the pen who gained sentience

News Reporter: As the 'Freedom' magic swells through, more and more objects gain sentience. The onset of memories intertwined with emotions has overwhelmed quite a few unwilling participants onto the path of villainy. Though as Barbie Dolls banding with the Robots in hopes for a World Takeover (rooted in deep hatred over human treatment) are becoming commonalities, there are shocking cases like that of an ancestral pen writing its autobiography which are taking the world by storm!

The entires go as follows:

I remember being crafted by my master. After the searing molten metal was molded into my form, he carved his seal onto my back and forever branded me as his. My master's hands were rugged against my polished finish; he never took care of his hands. They were always calloused, scathed or scratched in one place or the other: I observed for as long as I stayed on his display shelf. Regardless, he held each of my siblings with ardent care, a representation of love for his craft.

I would miss him, I remember thinking, when a contractor claimed me away as a prize for a writing contest. Though, my master's memories would soon be shadowed by the eccentricities of my first owner. 

He was a gentleman by facevalue, a man of refined clothing and graceful eloquence. He smiled charmingly, curtsied to every compliment and housed me proudly within his breastpocket. A scholar, one would think him as, until they'd spend a night in his working quarters against the bright warmth of the kerosene lamps on his limping oakwood table and witness him writing so passionately that his tongue would poke out of his pursed lips.

One would think he's drafting the constitution or writing the Declaration of Independence with such fervor, but no! Oh Master, if you would only witness the utter filth he used me for. His sharp Ts and cursive Gs were using my precious ink for writing erotica! And mind you, he was not poetic about it! He was crass, descriptive and imaginative (trust me, I'd know) within those pages and somehow he made a fortune off of them!

It truly baffles me, to this day, how he accounted his success to me. 

"'tis all because of this pen," he'd say to his friends, as if it were I, an innocent non-sentient object, who was whispering the devil's ideas into his head at the arseclock of dawn! The Audacity! 

That is how the nature of my existence became ancestral. 

I was passed down to my first owner's son, even though he had a perfectly fine daughter who could use me for better purposes, who seemed to inherit his father's exceptional imagination.

Though, my second owner used his imagination for a purpose quite contrasting to his father's. While his father was using me to bring bodies together, my second owner used me to bring bodies apart. Quite literally. No, he wasn't a divorce lawyer. My second owner was a member of the Mafia and he was masterful at coming up with ways to dismember his brothers in Christ. 

He used my delicate head in evil ways, scratching illegible cursive over the parchment, whilst seated in a dingy office with moonlight as his governing agent of sight. No wonder the letters seemed equally threatening as to what they read; and honestly, I would have been fine with such misuse if he wouldn't use his pantpockets as my placeholder.

That was straight up abuse.

And the stench was often nauseating. Not that I could feel it then, though, as everything is coming back to me now, I have since leaked my ink twelve times on the paper while trying to write about him.

Thankfully, he lost me in a gambling debt. I remember being estatic as I was held being passed onto a better man. A man with soft hands and an erudite gleam in his eyes. He combed his blonde hair in different styles everyday and kept me on his well furnished bedroom desk and used me seldom. 

Though, when my third owner did use me...it was somehow even more devious, albeit oddly wholesome and weird. He used me to write letters, love letters, normal isn't it? Yes. His letters were poetic and innocent, often desperate and fervent with emotion — but he drafted them to the man he loved while his illiterate wife would be hanging by his arm, peeking over the parchment and giggling. Never without her.

"I w'nder what yer writin. Is it for me? I do love ye!"

"Of course, my darling, it is for you. I'm always thinking of you and writing of you," he'd reply to his wife, still using his straight and sharp-edged handwriting in the honour of his manly lover. 

His moral delinquency, brought on by the times he lived in, thrived for as long as I remained with that family. Therein, I faced the first traumatic event of my life. There are no pen therapists, but I do insist humans to come forward for this profession because pens genuinely need a grip for their sanity to cling on. We might be mightier than swords only because swords merely kill, while we can do much more than that.

The odd couple eventually had a kid; the kid got its grubby claws on me and ABUSED MY GENTLE NIB-HEAD OVER THE PARCHMENT, SCRIBBLING AND SCRATCHING TO THE POINT WHERE I FELT THE PARCHMENT TEAR AND CRUMBLE IN THE FACE OF MY EVIL MINISTRATIONS. That child made me a criminal, a first degree murderer, and if that wasn't horrible enough, that demon-spawn threw me off the open window.

I was flung down three floors and into the muddy wet fields, traumatized and abandoned. I call that event of my life as APENDONMENT, you get it? yeah? funny? no? My bad. 

Why are you still reading? 

Regardless, those insect infested fields were my new home. At least for a week, I remained unused and degraded, until a dog ran up to me. It peed in my line of sight and we looked at eachother, intently, while he did his business. It was to no one's surprise that the animal found fancy in me, after the quick moment we shared and picked me up in his salivating mouth.

Are you writing that down, my future therapist? Yes, thank you. 

The ten minutes I spent in his slimy mouth felt like a lifetime's worth of goo accumulating in my crevices. I was let go at a middle class doorstep, a little downtrodden albeit homey and picked up by a little girl.

As a wise pen had once said, after all ink-ridden scratches on parchment comes a new ink filter and the smoothest, most flourishing writing.

Finally, my time had come. After all the trials and tribulations, my perfect body worn down by my paint chipping away and my master's mark pierced by a dog's canine — I found a family who accepted me at my worst. They bathed me and placed me in their happening living room, a family of three who ate together and made merry. 

They used me seldom (my ink was expensive) but when they did, it was for honourable purposes. I filled out the little girl's school admission form in that house. I was used to write greetings on birthday cards and sign a deed for a field. My new owners were content with what they had and were always striving to do more for their little girl. 

Placed on top of a cabinet, in a stand of my own, I witnessed the little girl mature into a lady and her parents curve into old gentle souls. Their shaky hands had no use of me anymore and the invention of a telephone line had me forever stuck in my place, steady and observant. I would have felt neglected if the mother did not do her weakly dusting chores whilst humming to a new tune.

She was a beautiful singer and she passed on with a smile on her face. I was used to sign on her Death Certificate and I put my best curves forward in her honour. 

Her husband did not do the dusting after she was gone. He remained on the living room couch, where the family had eaten dinners together, celebrated happiness and hugged eachother in moments of sorrow. He remained there, now alone and staring into the ceiling.

I would have felt lonely but somehow, I knew he was more. Alone but not forgotten; for the last time, I was used to write the little lady's wedding invitation. Her father found his smile again for her husband-to-be was a good man. She took her father into the city after the wedding went through and I was packed up in a box, abandoned on an attic, never to be used again.

Laptops and texting had taken over, I heard as I laid in my bed of dust for many an ages, hoping someone would use me again.

I was made as a tool for a free human society, to be used by those who pursued freedom of passion. Though, when in their hands I begged for a life of my own but now that I have one — I have nothing to do with it. Odd, is it not? 

Freedom

 Aira tapped on the webstory app. Its icon enlarged, burst into colourful confetti and zoomed out to reveal Aira's profile page. Her eyes skimmed over the bell icon in the upper right corner and her shoulders slumped upon its grey sight. No new notifications, comments, reviews or reads.

