For someone who aspires to be idle, whose hobby list primarily dominates lounging around and career prospects include creative pursuits that do not require much movement—Blaire's fate sure has a lot of running included.
Past the scenic trees and beyond the flower fields, Blaire propels forward as if the ground is lava.
Mid-way through, she hears a school bell go DING, DING, DING, which only inspires her to move faster.
A sharp pain shoots up in the left side of her stomach but she presses her hand over it and continues barrelling forward.
Eventually, the glass doors are in sight. Blaire almost crashes into them but they slide open in the nick of time. Blaire gulps and chooses to turn left, on instinct. She knew that her class was on the Ground Floor but in which direction…she wasn't sure.
Fate must have pitied her last-ditch efforts because Blaire catches a glimpse of Harriet through the very first room. Unfortunately, Fate's hand wasn't as benevolent. So, when Blaire halts at the doorframe, huffing and puffing like she's escaped from a scene of arson, a classroom brimming with polished students and a slender, beady-eyed professor stare at her like the criminal of the said crime.
"Ms. Winston?" the Professor states, voice crisp and controlled. His beady black gaze pierces into a red-faced Blaire, reading every movement from her slouched stance, curled shoulders, sweaty armpits to open-mouthed breathing.
He grimaces visibly as Blaire replies, "Yes Sir!"
"Truly you've got nothing but luck going on for you, Ms. Winston," the man drawls. His thin brows raise in surprise as Blaire agrees, nodding passionately.
"B-b-Bad luck, more like," the ravenette huffs, leaning against the doorframe, "May I come in?" She coughs before asking.
The man scowls, "I would rather you do not but saying that would cost me a pay check you're not worth, so yes, do come in."
"Thank you!" Blaire exclaims and scans the room with a quick turn of her head.
The class is semi-circular in shape with rising platforms as new rows accessible by a staircase in the middle of the room. Each row has five seats on either side, spaced enough to settle a family of four between two students. Blaire climbs up and takes the singular empty seat in the third row. It was the very last row since there were only 30 students in her batch.
Eyes follow her along as she takes a seat and gasps for a fresh breath.
Her table, alike everyone's, is a cabinet-esque desk. It is made out of darkwood with a semi-circular top and a rectangular body. On the right side of her desk are three drawers, two small and one big on the bottom end. On her left is unabashed legroom along with a shelf on the upper side. The seats are akin to thrones with tall backrests and high armrests, yet, against her suspicions, they are very well cushioned.
This is so counter-productive! I could fall asleep so fast!
"As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted, I am Professor Griklaus and I will be managing you for the rest of your first year. I take Princess Education, Discipline and Dance at Charmity. All of them are thoroughly interconnected, evidently."
A frown graces Blaire's forehead. Huh? What the heck was wrong with these subjects?! How…how would they ever help her get a good job in the real world?! WHAT?!
Alarm bells go off in Blaire's head as all the girls nod their heads in eerie synchronisation.
"For starters, I want you to use the nameplate on your desks and write down the purpose you're here to serve. Do you wish to marry up? Do you wish to make richer connections? Or do you wish to join the Royal family?" Griklaus' beady eyes glint with unsaid implications which only make Blaire more uncomfortable.
I thought this place was a serious school?! What the hell, Annalise?!
Blaire cries in her head as she shifts forwards and spots the nameplate on the upper right of her desk. Under the number 26 is her full name and two blank lines. Blaire looks around as everyone opens the first drawer of their desks. She copies and sucks in a harsh breath as a heaven of aesthetic stationary greets her.
Matte pastel-coloured pens, mechanical pencils, colourful tapes, pastel bookmarks, bright highlighters, glitter tubes, stamps, stickers, a glue stick, a pair of scissors, chalk pastels, a brush set and crayons assault her senses in the best way possible.
Blaire screams in her head like an unhinged child.
THANK YOU, ANNALISE! YOU'RE THE BEST SISTER EVER!!!!
With jittery fingers, Blaire picks up a blue pen and squeals over how smooth its exterior is. With an ecstatic heart and healed soul, Blaire dreamily writes on the nameplate: To give the best life to my family. She doodles hearts and stars around the words until Griklaus speaks.
"Now, you are to remember your purpose and channel it in every breath you take. What do you reckon makes a Princess, class? A title? A kind heart? No! It is the way you hold yourself! It is the way you stand up for yourself and those around you! A dishonest and malevolent soul can be a stellar Princess if she channels her viciousness the right way. In this class, we'll learn how to—"
Griklaus is interrupted by many a distracted heads turning towards the door. Whispers rise amidst the students as they sit up straighter and smile harder towards the door.
