(no subject)
[Private]
I couldn't sleep on the train this morning, nor last night either. Thoughts ran through my mind like butterflies... it was the same way I used to feel before a violin exam, where I felt as if I had to retrace every step, every musical phrase battling each other for dominance in my mind. Only last night my head was filled with fragments of words, of memories, of strategy and emotion and none of it made sense. None of it ended up composing a beautiful concerto.
I'm due to meet Mr Kramer in a few moments. I've never had any trouble talking with adults. I don't see why this one should be any different. I had already picked up Grandfather's mutterings of ''clown'' and ''soft'' about Mr Kramer anyways, (despite never having met him).
This morning he made sure I was on a private coach, with not a soul in sight other than the solitary guard with shielded eyes. He talked of ''dangerous'' times and his fears for my safety. This, the man, who sent his five year old granddaughter to Galbadia Garden without even a second glance. I just ate my grapefruit in silence, excusing myself so I could bring my suitcases downstairs, a simple ''goodbye'' the only sign of our departure; no fake smiles, no tight hugs, words, just formalities, the things I am so very used to.
''Dangerous times'' pass over like ghosts on the lips of every person nowadays, at least in my family circles. It is outlined in the creases of Grandfather's face and the creak of his wheelchair, the bitter way his lips suck at his cigars, the bite in his voice when he thinks of the world outside he used to help run. Well, not now. That is why I'm here I cooed to him, singing out words like ''family honour'', ''respect'' and ''valour''. Words that used to mean something to my family, but are as empty as bullet casings to me.
Dangerous times!
Our family has lived for those times! It is why I know the smell of sulphur more succintly than the smell of my Mother's perfume. It is why I was given swords and not dolls. It is why the Byron family exist. And now he is wrapping me in velvet carriages and doe eyed, undoubtedly sluggish guards.
I still feel the thirst within me, though. It is why I am here. I am a fine piece of ivory waiting to be carved, until the time is just right.