run; after all, it will hurt less if she had nothing to hurt over, no?
She just had these few years before her fate was sealed as someone's glamorized trophy wife, probably to be kept on display when her husband went frolicking with other women.
Maria sighed, and tried to hope. For a good enough man, that at the minimum would let her live as she chose.
It was somewhere late at night, when her eyes slipped open, and the windows went banging against the wall.
She sat up, heart climbing in her throat, looking around as her mind caught up.
A storm, she thought, hurrying out of her bed as another cold gust of wind knocked down the trinkets on her cupboard, shutting them firmly and staring outside. She locked them as tight as she could, the world beyond the glass rain streaked and thunderous. Another crack of lightning, and she made it back to bed, under her covers.
Maria hated weather like this. It struck fear in her like nothing else. She cowered with another bout, now having grown accustomed to the solitude after her parents stopped coddling her.
Grow up, they had said.
I have, she wanted to say, over and over, but the fear had not.
It brought all sorts of terrible things to mind.
Red flashes and agonizing screams. A glimpse of a face to disappear as soon as it had come.
Maria found even breathing hard on nights like these, clinging tight to the sheets and hoping for it to all pass. Somehow she managed to slip off to slumber, sure she was in her bed the entire time.
Because when morning came, and she blinked awake, it was not the wool of her blanket slipping off her frame.
When she shifted, it was not her cotton sheets that followed the movement. Instead it was all silk, and instead of her night shirt and pants, she was merely in thin white robes that had already come loose.
Was this a dream? She stared down at her hands, to find them her own. She checked her hair to see her own inky black strands, but longer. There was something cold around her neck and sat right over her chest--a pendant, of sorts.
"Have you awoken, your majesty?"
A very funny dream indeed.
The room was all whites and blue, sliding door open on one side bringing sunlight and fresh air, carrying the delicate scent of flowers. The other doors on her right had shadows of people.
Her eyes fell on the tapestry right behind her, hung over the bed, a portrait of her, and yet it was nothing she had ever seen.
"Your majesty?"
Is that me? She thought. "Yes?" and there was sigh of relief. Strange. "What do you need?"
"We have brought you the clothes you requested--will you join the rest for breakfast?"
The rest?
"Who?" she slipped out the sheets, soles of her feet laying flat against the cool wood. Maria adjusted the robe around herself, before reaching the doors, confused as ever. The women stepped back, surprised, hurriedly bowing. "Who is it that I am eating breakfast with?"
"Why, his highness," one them said, still bowed, "your husband."
She blinked. A husband? "Since when did I have a husband?"
"Oh your majesty," one of them cried, startling her, "do not be so cross with him! We know he is not the best, but please! It has only been a week!"
A...week? "I genuinely do not know what you are talking about," she stepped forward to pluck a ripe looking peach from a tray one of them held, biting into it and humming when the sweet richness exploded in her mouth, "this is quite delicious. I would like to eat more in my short time here."
"Your majesty!" they all bemoaned, "do not speak like that! It could not be that bad you want to die already!"
She shrugged. It's just a dream, anyway. Might as well have her fun. "Okay, will you help dress me in that..." she pointed at the robes, "thing?"
They rushed to assure her, but first dragged her to the baths. Maria was scrubbed down very well in warm water, with added petals and serene scents.
Their hands were skillful as they pressed against her scalp and released the tension there. She felt sleepy all over again by the time they're done with her. She half prayed this was a world she would always visit in dreams, getting dressed in no time despite the many layers.
"Goodness," one of them said, staring at her before she dabbed her lips with red, "really, your majesty. One of the most beautiful ladies I have had the honour to serve."
That's nice.
"Did anyone get more peach?"
A...servant? Nearly tripped on her feet to bring it over, and she happily munched through it. With her mouth half full, she asked, "so do I still attend breakfast?"
The servants stared.
One of them timidly spoke up, "yes, but umm. Let us--let us wipe your face a bite."
Ah.
She let them, even her fingers, before being led down the twisting hallways.
It was a beautiful corridor, lots of wood and paintings.
Maria thought she looked quite good in this colour too; a pretty subtle pink, with golden embroidery. They have adorned her in accessories; rings, bracelets, earrings and a waist chain to highlight her figure under the layers. Her hair half done up, cascading down in waves, well cared for with its shine.
She almost felt worthy the title.
"There," they said, bowing, "then, after you, your majesty."
She hummed, hands behind her back, making a few of them agitatedly whisper.
Maria stepped in the spacious dining room, with a chandelier right in the middle, archways letting in sunlight from the outside. She finally got a full view of the evergreen gardens, breathing in the fresh air, her face away from the front, where her husband was, apparently.
"Took you long enough," her feet paused, and her blood ran cold, "shall we start, your majesty?"
Sitting before her, in all his glory, was none other than Theo Valentine.
Maria saw red.
In the moment she wished to lunge forward or scream, the dream shattered, and she woke up to find herself back in her bedroom, a pendant still sitting, right above her chest.