The whizz of a coffee machine and the scent of vanilla essence sweetened the sense of misery as her thumb tapped on star shape in the lower left corner of the app. A list of trending stories popped up with the first one was titled, 'I was sold off to the Demon King and Now He is Obsessed with Me!' 

Aira rolled her eyes and swapped the screen until she reached the last page; ranked 96th was her story, 'Loss and Loss.' There was only one upvote on her story, eighteen thousand times less compared to the top grossing story. A sigh escaped her lips.

"Aira, no using phone during your shift!" 

Her teeth clenched as she locked her phone and pocketed it in her uniform. She raised her head to pass a stiff smile to Shumaila, her coworker. Shumaila was kind and beautiful with bright doe eyes, full pink lips and skin as white as moonlight. It wrung Aira's heart to work beside someone like Shumaila.

The chime against the door tinkled in arrival of a customer. Instead of heading to Aira's counter, which was in front of him, the man walked over to Shumaila and began reciting his order with a flirtatious glint in his eye. Shumaila giggled ever so slightly as she typed in his order and confirmed the bill. The flush of a smile caused by the customer earned her a good tip in the Tip Jar. 

"One café latte with whipped cream and mint sprinkles coming right up!" Shumaila recited as she tore the printed receipt off the cash counter and handed it over to the customer. His hand lurked over hers a minute more than what one would be considered gentlemanly. Shumaila retreated her hand as soon as he grabbed the receipt and gestured him to wait on the many empty tables for his order to arrive. 

Though, in the four minutes he waited, she couldn't shake the intense gaze presiding her every move. Sweat clamoured in her hands as she passed a smile to Aira and informed, "I'll take a break for a moment, don't mind," before walking inside the 'Employees Only' room. 

She paced to the locker room while wiping her hands on her apron, again and again, until a searing burn agitated her skin. She gulped as she reached in front of her locker and stared dead into the mirror. Everything seemed normal, nothing was weird about her face. Still, she rubbed her palms all over her features to make sure she had no makeup on.

Nothing.

"Shumaila! Are you f**king kidding me?! What are you doing in here instead of serving customers?! Peak morning hour is about to start! I did not hire your pretty face to hide in the lockers!" Raiden, the young manager, shouted as he entered the locker room.

Shumaila flinched at the loudness of his tone and backed into the locker as Raiden infiltrated her personal space. "I—I, you know, I got anxious. I don't do well when I am anxious and there was this man staring—"

Harsh fingers grabbed her face by her cheeks and pushed them together to seal her lips in a pout. "If you are made this pretty then you better f**king get used to being stared at, you s**ty wh**e!" Raiden cursed. He let go of her face with a jerk when tears welled her doe eyes. Her head hit against the locker handle with a loud thud.

Shumaila whimpered as Raiden walked away with a last warning, enraged steps leading him to where he was heading before getting distracted by the crying mess of a lass. "No body wants to work, everybody wants easy money like it will f**king drop off a tree," Raiden grumbled under his breath as he walked through the 'Employees Only' door.

He beelined towards the cash counters and pocketed all the cash from Shumaila and Aira's cases and Tip Jars. "Don't you make you lose money!" He called to his workers before walking out of the café. The cash wad was thick in his pocket and his steps are hasty on the cobbled floor. A walk turned into a jog which eventually morphed into a run as he dashed past the glistening shop windows of high-end stores. He turned round the corner, into an uphill alleyway which led him to a street contrasting the pleasures of life he left behind.

His pace slowed as the smell of accumulated garbage overwhelmed his senses. Small huts lined both sides of the cracked road, buzzing with employment and overpopulation. Even the sun did not shine in this area, Raiden realised as he made to the twelfth hut on the left of the street.

A scream resonated through the neighborhood and the people surrounding the hut made a way for him, decorated by pitiful glances and harrowing sighs. He gulped as he banged open the wooden plank for a door and found his father swinging a blow at his mother.

He gulped, disgusted, his chest heaved and breath hitched, summoning all his courage he shouted, "Stop! Here's the money! Let her go!" He emptied out the cash wad from his pocket, his eyes not leaving his mother's withering self.

"Da fook am i gon do wid dis? Innit too li'l? Wad do ye think, dis won lemme win!! Can ye no' earn even?! Whot a load o' crap I've born!" The father tsked as he snatched the cash from Raiden's hand and swung the wooden log against Raiden's kneecaps. 

The young boy wailed and collapsed to the floor. His mother slithered closer to shelter her son even when her old bones were shivering like the last leaf in a storm. The father tsked at the pathetic sight infront and walked out.

"Watya lookin' at?! Go yer ways, ye swine lot!" He shouted at the crowd standing outside the door. Though, as one last act of mockery, he threw the log he used as a weapon to beat his family inside their house. It landed against the mother's foot, lifeless and unthreatening without a user. 

"Atleast we got a good one for soup tonight," she whispered in her son's ear, her eyes never leaving the thick log. She pulled away from the hug and patted her son's back, "Let's get going." She had a job to do, places to be at and responsibilities to fulfill. 

Her bones ached as she limped downhill, ignoring the stares and whispers following with the wind. Her feet were already swollen from an older beating and new bruises were beginning to form under the long sleeved blouse she had on. Her shoulders were hunched but the corners of her lips remained upturned. Her circumstances did not wear the smile off her face as she rung the bell at a giant mansion's gate.

"Who is it?" The security man asked through the speakers inbuilt in the wall, beside the bell.

"It's Mary," she informed upon which the metal gates buzzed and drew apart. Her small frame tried its best to not limp inside the mansion's lawn. She squared her shoulders even though they hurt her bruised collarbones, she straightened her back even though it felt like she was being stabbed repeatedly by pins and needles, she held her head high even though all she wanted was to fall to the floor and never get up.

She knocked against a richly engraved wooden door and waited patiently until a muffled "Come in," was uttered. Mary twisted the golden handle and entered the spirit scented room. 

"Morning Mary, how are you?" A voice croaked from the elegant king sized bed lined with sapphire and gold. 

"I'm quite fine, how are you Ms. Vasilissa?" Mary asked as she walked up to the lady's side and gently plucked the blanket off her. 

"I'm as good as I can be. Ahsen is supposed to come today, will you send a word to the kitchen after you help me with the loo?" The lady asked. 

"Of course Madam," Mary replied as she slid her hands underneath Vasilissa's armpits and dragged her limp body onto the wheelchair beside the bed. 

"I want the British Rose scent today, if you don't mind," Lady Vasilissa whispered as Mary dragged her feet off the bed and gently placed them one by one on the footrest of the wheelchair.

"Of course Madam," Mary agreed and pushed the wheelchair from one room to another. "Is there a colour you are thinking of today?" Mary asked as she turned the wheelchair around in a circle to let Vasilissa survey the surrounding masses of clothes in the closet room.

"What do you think Mary? What would be the best colour on me?" Lady Vasilissa giggled.

"You trust this old woman's choice too much, Madam," Mary snorted but proceeded to walk up to a set of pink chanel. "Maybe this?" She asked, smiling genuinely.

"I love your choice!" Lady Vasilissa exclaimed. She wanted to clap but she couldn't; old her would have clapped and hugged Mary for choosing a good outfit but now that she was almost hanging off of a wheelchair custom made for her paralysed body, all she could do was smile to convey her gratefulness. 

