(Listen this is an old opera)

And here I am, my heart breaking

Wine is gross. You drown yourself in it. Licking up the substance from the bottom of your cup. Poison sitting in your stomach as well as dragging up your wrist and grabbing your arm to drag you onto the dance floor. The lights burning your gaze, pulsating along with your head. One step, two steps, four and three. You don't know the people around you. You know their blood as well as you know what's in their mind. Are they red like you? Or are you alone in this conspiracy? Violent and a secret. A spy that tells the secrets to someone of their kind. The rat in the cage filled with mice. 

"Things are about to change." Maven whispered into your ear. And he spins you, showing you off to the crowd. They smile and jester. Raising their glasses to the future princess of the powerful. If this room is filled with mice then where's the mousetrap? Because you're the one who's the center of attention.

Forced to glitter, forced to be gay

Mousetraps aren't made for rats.

You smile at them, dangling the cheese in front of their eyes. But they still look at you. Hand in front of their mouth. Leaning into each other's ears. Chitter chatter like mice. At least you're the princess. Marrying the prince. 

You face your future husband, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.

"Will I be the one to change them?" 

Maven smirks. His lips curl like a snout with fangs hanging from its lips.

"No."

That's the part I play

You pull the gloves up to your arms. They end at your elbows but you feel their clutch to your stomach, where the corset squeezes your words out of your mouth. Squeeze in. Tight. That's what makes you royalty. 

The servants swarm around you like bees. You imagine yourself as honey. Or the queen, but that's a bit wrong considering how the system works. Or is that ants?

You roll your shoulders, stretching your neck left and right. You're stiff. You should relax. Maybe you should try drinking whiskey. Imagine this doing the same thing for the next ten years. How boring. At least you'll be a princess. Always in second place in the castle. For eternity. But you chose it over a life with nothing at all. 

You've never been the type to enjoy creative writing. But grabbing a pen and writing verses on your walls has been fun in a house you don't own. Someone will paint them over. Make them into a book. Or find them and convince you it's your suicide note. There's nothing wrong with writing a little sad. Is there?

Forced to bend my soul

To a sordid role

Whiskey is nowhere near the same as water. But it still feels the same going down your throat. Especially when it's force-fed to you by the one you will spend the rest of your life with. Sometimes he feeds you both at the same time. Whether to kill you quicker to keep you alive longer, you can't say. 

But you spend your time looking the other way when he walks by or staring at his ass when he doesn't have time to look at you in the eyes. You want his attention but you also want him to die. You want his crown but you won't stand the throne. 

Maybe you should talk to him.

To calm the poetry and intrusive thoughts. This is your life after all. Basking in it won't make it go any faster. Running through it won't make it go slower. 

Victimised by bitter

Bitter circumstance

God, you're going to be alone forever. Maven eats dinner next to you. Alone. He claimed he wanted to get closer to you. But you know he knows your little secret. He'll always be at a distance. He watches you drink your third glass as you cut your steak into tiny pieces. Less to consume. Less to hold you down when you have to run away. 

"Would you like to clink a glass?" You offer to Maven, holding the crystal wine glass out to him. He just looks at you, offering you a stern look with his soft blue eyes. 

You just shake your head, placing the empty glass in front of you, "Okay, princess."

"Princess?" His shoulders shake. Your eyebrows lift. Have you cracked a nerve? 

You blink. 

"Is queen better for you?"

He lets out a chuckle. It a harsh one, cold on his teeth and hot on his tongue. He looks at you. And it feels like for the first time in forever you've made actual eye contact with him. Not bullshitted. Not something just to glare or stare. But eye contact. A conversation. A way to meet another human being and talk about something you're interested in. A way to find out who Maven Calore actual is. 

"Prince is just fine, but thank you for the upgrade." He lifts his glass to you. And you stare at it. Confused. Not knowing what to do until it hits you. 

Clink.

Until my maiden hand was gained

By some 'Grand Duke' or other...

"So what is the little prince doing outside of his room?"

"Watching the princess drink more than the king."

You snort. It's an ugly sound, but it comes from a place of humor and comfort. You're in your comfort zone? You want to get your heels on and walk out. Don't relax in front of the prince. That is absolutely the opposite of what you should be doing. But he seems so relaxed in front of you.

He puts his hand over his mouth to laugh. He can laugh? But he doesn't say anything. He just looks at you through his squinted eyes and laughs. You laugh too. 

