"You were set to marry my father's heir. My oldest brother," She picks up a cup, "Due to unforeseen circumstances, he has died. As second oldest, it is my duty to fulfill my father's wishes." I'm still utterly confused. She takes a sip, "You will ma...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Ruth Foster
The worst thing about having a social butterfly as a cousin, is being invited everywhere, even if you don't want to go, which is almost all the time. Before I dropped out of college, I was a loser, and I still am. I wasn't invited to parties, or had friends, mainly because then someday I'd have to open up. Let them in on all of my secrets, the ones I'm ashamed of. I'd have to let them in, but the thing about letting people in, is that they never stay.
Emily is the quite opposite of me, everyone loves her. She has friends in all corners, and isn't afraid to make new ones. She's a talker, and I observe.
I hate being large groups of people. It makes me feel weird, like some outcast for not being into the same things, or growing up in the same conditions. Emily and I, despite growing up in the same home, are polar opposites. She was always the party child, and would drive my uncle crazy. I was the opposite.
I was much more of a reader, like my mother.
Even at a young age, reading was always my thing. Maybe it was words on the pages, how they gave me so much hope that one day I could live a life, one like the characters do, or maybe it was just that reading was my one connection to my mother, I don't know, but I hated people. Loved Books.
"You're not going to drink?" A voice brings me back from my thoughts, "It is a party after all."
"No," I shake my head at her, "I don't drink." Partially true. I've only drank once, the night my uncle died. Six months ago. Never again.
While I was drinking, talking to probably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, he was dying. The fact that upsets me most is that her face is no longer etched in my mind. It disappeared. It's almost as if she's now just a figure of my imagination. A memory I'm trying to convince myself is real, and not just a delusion in my mind caused by my never ending sense of loneliness.
I take a look at the woman who stands right by me. Her hair is blonde, sort of like mine, but lighter. Her eyes are bright blue, like the ocean. But nicer.
It sometimes shocks me how beautiful people are. Compared to me, this woman's a goddess. Her hair is placed up in a ponytail, and she's wearing a tight fitted black silk dress. She's pure beauty.
I don't get flirted with often. I'm nothing special anyways. I have regular blonde hair, the long kind that despite what everyone thinks, does get tangled and knotty after a few nights. My eyes are plain. Nothing special either, and I definitely don't turn heads when I walk into a room. The woman who still stands in front of me, looks like she does.