The bath was set up, the water was warm and the bubbles smelled like British Rose. Old Vasilissa would have had a bottle of wine and a book to go along with the aesthetic while she soaked. Though now, she had a helper to wash her fingers and the corners of her eyes.

"Tell me a story, Mary," Vasilissa stated as the caretaker gently washed every part of her body like it was her own. 

"Of course Madam," Mary replied and began narrating a love story. A story which Vasilissa could have turned into reality if she were her former self, playing the violin at the Grand Theatre and married to the love of her life. Though, the only romance now left in her life was Mary's unbridled kindness.

After the bath, Mary helped Vasilissa get dressed and set her up for breakfast. 

"Why'd do you always treat me so nicely even when I am nothing now. All my staff left after the accident, Mary, you're the only one who keeps coming back," Vasilissa sighed as Mary fed her a spoonful of cereal. 

"You're like my own," Mary replied simply, having seen Vasilissa grow up more than her own son. She gently wiped the corners of Vasilissa's mouth and fed her another spoon. 

"I should have paid you much better when I had the chance to." 

Mary wheeled the wheelchair to the living room and left Vasilissa alone with her guest. From her line of sight, Vasilissa could only see Ahsen if he were crouching or kneeling in front of her. Old Vasilissa would have pierced people's eyes if they witnessed the love of her life kneeling on the ground but this Vasilissa was pathetic enough to bring fall to him.

"G'day sunshine," Ahsen greeted her with a kiss pressed to her lips. "I've missed you," he said as he held her head in his hands and straightened its droopiness to meet his eye. "You've lost weight?" He frowned when he couldn't feel the former squishiness of her cheeks. "I was gone for a week and that maid was being lazy?! I'll just—"

"Shhh, calm down Ahsen, it's not their fault. I had a bad stomach recently," Vasilissa said. Her instincts urged to run a hand through her lover's lush hair but all she could do was stare in his eyes and convey her love. 

"Bad stomach?" Worry laced his tone and his hand reached her stomach, "Are you okay? What happened? Why didn't you tell me? Did you take meds?" 

Vasilissa wanted to laugh, throw her head back at his cuteness and hug him so tight that she could hear his heartbeat against her ear. Old Vasilissa would have done so but this one could only pinch her cheeks up.

"Of course, it wasn't anything bad, it overate noodles again," she stated. 

Ashen and Vasilissa caught up after he picked her up from the wheelchair and laid her on the sofa with her head resting in his lap. He ran his fingers through her hair as they reminisced their past. When it was time to leave, Ahsen settled Vasilissa back in her bed and pressed a kiss against her forehead.

"I'll see you soon, okay? Miss me," he kissed her cheeks and stood up.

"I always do," Vasilissa replied with the same love in her eyes that she used to have. Something tightened in Ahsen's chest as he locked the door behind him and walked through the darkened hallways of a once shining mansion. 

Tears whelmed his eyes at the thought of what his beloved was going through. She used to be the brightest shining star of the high society and now that she had stopped burning, everyone who used to clamour around her had disappeared. His love was treated so wrongly by the world but his love never complained about the mistreatment.

Why was his love so good?

Ahsen pressed a hand against his heart and settled on the entry footsteps of the mansion. Visiting Vasilissa every week crumbled his spirit. He wanted peace but he couldn't let his beloved be abandoned yet again, not when he was alive and breathing after all that happened.

Ahsen pulled out his phone from his coat pocket and opened up the Webstory app. Every week, visiting Vasilissa, he is reminded to publish a new chapter of, 'I was sold off to the Demon King and Now He is Obsessed with Me!' Vasilissa loved the escapism it provided her and if that was the only thing he could do for his beloved after getting married behind her back, then so be it.

The Star In Your Eyes — 1

— prologue 

Russia, 2010.

The Baudelaire family was at the Pavlov Ice Rink, celebrating the acquisition of the biggest Ice Park in Moscow. Mr. Baudelaire's eyes sparkled with expectations of hoarding profits; Mrs. Baudelaire's eyes sparkled because she finally found an ocassion to wear her teardrop diamond necklace in public and little Edwina Baudelaire's big blue eyes sparkled at the prospect of skating in the rink.

The Sinclair family was there to promote their political propaganda, something along the lines of 'An Agile Youth is Future's Fruit!' Mr. Sinclair was the guest of honour, beaming for every camera in the vicinity. Mrs. Sinclair had spied Mrs. Baudelaire's necklace from the entrance and beelined to make queries about its authenticity; following her mother was little Kiersten Sinclair.

"You fancy skating?" 

Edwina whisked her head from the Ice Rink to face Kiersten's expectant green gaze. The little ravenette's jaw hung open as she eyed the beauty in front of her. From underneath the furry brown cap, blonde hair, thick and shiny like a doll's, gently spread out and framed the girl's dainty face. Her lashes were long enough to catch snowflakes, her nose was as straight and sharp as a skate blade and her lips were pink and pillowy — captivating Edwina in a trance.

"Wow... you're awfully pretty," Edwina gasped, "You're like a Princess!"

Kiersten smiled; hers was a proud Sinclair smile with her chin jutted up, cheeks pushed and eyes crinkling just enough to convey genuineness. It didn't mean she was faking a smile to Edwina, no, she was just taught to smile that way.

"You're not bad yourself," Kiersten observed as her green stare scrutinized Edwina's curly dark hair, milky pale skin and eyes as blue as a stormy night. "Rather, I think you're prettier," Kiersten remarked, always one-upping a compliment in the Sinclair fashion.

They were eight; kids, on an ice rink. Edwina's sharp skates glided swiftly as she meandered across the ice, smiling in awe as Kiersten elegantly skated over the glistening surface— slow, dainty and precise — before she leapt into the air for a spin, her silver dress making her shine like a star in Edwina's eyes.

As the star descended to the ground, her balance faltered, her arms flailed, her blade caught awkwardly onto the ice and her eyes widened in horror. Kiersten was about to fall when Edwina sped to her side, grabbed her hand and pulled her into a steady spin. 

"I got you, starshine," Edwina winked after catching Kiersten's nervous gaze. A small smile eased onto the blonde's face, one in which she was wasn't deliberately crinkling her eyes or pushing her cheeks. 

That night, Edwina begged her mother to meet the Sinclairs on a weekly basis. Mrs. Baudelaire readily agreed because she had her mind set on organising a soiree to launch some underrated jewellery designers to the elite.

From skating in the ice rink to performing at the inauguration of Baudelaire Jewels with Kiersten singing in her angelic voice and Edwina as her violin accompaniment, they remained inseparable.

The store launch was an elaborate affair and the hall was decked in sparkling jewels and shining stones hanging off of the ceiling, captivating the two girls with their brilliance.

"I would marry in a place like this," Kiersten announced, green eyes jumping from the women's bejewelled gowns to the gem studded walls.

"I'll marry by your side," Edwina giggled, head craned at the sparkling ceiling. "You can sing at my wedding," she added with a wink.

"You must play the wedding march at mine," Kiersten replied, now eyeing the sparkling shoes adorning every foot.

"Of course, I'd love to! Our grooms would be so handsome!" Edwina exclaimed as she looked down and spotted the chocolate fountain. 

"And very rich, of course, but we'll be the prettiest," Kiersten flicked her perfect blonde hair.