Harsh necessity

Brought me to this gilded cage

And since then, the castle hasn't been too bad for you. It's a cage but it's a cage with a mattress and a warm wool blanket. You have the desire to feel safe. You want to feel mellow in the arms of someone. You want to fall in love. With no doubt. No harm to the public eye. No secrets. No mice.

You wrap your hands around Maven's elbow as you step up to him in the hall.

"What's your name?" You ask him. His lips part, and you can see thoughts forming in his eyes. The window of his soul. Crowded and cloudy. Bright yet experienced. 

"What is yours?"

You blink. The silence fills your eyes. You love the thought of him. He's looking at you. What type of looking? Gazing? Staring? A glance? You can almost feel your entire body vibrate. 

And yet, of course, I rather like to revel, ah ha!

"We are going to be married." You say, stopping him in the hall. He never stops looking at you. He notices the silver makeup on your neck, covering your true skin color. He looks at your eyes and how they look at his. 

And he turns away. "I know that."

You grab his hand. Your touch is like ice to him. He turns around again, starring into your dead eyes. 

"I don't want to be alone."

His heart beats into his ears. He can hear the tears in your voice. You're manic. You're insane. You're broken. Maybe it's the whiskey. He can feel your cold touch seep through his skin and into his bloodline. 

He tries to plan out his words. He tries to figure out what to say. What would his mother say? How would she react? He gulps and puts on a reassuring smile. His mouth goes dry, but he tries not to show it.

"You won't be alone."

I have no strong objection to champagne, ah ha!

You crumble up a paper, throwing it up to your ceiling and watches it bounce off. You do this over and over again. Your clothes are loose on your calves and the carpeted room is soft to your feet. You balance back on forth on your toes. It's peaceful. Quiet.

A half-empty bottle of whiskey lays on your dresser. You eye it as you dance around the room. Your throat is dry. Your stomach feels empty. Do they have cake downstairs? Rumbled thoughts? Blue eyes?

A groan came from your throat as you up. You imagine seeing the sky hear. The same thoughts repeat in your head over and over again. You're trapped in a building. You don't want to be alone. You want to cling to the first safe place you find. 

"I love the thought of him."

You thought it was an unpopular thought. Someone nobody knew about. An inner joke between you and him. But the popularity spread like a fallen candle in a wooden cabin.

My wardrobe is expensive as the devil, ah ha!

The dresses are tight and hug your frame. Your neck and wrists are decorated with jewels that shine brighter than you ever will. You glitter like the sun. You're happy with the way you look. You didn't think that was possible. You can feel your heart beat in your chest. You wonder if Maven can feel it from where he stands. His shoulders are back and his neck is tense within the collar of his shirt. You want to reach out and touch him. 

You convince yourself the thought it immoral. You must never touch him. Gross thought. He thinks of you as bellow him. That's what he was born to think. Must he sin just so you can be happy? Nothing must be worth his title.

You glance at him. He's looking at you. You can't help but quickly look away.

Perhaps it is ignoble to complain!

 Wouldn't any red want this? The crown? To have to opportunity to talk to the prince and for him to listen. The ability to knock on his door and for him to answer and look at you like you are an angel. 

They would take the chance to tell him about the torture, the pain and torment it is to live down below. You open your mouth to say the words but they never come out. They wouldn't matter. You're up here now. Down there doesn't matter anymore. Now that you have friends. Maven is your friend, right?

I'll show my noble stuff

By being bright and cheerful

You laugh, standing on your tip-toes as you wrap your hands around Maven's neck. He stills, unsure what to do at the gesture. His body is warm. His mind is cold. All he wants to do is hug you back. But something stops him. Something holds his hands above your waist, unable to touch your silky overcoat. 

You pull away, but barely. You put your hands by your side but remain chest to chest. A smile forms on your lips. 

He feels your touch on his hands. Your fingers place his on your waist. And he holds you. His heart races. You caress his neck again. Two beating hearts holding each other as tight as they can. 

Maven leans his back against his bedroom door as he rests his chin on the dip in between your neck and shoulder. This is wrong. He pulls away like you were made of ice. 

You can't help but look at him with eyes laced with sunshine and stars. But he blinks you out of sight.

Ah, how can wordly things take the place of honour lost?

Whiskey. Pearls. You like the sight of pearls around your neck. The taste of pearls is iron. Blood almost. You want to down them like pills. You fight that urge with necklaces, earrings, and bracelets. It shines against the complexion of your skin. It's a trip. 