Blaire's row is at a blind spot but she's equally curious to what's got everyone so evidently disrespecting the professor.
The professor turns his sharp gaze to the door and a scowl wears his face.
"The brightest sun of our Empire," Griklaus states, curtsying, "I believe you graduated last semester. What brings you here?" there's an evident malice in his eyes that has the students frowning towards him.
"Ah, Griklaus, seeing you everyday became such an integral part of my morning…" a deep voice enunciates. Blaire hates herself for recognising it right away. "…that I couldn't stay away," Silas continues, "May I come in?"
"Who would dare to stop the Crown Prince from entering? All of Great Bersileron is yours to stroll in," Griklaus utters, pushing his thin lips in a line.
"Undoubtedly," Silas smiles before stepping inside.
Gasps resonate through the walls as students stand in a curtsey. Blaire too, follows, albeit three beats late from everyone else.
"You may rise," Silas states.
As soon as Blaire looks up, their eyes meet. His gaze holds amusement while hers is widened with panic. Beside Silas' head, in his hand, is Blaire's tablet that he's shaking ever-so-mischievously.
Blaire subtly shakes her head, attempting to hint: DON'T YOU DARE COME UP TO ME!!
Silas' tongue traces the inside of his mouth, one brow raised, as if to say: Is that a challenge, Lemons?
"How can we treat you today, Your Highness, since your intellect surpasses those on a school schedule?" Griklaus interrupts.
"Nevermind me, Garlic, I'm only running an errand."
The world is unsure what was more scandalous: the professor being called Garlic or the Crown Prince running errands in the First Year Class Room.
"E-excuse me?! You're what?!" Griklaus snaps, pacing to the prince's side.
Okay, the World has decided: the Crown Prince running errands was absolutely more scandalous.
Silas ignores the utter chaos he has constructed and walks up the staircase.
Blaire wishes her soul would jump-cut to her body's funeral.
Silas stands beside Blaire's desk and slides the tablet over it. "You forgot it with me," he says, shoving out of context implications down everyone's throat. Then, as if to further metaphorically stab her, he pulls out a small carton of guava juice and places it next to the tablet. "It reminded me of you," he says, arming a killer smile.
Blaire sits as still as a statue, cold and impenetrable by mere words and gazes. If she tries hard enough maybe she could open her third-eye and teleport the fuck away to the north pole.
"See you later," Silas addresses her and walks down the staircase before strolling out of the class.
That little fucker!
"How does she know the Crown Prince?"
"Are they dating?"
"What was that? Isn't he supposed to punish her?!"
"Is this a drama?! Oh! help me! What is happening?!"
"Isn't she the girl from today's newspaper? Did you see her home? It's dingy!"
"She's disgusting. Don't you see her sweaty armpits? Ugh."
"Her?! of all people?! Why not me?!"
"I'm going to ruin her. How dare she covet what's mine?!"
Blaire's stomach twists and churns as bile rises in her throat. She would prefer not to be murdered out of ungrounded jealousy but then again…there's a lot of other things she would prefer over being in that moment. Like, never having taken the coffee cup for starters! Like, not having joined Charmity in the first place! Or, like, not beating up the robbers and earning extra diadem points!! Blaire's brain is riddled with what-ifs and wish-nots while her eyes evade the glares thrown her way.
"Settle down, girls," Griklaus claps from his podium, "This is what I was talking about. Even the most loathsome of souls can be a Princess if they try hard enough! The starting point is unbridled confidence while doing anything…"
Blaire zones out for the rest of the class. Her hands barely move to take notes or even fathom touching the objects over her table. The guava juice sultrily calls out her name but Blaire has to exercise self-control. If she were to pick up the carton, she would be confirming any and all wrong implications associated with it. But if she pretended to be a dummy for long enough…people might forget about her.
Though, 20 minutes into her plan was enough for Blaire to realise that she needs a new strategy. Truly, not only the students of her own row but also those from the first and second were constantly glancing at her. If the bell were to ring, they'd spear her with their stationary and call it an accident.
Harriet's consolatory smiles were the only source of calm in the otherwise violent storm of gazes being shoved at her.
The crown prince should have been the royal jester instead with all the fucking jests he likes to perform with everyone's lives. And for what?! Blaire wonders.
Then, indicating the beginning of her doom, the bell rang.