 

"Yes indeed, now let's have some chocolate, shall we?" Edwina grinned.

At twelve, the Sinclairs urged to send their daughter off to boarding school and the fear of seperation from the object of her admiration had Edwina abandoning all hobbies and social life to join her best friend in England, Charterhouse School.

London, 2015.

"Miss Baudelaire, Miss Sinclair, pray tell, what fancy do you find in Mr. Thornwaite? Surely the back of his head cannot be as intresting as the chemical equations taught by Mr. Brimsley, or is it?" Headmistress Lovelace asked with a clenched jaw. 

On top of her desk were two open notebooks, the top of the page headlined "ALKALIS" while the rest of Edwina's page was a sketch of the boy's small curly head and wide shoulders, widened enough to host an ocean underneath. The rest of Kiersten's page was ill-rhymed poetry about the boy's hair being as dark as an eclipsed sky. 

The girls in question stood in front of their respective notebooks, head hung low in the facade of shame. 

"We're sorry, Miss Lovelace, we shall reflect upon our blunder," Edwina whispered.

"Oh, will you now? I'd say it's a pity for your artistic talent, Miss Baudelaire," The headmistress tsked and turned her head to the Thornwaite boy, standing with his back facing the headmistress. "As wide as the ocean..." She dragged under her breath, eyes glaring at the boy's considerably narrow shoulders. "No, I don't see it. Your perspective has failed to convince me. Detention for a month!" She banged her notebook shut.

The three students flinched at the intensity of the bang.

"Miss Lovelace, I am sorry, but what about my perspective?" Kiersten asked, a hint of urgency in her tone which did not escape any. Edwina could not help but snicker as Headmistress Lovelace said:

"Oh, yes please, let me read it out loud. In a village dim

lived Thornwaite slim,

Hair black as eclipsed sky, 

heart fierce, not dim.

Shoulders not broad,

 but spirit high,

In his journey bold, 

he'll touch the sky.

Your poetic prowess, Miss Sinclair, remains unparalleled because any poetess who wrote as bad would propel herself into the Thames. I like your confidence though, so, a two month detention for you." 

Headmistress Lovelace gently flicked the notebook towards Kiersten, urging her to leave the room instantly. The two girls skittered out of the room, notebooks in hand, giggling.

"A— and what about me, Miss Lovelace?" Thornwaite asked, still not daring to turn.

"Shift your seat to somewhere behind those girls, will you, lad?" Miss Lovelace rolled her eyes and flicked her hand, "Off you go now. Tsk Tsk." 

The boy too ran out of the office room, thankful that he got no punishment. He rounded the hallway corner and was instantly pinned to the wooden wallboards by Kiersten's arms. Edwina stood beside her, smirking as the boy sighed.

"Geez, I cannot believe you both started bickering over an analogy in the middle of class! I hate you two!" The boy scowled, though he did not resist Kiersten's imposition.

"It was an important part of the art we were creating. Give us the money now, you'll be famous starting next period," Edwina chimed and extended a hand for payment.

The boy dug into his pockets and pulled out fourty Euros and placed them in Edwina's hand.

"Nice doing business with you," Kiersten flicked his forehead and stepped back. The two girls locked their arms and skipped away, leaving a breathless boy behind. 

To be popular at Charterhouse School, to feel validated enough, to feel complete, one couldn't help but make a deal with the Devil's Duo. They were beautiful, they were powerful, they were cunning, they were shameless and they were wanted. If not to be with them, then to be them.

Though, they saw one one else but eachother. They trusted no one else but eachother. A smile earned from Kiersten meant climbing up the appearance social ladder. A conversation earned from Edwina meant an year's worth of not being ignored. 

Thornwaite did not know where the rules came from or who made them, but that's just how the world around them worked. 

But, as easily as Devil's Duo wielded the power to raise a person — just as easily they could make him fall. Especially, the begrudged Kiersten Sinclair.

The blonde propped herself on top of the teacher's desk and slung a hand around a classmate's shoulder, "I shouldn't tell you, but I'm afraid that if I keep it to myself then it'd cause something big," she began with a whisper, "You have two brothers here, don't you? Keep them away from Professor Brimsley, will you? He has a thing for young boys. I heard him pestering Thornwaite last evening so Eddie and I thought to openly pursue the poor pretty lad, but blimey! He had us reported to the headmistress and got us detention! Evil sod, Stay safe, please."

Her beautiful face contoured into that of pure grief as she jutted her lower lip and mushed her brows together. The horrified classmate merely nodded, unable to process the information as Kiersten patted the girl's back and waited for the spark of her fire to spread into the forest yet burn only a singular tree. 

As students started avoiding Professor Brimsley and young boys begun cowering in his presence, matters were taken to investigation. The fire of whispers was too large and the accusations too many. Though Mr. Brimsley was the only accused, two different Professors had a trail of harassment cases burning behind their backs as students started speaking up — partially out of spite, partially out of honesty.

The children of power held a word of power; consequently, all three of the Professors were sacked and Headmistress Lovelace resigned. The girls graduated school, with Edwina never knowing about the rumour Kiersten sourced.

Edwina wanted to study at Oxford and Kiersten wanted to take a gap year to establish a business in New York City. So, a break was what Edwina took.

California, 2019.

"Star, NYC is horribly expensive! Why do you think we'll be able to succeed at a Pearl Ornamental business? Literally everyone has pearls in their business, even small Youtuber business have real pearls!" Edwina argued whilst sipping on a coconut as they lounged on a beach, under the blazing sun.

"Yes, but, you have a background in business! The Baudelaires are an empire! Business giants! And I'm not talking about cheap pearl necklaces, I'm talking about a specialisation in Pearl everything! Sculptures, Jwellery, dresses, accessories — only for the elite! They love that shit!" Kiersten countered, sipping on her orange juice.

"It's been a while since I talked to my parents, you know they only want me to inherit their business. They do not support this gap year nonsense," Edwina whined.

"Come on, don't call it nonsense! We needed a hot girl summer and some bonding hours between bad bitches," Kiersten sighed a pleasant sigh.

"Yes yes yes," Edwina berated, "That's why I'm here, aren't I, star?" 

"Aren't you the most precious!" Kiersten flung off her lounge chair and attacked Edwina in a hug. The ravenette gasped as Kiersten began tickling her and they both descended to the sandy beach, rolling, laughing and screaming their youth away.

A month later, Edwina received the news of her parents' untimely death. A mishap on the chef's part led to a fire at the Baudelaire Mansion and Mr. and Mrs. Baudelaire soon passed away from monoxide poisoning. 

Edwina wailed at the foot of her parents' coffins, her body trembling with regret. Rain poured down the heavens but instead of washing away her remorse, it merely added weight on her shoulders. She sank into the dirt, having lost her family in pursuit of a star. 

The star which stood equally soaked beside her, holding her as she wheezed. A star who suddenly did not feel all that bright under the raging skies; A star whose embrace made Edwina feel captive. So, she twisted herself out of Kiersten's hug and stepped away, her chest heaving.

"I'll, I must, I will honour my parents wishes. I, I'm sorry. I will be going to Oxford and inheriting the business. We'll have to cut the break short," Edwina announced, standing at the foot of her parents' graves. The sky matched her eyes as evening dawned upon them, thundering at the behest of Edwina's sorrow. 