Maven flatters you too. He makes sure not to touch an inch of your skin as he grazes his hands against your accessories. You can feel your heart every time his fingers get close to the sides of your cheeks when he fidgets with your earrings. 

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to touch a princess's pearls?" Elara says, putting her hand on Maven's shoulders as he quickly draws back. You stiff. Elara didn't start to scare you until you noticed how much her son avoids her. 

God, how much you want another glass.

You giggle, "My queen, I can assure you my pearls love the attention."

She mimics your giggle. Maven doesn't say a thing. Just keeps his gaze on the floor. 

Elara grips her son's shoulders. "I bet they do."

Bracelets, lavaliers: can they dry my tears?

Can they blind my eyes to shame?

Maven didn't touch your pearls anymore. He barely looked at you. He would turn his body away from you whenever you tried to stand next to him. He looks sad. Or at least you hope he does.

And your cheeks blush every time he pulls away from you. You bite your lip, keeping your eyes on the floor. You just want to run to your room and hide under your blankets. Nothing is warm anymore.

Maven turns his head away from you once again. And you quickly twist your body away from him and begin walking away. You walk, filled with anger, right into Cal's chest. Cal looks down at you with a smile. 

"It's okay." He says calmly. Maven lets out a grunt.

Can the brightest brooch shield me from reproach?

You sit in your room, no makeup on your face and no gown to decorate your frame. No pearls. No gloves to hold you. Just an empty bottle of whiskey and your unmotivated attempt at dressing to go snatch another one. You almost don't want to leave. But it's when you slide an offwhite underlayer over your body do you hear a knock on the door. Your heart drops. You don't know why. But you never hear a knock on your door. 

You clench your jaw as you step towards the door and slowly open it. It's Maven. And he looks lost. His hair is a mess and his eyes droop in sorrow. Concern dances in your heart. You can't help but invite him in.

"(Y/N)." He says your voice in such desperation. 

The door closes. And it's you and him alone. The light from your chandelier casts a shadow across his face. You wish you could walk up to him and stroke it away. 

He steps close to you and pulls you into a hug. His body is shaking in heat. You don't hesitate to wrap your hands around him.

"What's wrong, Maven?"

"You need to leave."

And the world went silent. You could hear the sound of his quick breathing against your neck. You could hear the swaying of the trees outside. You could hear the stuttering words falling from your lips. What.

Maven continues, grabbing your forearms and looking you in the eyes. "Please. Just go back home. It's not safe for you here."

You've never heard such panic. Your mouth is dry. Your heart is slowly decreasing. You can't find the energy to panic. You just want another whiskey bottle. You muster the only words you could come up with.

"I don't want to leave you."

His lips felt warm against yours. It was a feeling you never thought you would experience. The warm touch of his body pressed up against yours. You felt the breeze where there was no wind. The sun's warm grasp where the moon shined down. Everything felt like it was made of light. The world was alive and breathing for once in your life.

And then he pulled away. 

"You have to."

Can the purest diamond purify my name?

You hold your pearl necklace in your hand. Maven stands behind you, examining your room. You don't look at him. You know if you do then you'll cry. You like him a lot. But you don't know why. You were raised to think he was the enemy. You were raised to hate him. You are betraying your people. You are betraying what you once stood for. 

Or maybe you are just lonely here. 

"(Y/N)." A whisper. The ghost of words that mean anything to him. You keep your head low. You put your pearls in your coat's pocket. You can sell them later. 

"We don't really have whiskey where I am from. Could you grab me a bottle?" You ask. He is still. You can't hear him move. It's when he shuffles towards you do you finally turn your body in his direction. He goes in for another kiss. You lean away. 

His hand, outstretched to hold yours, recoils into a fist. You are both quiet. The trees stop swaying. Maven holds his breath.

"Of course, I'll get it right now." He is slow to turn away. But eventually, he does. You are still as you watch him close the door from behind him, making eye contact with you one last time. You swallow a lump in your throat. It's your time to leave. You have to.

Observe how bravely I conceal the dreadful, dreadful shame I feel

But you whisper it under your breathe once you reach the entrance to the castle. The floors under you are cold, and you can feel them through your shoes. Everything is still. You don't know if Maven has made it to your room again. You wonder if he has noticed that you are gone. You have always been bad at goodbyes. 

You are waiting for the day you get to see the prince again. You wonder if it will be the end of your life or the start of a new one.