Kiersten stood still, her beautiful face schooled to show concern with a curve of her brows and widening of her eyes. Her lips remained parted but no words came out of them as she stood, deathly still, staring at Edwina's beautiful form curled into a sobbing mess.

"Will you come?" The ravenette whispered, eyes pained yet expectant as she asked. It would be the first time Edwina wasn't chasing her Star but asking it to come to her instead. 

"No," Kiersten replied, the simple word metaphorically plunging Edwina's heart out and letting her bleed dry on the cold stone. Her expression remained unchanged.

"I see," Edwina gulped, wiping the tears off her already wet face. The rain did not stop, it kept weighing her down — crumbling her spirits and morale until what was left was a shell of her limbs standing, as it said, "I'll see you then." 

Kiersten nodded, the schooled concern not leaving her face. Her hands hung uselessly, eyes staring dead at her childhood friend who lost all of her family over night. Her beautiful manicure was ruined because of the funeral, it was such a shame. "Okay then," Kiersten said with a nod. 

They parted ways with heavy hearts and barren eyes. Uncertainty grappled their future and fogged their perspective. Edwina knew how to ice skate, stable and fast, but she did not know how to jump. Kiersten knew how to ice skate elegantly and jump, but she did not know how to land. They'd always been beside eachother to complete the eachother — Eddie's Star and Star's Eddie were the crux of their identities. 

London, 2019.

'What now?' is what Edwina thought as she was on a plane with an Oxford acceptance letter in her bag. And it would be the last time she'd think of her star, in a while, for at Oxford she rekindled her relationship with the now Professor Lovelace, in the Department of Business Administration. 

Professor Lovelace's expectations added pressure in the face of her competence, consequently making her shine like a diamond; and all that gitter attracted gold. Rubeus Arnold was the golden boy of business administration and it seemed befitting for him to be up-close and personal with the golden girl's business. 

In his pursuit of Edwina, for three years, he only met the face of rejection on every turn.

Her argument being, "I'm not looking for short term flings or relationships. I have lost enough, as it is," which compelled Rubeus to impale her with the question, "Will you marry me instead?" before graduation.

It was a snowy day; the park was lit up with golden lights and they twinkled like burning stars in a dawny sky. Snowflakes trickled down and settled inside the silver wrapping paper of the Ferrero Rocher bouquet he was holding in her face. 

It felt so familiar to the day she had promised to marry by Kiersten's side. The sudden memory left her heart thundering and hands clammy within the confines of her gloves. The mere prospect of an opportunity to see Kiersten again had Edwina saying, "Yes," to Rubeus.

Me:

I'm getting married.

Her text remained on delivered for two whole days before Kiersten replied.

Star:

Where?

Edwina's fingers itched to reply instantly but she waited. She calmed her zooming senses but couldn't stop the smile that graced her face. It had been a while. It had been so long. She had missed her.

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Edwina flung her phone on the bed and headed towards the door, thankful for a distraction at hand. An order of new paints was due that day and she opened the door expecting it to be the delivery person.

But damn heaven for the wind was knocked out of her lungs. She thought she'd be fine, but she wasn't. She had thought about it, a handful of times (during the shower, in the middle of brunch or to pass time during an awfully boring management class) over the three years, but she was never prepared for the reality. Tears brimmed her eyes and her chest heaved in exasperated breaths, her hands shook, unaware of their usefulness and her knees buckled.

Though, before she could hit the marbled floor, a pair of hands grabbed her by the arms and pulled her in a hug.

"Couldn't come 'cause of the damned Pandemic," Kiersten tsked, running a hand through Edwina's curly hair. "How could you even think of getting married without me involved, bitch," she cursed and pulled the ravenette's limp body in a tighter hug.

"I-I, uh- I," Edwina sobbed, "I missed you!" She cried out loud.

It took Edwina three whole hours to let go of Kiersten. The ravenette had wrapped her arms around the blonde's shoulders and followed her all over the place as Kiersten helped herself with food and water. 

"Who's he? Is he good? Let me assess him," Kiersten asked after they were done catching up. 

"You'll love him! He's pretty handsome and nice, smart as well!" Edwina chirped as she sought out her phone and called Rubeus to meet up.

In the twenty-two years of her life, Edwina had lived a good eleven by Kiersten's side. Hence why, unquestionably so, Kiersten took charge of Edwina's wedding as the Maid of Honour. She was better at executing things anyway and Edwina trusted her choices way more than her own.

In the morning of the surprise bachelorette planned by Kiersten, Edwina received a call from Professor Lovelace. Since she was about to graduate and be wedded, Professor Lovelace wanted to congratulate her oldest student in person.

"Good Morning Professor, you summoned me?" Edwina greeted and placed the basket of fruits she'd brought for the aging lady.

"Ah, fruits!" Professor Lovelace smiled, wrinkled and warm, "Thank you, dear. Yes, I did summon you," she mimicked the way Edwina used the word 'summoned' as if she were a maid and the Professor were her mistress.

"What can I help you with, Milady," Edwina joked as she took the chair in front of the desk upon the professor's gesture. She noticed the cleared out table and the boxes sitting beside it. "Are you leaving, Professor?" She asked with a frown on her face.

"Ah, yes and before leaving, I wanted to give you a gift, Edwina dear. I've met a good number of people in my life, yes, but I've never quite seen someone give their all to every little thing like you do. Always so detailed," she reminisced the ocean underneath the Thornwaite boy's shoulders where each fish had detailed scales and individual air bubbles. 

"Ah, you flatter me!" Edwina flailed her hands with embarassment.

"You've got great potential and a brilliant future," Professor Lovelace slid an envelope towards her. "You probably won't need it, but I'm sure, it'll suit you well," she urged.

Edwina picked it up and flipped it over to read, 'Letter of Recommendation.'

"Yeah, I probably won't need it. I'm halfway through the inheritance process at home. My house is a mess with wedding and office documents, but thank you, I appreciate it. May I help you with the moving, Professor?" She asked, pointing at the taped cartons beside the table.

"No no, I've got a lad on it, get going now. Live your life and become happy. I'll check in after a few years; you better be the most accomplished woman by then." 

Edwina laughed at that, "I think you're forgetting Kiersten. She'll take the cake with that wish."

Professor Lovelace furrowed her brows at that, "I reckoned you weren't friends anymore?"

"We are though. She's got my bachelorette planned tonight!" Edwina chirped.

"Be wary of that lass. She was the one who started those rumours about Brimsley." 

Edwina mulled that thought in her head all the way to the party hall. Why would Kiersten start a rumour about Professor Brimsley? She had no motive! That's such a dumb proposition. Kiersten was sly, but she wasn't outright evil to frame pedophilia on an innocent man. Surely, age was getting to Professor Lovelace's head. No wonder she was going on a break.

Edwina's bachelorette was the event of the year. The place was brimming with people she didn't even know and drinks were thrusted into her system ever since she stepped through the doorframe. By time Edwina reached the third floor, she was half dazed between words and thoughts.

She remembered Kiersten approaching her. She remembered dancing with her. She remembered a few girls stripping her to get her more comfortable and away from the heat.

But she did not remember Kiersten pushing her onto a pile of naked girls and clicking pictures. She did not remember Kiersten holding her hand and forcing her to sign off her inheritance. She did not remember Kiersten dumping her, barely clad, on the cold cobbled road of the Red Light District.

She only remembered waking up to the horror of men prodding at her limp body, leering in her face. 

You Make Me Feel Special 1

— prologue 

Fall brought along the crunch of dead leaves, the opportunity to wear one jacket for the next five months, dull colours that did not confuse her with variety, and him. 

Middle school – they were eleven and the morning wind was exceptionally dry. He wriggled his hands behind his back to activate the lotion and keep his hands moist. He was standing in front of a new class, beside a new teacher, on the brink of stepping into a whole new world. 

The autumn glow painted the desks gold, everything and her under the sunlight seemed as if touched by the angels.

"Introduce yourself," the class teacher said.

He smiled, like he was taught, and introduced himself, "Hello, I'm Carden. I like video games and sports, nice to meet you." His eyes skimmed over his new classmates, wondering if they would accept him. Most stared back at him with practiced stoic faces as expected of students of an elite academy. Though, when no one rose to occasion, she did. 

A girl jumped up from her seat and exclaimed with a powerful wave of her hands, "Hello Carden! I'm Soleia," as if she were standing on top of a lighthouse guiding his lost ship by the sheer force of her brilliant smile. He was young, life was relatively simple and she caught his attention like a flame to his moth.

"Hey…" Carden said with a drag in his words, unsure of what to make of this sudden welcome.

Soleia pointed at the empty desk beside her, ignoring the awkwardness emanating from the boy, and demanded, "Teacher! Let him sit beside me!"  

"Ah, yes, it would be a good idea to sit with Soleia! She's the smartest in the class and she can help you with everything…quite possibly, yes, she is very resourceful. Somehow," the teacher informed Carden, awkwardly clearing her throat and frowning in between words.

"Fine by me," Carden whispered with a shrug and headed towards her, hoping the lighthouse guide navigated him to a safe destination. 

When he placed his bag on the desk beside hers, she ran a hand over its shiny black leather and flicked a diamond looking stud. Her eyes were wide with bewilderment and her mouth slightly agape.

"Are you done?" he asked, amused by the fascination she found in his bag.

"It's really good," Soliea complimented, coughing awkwardly.

"Thank you," he took a seat and hung the bag by the hook on the desk. 

Autumn was perfect for classes, Carden realised, for it was not too hot to concentrate or too cold to laze around. Autumn was perfect to witness Soleia raise up like a spring in a jumpscare box, answering questions, asking questions, making notes but also making sure to lean into his side to explain little titbits that others seemed to have missed. 

After class, students would hoard her desk. She shared her notes generously with her classmates, for the meagre amount of five dollars per subject and did everyone's homework for the cheap amount of fifteen dollars for all but math— which was priced at an audacious twenty-five dollars.

One would think those astronomical prices for eleven-year-olds would keep Soleia's profits at bay, but no—theirs was a school for conventionally well-off folks and Soleia was able to make it owing to scholarships. Rich folks preferred an easy life and as the crisp notes under her plastic pencil-case would increase, so would her desire to make their life easier. It was a win-win, Carden noticed.

The world seemed easy for Soleia, as Carden often observed from his desk with his head resting over his arms. She got along with people, knew what jokes would bring out laughs and always asked for the well-being of pets if anyone had one. She was considerate and always did an excellent job at everyone's homework, he knew because Carden had yet to get anything but an A+ all semester long. Without even lifting a pen.

Autumn was no season for admiration but Soleia would bloom like a fall flower.

It was easy, liking her and enjoying her company, for her doe eyes would shine big and bright whenever she would get a question right or win at a race. Ah, she was pretty sporty as well and delightfully beautiful if one would notice her for long. The world seemed to be her oyster and she shined like a real pearl within it.

Everything was biased for her and that everything soon included Carden.

It was slightly unfair how quickly he got used to her company, her sitting beside him and the tangential ramblings of facts with her eyes strained on the paper in front. The little taps of her pencil which annoyed him at first soon became a constant as winter came along. If she would move seats to explain coursework to another classmate, Carden would feel oddly left behind. Her helpful nature was not personally confined to him and how annoyed he would feel when she would shower her attention on other people. That was the thing with Soleia, she was very just with her distribution of attention. It was saddening, really, because when she had waved so brightly at his first day and demanded he sit next to her—Carden really thought he was special.

Winter made him realise that Soleia's warmth was meant to be shared. That was the thing with her. She made everyone feel special. 

The summer they were twelve, she held his hand and asked him, "Do you want to do something with me?"

Carden, not having much to do, agreed right away.

"I was planning to sell these," she said as she dug her hands in her old school bag and pulled out a bunch of cut-outs. Carden picked them up and upon further inspection he noticed that they were small drawings that she had cut out like stickers. "I made these over the winter. I'm planning to make those into book marks and sell them," she clarified.

That was a neat little idea for summer, Carden smiled.

"So, where do I come in this?" he asked, curious and amused.

She looked him dead in the eye, her dark head absorbing all the summer sun shining behind, and said, "You fund the stall and the books, we split 60-40, what do you say?" Her finger flicked through the innumerable stickers, cautiously. 

Carden laughed out loud, with his head thrown back and shoulders shaking. She was like a withering leaf blowing with the summer wind.

"You're very funny," he wheezed after wiping his tears, still breathing hard as he looked at her. 

"Thank you, I try," she deadpanned and raised a thumbs up in his face.

"I'll do it. I'll help you," he agreed, after containing his laughter and resting properly in his seat.

"Oh, will you?" she asked, rhetoric, eyes wide and bright. 

He laughed again.

"Yes, but you'll have to be my best friend and eat lunches only with me."

"Of course! I would love to!" she cried and jumped him in a hug. Her slender arms circled his shoulders and her chin rested awkwardly behind his head. Summer was hot enough but her hug did not annoy him.

Carden's grandparents were overjoyed by his proactiveness and took not a thought longer to fund him. All summer long, they made a decent handful of profits.

Soleia would hunch over coursebooks and extra homework that she had been commissioned to complete in between sales breaks and as soon as she was done shoving the food down her stomach, she would be running around to bring in customers whilst Carden stayed and looked over the shop.

She worked hard, he noticed. Maybe life wasn't easy for her after all.

It brought an odd sense of peace to his mind. 

Over the summer, he noticed a lot about her—more than he had whilst being her seatmate. During school hours she was always busy pouring over books, living in the moment of her routine life, but here he saw a different side of her. He noticed the subtle jut of her lower lip when something was not going her way, or the small frown on her forehead when customers would misplace the bookmarks. She would do tiny claps after every successful sale and eat a bite of her dry sandwich. She would usually inhale her food in a breath—as if eating was the biggest waste of time in her life—but when she was working, or studying, the bites would get slower and the chewing longer.

Much like a cow.

It amused him.

The next summer, she had the bold audacity to ask him to fund for Terrariums. They were a hot trend and Soleia wanted to jump the money-making ship. 

This time, he did not laugh in her face for he was genuinely intrigued by the sales pitch she was sharing—complete with a printed document of pros and cons, crisp and hot in his hand. She went on and on about how they would surely make no losses, so Carden had to do what he did.

Schedule an appointment for her, with his grandfather. Obviously. 

It was a warm sunny day and Soleia was appropriately sweating—for all different reasons—as she was being escorted through the wide expanse of the Walker Estate. Through his window, Carden could see her slender figure following the butler with small steps and shrunken shoulders; so unlike the bold Soleia he knew. She seemed out of place and so new to him.

He wanted to see more of her, but she disappeared out of his line of sight. Carden ran down the stairs, skipping two at a time—an act that would give his maids a life-threatening heart attack — and reached down to see her enter the foyer. His panting breath was veiled under a smile as he saw her walk inside, wearing a not-so-crumbly crème dress with obnoxious red roses and hair tied in a tight pony-tail. He choked out a laugh, "I can always count on you to not hold up appearances."

Her lost eyes brightened upon sighting him and she waved with vigour, "Your home is very big, like a castle!" 

Carden, on the other hand, had tried hard to look perfect for her first visit. He had oiled his blonde hair and combed them in a neat side part. He had his custom Dior dress-suit ironed by the maids a day before, he looked perfect in it, paired with Gucci sandals to keep the look casual and not earn side-eyes from his grandfather.  

But one could count on Soleia to never notice appearances. 

"Thank you," Carden mocked a bow as he paced to stand by her side. "I see you come prepared, nervous?" he asked as he took her bag off her shoulders and handed it to the butler.

"I would not say nervous. Terrified? Yes. Horrified? Yes. I wrote a will and a letter, everything, before leaving home, just in case I die here today. I am very accepting of my mortality," she informed with pursed lips and a grim nod.

This time, Carden laughed out loud. There was always a new layer to unfold.

"Don't be silly, grandpa loves people like you. Trust me, I'd know," he encouraged her with a little pat on the back.

"Good then, we love grandpa too!" Soleia exclaimed, grinning wide, and raised two thumbs-up in his face. 

"Oh, do you now? I'm highly obliged." A husky voice resounded in the foyer, raising goosebumps on Soleia's arms and legs. She was pale as paper, wide eyed, yet her feet headed towards the elderly figure and her back bent into a respectful bow.

Did she really think he was a king or something?!

"The honour is all mine," Soleia curtsied, face laced with a bright smile.

Carden would be fooled by the eloquence, almost, if he had not seen her fidgeting fingers by her dress' hem.

Grandpa laughed as Carden ran up to make introductions, "Soleia, Grandpa Walker. Grandpa, Soleia Manchester." 

"Ah, good, good, I have heard a lot about you," Grandpa patted her head as she gave him a sheepish smile. 

"All good things, I suppose?" she asked with a cheeky glint in her eye.

"Too many, almost every dinner. I'm sure I know you just as much as my grandson does," he laughed, much like Carden's laugh, but a little louder and heartier. "Come along in my study, let us see what you are proposing."

"Yes sir!" Soleia exclaimed with such military force that all she lacked was a salute and foot stomp.

It made grandpa laugh again. "You can call be grandpa or papa, whatever floats your boat…as you young folks say. Sir is…too much for us, considering you love me and all that. Right?" he chuckled with a twinkle in his old grey eyes.

"Oh! I could not, grandpapa!" Soleia smiled and the elderly man gave her a nod of recognition.

"Grandma isn't home today. She's visiting her friend's gardens or something," Carden informed as they made their way to his grandfather's study.

"Oh, she likes flowers? Then she would surely like our Terrarium! I shall make one for her!"

Thirteen-year-old Soleia had pitched the idea in elaborate detail and within a month, they were making small profits. She had an eye for business, or maybe she was surrounded by kindness, or maybe she was just blessed. Soleia Manchester lived a good life, through and through.

Soon, just lunches with her were not enough. She'd eat too quick and leave too fast. They never talked if not for coursework, new projects or his grandparents. 

It was like he did not know her by her words…but only through his observations. 

Who was Soleia Manchester beyond her unruly black hair, big brown eyes, ink-stained hands and ever crumpled uniform? Why was she always in such haste? Why did she like earning money so much? What was her favourite colour? Did she have a favourite snack? How much money would she take to fail a semester?

She was full of mysteries to him. Mysteries he could not unravel. Yet. 

The next summer she produced a play by Oscar Wilde and he was her male lead, Earnest. That summer she earned money all by herself, stitching costumes on the side whilst telling the committee that she outsourced them. He knew because he noticed, like always, the bandages increasing on her fingers during early practices, the threads that would stick to her clothes and hair, or the extra fabric that would sometimes peek out of her school bag. 

The same bag she had been using for as long as he knew her. He should gift her a bag but he did not even know her birthday. She never celebrated it like everyone else did. And above all, he felt a bit excluded.

Even though their summer of fourteen was not solely a joint endeavour between them, he enjoyed being her male lead. She had a vision, a way of manifestation, a sense of coherence that brought everything together. 

The elaborate sets, the extravagant outfits, the whimsical soundtracks—it was not hard to say that the play was a collaborative success. The teachers had planned an after party for the kids but she never stayed.

Soleia made everyone feel special on normal days, but she was never present on special occasions.

One afternoon, way into winter, they were sitting in a library; him lounging with a book in hand just to stay in her company and her head pouring over books and papers. 

"Hey, Sol, when's your birthday?" Carden asked, making it sound as casual as one, who had been planning to ask since summer, could.

She stopped abruptly, jutted her lower lip and narrowed her eyes, as if in deep thought. Then, she turned to face him and shrugged, "I don't know, I am orphan. No one told me."

Oh.

Wow.

That was a piece of information to receive almost four years into a friendship. 

Carden was stunned to say the least. His mouth could not form words legible enough to convey whatever he did not know he felt. Pity? A sense of relief that she did not have it all? Sadness? Comradery because his parents were dead too? An understanding of her morbid sense of humour?

"Oh." He worded-out, eloquently. 

She nodded with an amused smile.

"So, can I give you a birthday?"

Her eyes widened, brows raised up in exasperation, "Oh?"

He nodded with an amused smile. She did not seem like she was going to elaborate on her living circumstances and he did not want to pry. Instead, he closed her books and notes, taking her hand in hers. 

"Come with me," he said, shoving their stuff in his bag.

"But I still have so much to do!" she exclaimed, quite scandalized as he disrespectfully shoved her books in his bag.

"It's fine, work can wait. Give me one evening."

It was the fifteenth of November as he held her hand and led her down the snow fed street, into a warmly lit bakery and bought her a birthday cake. It was a cold day as he held onto both their bags and the cake whilst forcing her to buy a warm coat she liked. It was a random Friday, she had ten notes to complete and three homework assignments to ace. Buying a school bag and shoes were not on her to-do list, Carden knew, but he was not one for taking no as an answer and she was not all that reluctant, surprisingly. 

She was fourteen so he stuffed fourteen candles in her cake and sang the birthday song on top of his lungs, embarrassing them in front of the whole café. She cut the cake, begrudgingly, yet her eyes shone with a grateful sparkle. 

The evening was young and they ate all the street food there was. Carden discovered that Soleia liked spicy food. She wouldn't stop even when her eyes were watering and mouth would turn into a mere senseless space. She really liked eating food, contrary to his observatory believes. She savoured her bites, moaned and sang praises with every swallow and could not thank him enough. This, again, was something new.

Carden had never seen this side of her before.

The flushed face, bright eyed, obligatory gratefulness. She looked beautiful in winters, they suited the darkness of her hair, the mystery of her eyes and the rosiness of her happiness. 

Carden was proud of himself for planning an impromptu successful birthday.

"Thank you for today. I will never forget this," she said as they parted ways that night, her arms filled with more than she could carry.

"Well, I hope not. This is your birthday after all," Carden replied with a chuckle and waved her goodnight.

As winter watered down under the summer sun, questions regarding their future became clearer and within sight.

"What do you want to be?" their class teacher asked.

"I want to be on TV!" Soleia replied dreamily, resting her head on the back of her seat.

Carden did not know that. This was new. He had only assumed that she would be someone great like the First Female President of the United States or discover a cure for cancer or maybe develop the perfect sentient A.I…anything that did not involve chasing clout and being on television. She was better than that and certainly not conventionally beautiful enough.

"What about you, Carden?"

"Huh?" he was jerked out of his Soleia-induced trance. He did that a lot recently, very shamefully. 

"What do you want to be?" His teacher repeated. 

He did not know. Someone great, probably, that was a given considering his family legacy but he did not have will enough.

"What do you want me to be?" he asked back, a curious tilt in his head.

The teacher was taken aback, but nodded. Some children required counselling, of course, "Soleia and you have showcased great business potential. You could easily make a name in the commercial field, if that is to your interest. Though, you were quite captivating at the school play as well, so, I guess the final decision would be yours."

Carden nodded and turned to Soleia with expectant eyes.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "You should stay rich and handsome," with a thumbs up.

He laughed at that, "I shall try my best," and replied with a nod of acknowledgement. 

The coursework expanded, AP subjects required diligence and overstaying in Soleia's company made him somewhat diligent as well.

It was during that summer when he saw Soleia's only family, that was her older sister. She had come to pick Soleia up with a man on her arm. The man looked presentable enough but Soleia's sister was a little too beautiful for him. Her eyes shone under the sun like emeralds and her dark hair contrasted the paleness of her skin. She deserved to be on television, she deserved greatness sheerly because of her beauty. From the distance he saw her leave, he remained in awe. 

That summer, Carden never heard from Soleia. Not even a whisper of business or monetary profits. He was lolling around his home with such depressed streak of never changing out of his Iron Man pyjamas that his grandpa packed him off to summer camp.

He returned tanned and rich with knowledge about knots, tents, helpful plants, deadly animals and survival. She returned healthier, with a new bag, aesthetic accessories and ironed uniform. Her skin lost its rough paleness and glowed healthily instead. Her hair was styled in lose curls and consequently she was attracting more attention than ever. Soleia Manchester finally had her "Glow Up" which scratched off the stamp of 'Homework Girl'.

"What happened to you? You were lost all summer and now you come back looking like you claimed the lost crown of Monaco or something?!"

"I got lucky," she laughed and took a seat beside him, "Don't worry though, I still have a long way to go before becoming a princess. I shall stay modest and humble until then."

The bag and shoes he had gifted were all replaced. Carden tried not to feel betrayed but failed. His lower lip subtly jutted out in petty jealousy. 

She stopped selling homework and notes.

She started eating slower so their lunch conversations became longer.

"So, she said that octopuses are just wet spiders and I'm like, believe me, no, it's more than that! Let us start with the eyes and hearts, shall we? And she held it in, I did not know that, because the next thing I know I'm picking up coffee orders named 'Ursala is a Spider,' and she has already left with the car?! Talk about petty! What a sore loser!"

Carden did not know that Soleia was one for random talk but he realised that he liked her more this way. She seemed more at ease, almost lounging in her chair and gesticulating with her hands as her eyeballs went all over the place to recall the perfect word-to-word rendition for him.

"You should have asked her to eat a spider, like one eats Octopuses. She would have been instantly stumped," Carden said, slurping on his noodles.

"Oh, my lord! Yes! Why did I not think of that? You're brilliant! I'll do this as soon as I reach home!" she exclaimed, almost choking on the noodles with unbridled excitement. 

Though, with the handful of free time she now seemed to have on her hands, she started to spend it with a pretty boy from another class. Carden, for the life of him, could not figure out why. Pretty boy Landon was hitting puberty, bursting with pimples, very lanky, yet he managed to be popular somehow. Squealing girls reported that, "He has the voice of a husky angel and plays the guitar like an absolute beast!" 

The analogy made as much sense as Landon's existence. 

Carden did not pester her newfound-friendships and Soleia went on to join the Reporting Team of their school. She chased gossip stories, mostly about Landon and his girlfriend shenanigans, which seemed way beneath her stature, yet the new-found-ambition suited her. Her eyes would sparkle with purpose and her face would morph into the brightest smile every time she'd bring the school paper and point at her name in print, under an article. It'd make Carden feel all warm and fluttery. In summer and in winter.

He missed earning money with her, but instead he gained weekend coffee dates with her. They would spend days at length, in a café, editing her gossip articles and keeping up with the coursework. He just liked working around her because it kept him productive.

At sixteen, she attended the homecoming dance with Landon whilst Carden went alone. It's not like he did not have options—girls were literally begging him to choose them—but he did not feel the need to. Carden liked his peace, his boundaries and his solace. He was comfortable being alone and did not urge for constant human company – if not for Soleia's. 

He liked the party, he enjoyed it with acquaintances, discovered that Soleia can dance and found himself fascinated by her fluid movements. Six years into their friendship, he still was not close enough to know all of her.

It was hard, discovering and understanding a multi-faceted human like her. Maybe that is why this could be counted as his longest, non-obligatory, relationship with a person who was not blood related to him. 

Carden appreciated it. 

AP science was easy and so was AP business management. They shared all classes and yet no end points for their dreams. Soleia wanted to live comfortably by applying to a good national college whilst Carden's grandparents insisted he joined Ivy League. Soleia could have made it with him, but she did not want to.

"Why not? This will be perfect for your portfolio! You could do so much in life!"

"I do not want to do so much," she pursed her lips, "I want to earn easy money. I cannot do that by attending an Ivy League and suffering like I suffered all my childhood. I do not enjoy studying, I am able to do it only because I am consistent with it."

Ah. He did not know that.

"But you could probably do two or three more years, with me…?" he asked, voice low and unsure.

"I'm sorry," was all she said.

He was disappointed. He did not know what subconscious expectations of greatness he had attached with her; he did not know when or how—but it disappointed him so much that she would not live up to her full potential. The most amazing girl he had ever met only aspired to be average and make it easy in life. The girl whose eyes would burn with passion in the face of twelve homework essays said that she did not like studying. It was appalling. The world was disappointing and he wanted no more of it.

Carden respected people and their boundaries. He was not one to pry.

So, they drifted apart in preparation of drifting apart even when they were sitting beside each other. Carden minded his own business until it was the day to leave. He left her a goodbye note in her desk, nothing else, hoping she would discover easy money.

His college life was comfortable amidst the select smartest people in the world, but he did not find anyone like her. Not that he was searching, for he was too busy wondering if someone could be your greatest inspiration as well your greatest disappointment. 

That surely was bipolarity to some illegal extent.

He had to come back. To find her, just to know if she made it in life. She had to; she was the best person he knew. Life was easy with her efforts; she was blessed after all.

So, imagine his surprise when the boon of his existence and object of all his inspirations, walked up to him on the night of their alumni reunion and said, "Long time no see. I heard you're single. Do you want to marry me?"