𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 that some bonds are as inevitable as the tides, drawing one and one together despite the constraints that bind them away from each other. Some cannot be escaped, others do not want to escape. But then th...
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୨⎯ ༻♛༺ ⎯୧
"M-MA'AM-"
"Do not dare ma'am me, Siena," Lady Mountbatten takes slow steps forward until she is standing a mere meter away from her grandchild, "Did you kiss the girl?"
Siena can feel her heart drumming against her ribcage, her whole chest aching as a product of the anxiety building up within her. Her breaths start becoming audible, face washed off into paleness as her eyes watch the old woman in horror. Her fingers fiddle with one another, her mouth stammers for words, but it ends up only able to release an impotent huff— so very vulnerable. At her lack of a defense, of an excuse, Lady Mountbatten places a hand against her mouth and shakes her head.
"I cannot believe this..." she breathes, taking another slow step closer to the short girl and placing her wrinkly, veiny hand against her soft forehead, "You are ill... You are unwell, Siena."
The girl leans away from her touch, overwhelmed by the proximity, "I-I am not unwell, I-"
Lady Mountbatten lets out a bitter laugh, her cold fingers retreating from Siena's forehead, "Not unwell?" she repeats, her voice dripping with mockery, "Then what would you call it? A... A whimsy of the heart? A child's foolish indulgence?"
Siena recoils, her breath trembling as she meets her grandmother's icy gaze, "It wasn't— it wasn't like that. I-I care for her—"
"Care?" Lady Mountbatten's voice snaps like a whip, her tone suddenly sharp, cutting, "Care for her? My God, you speak as though this depravity could be anything resembling love. You are deluded, Siena. And I shall not have my family— my blood— tainted by such madness."
Siena feels tears prick at her eyes, her heart pounding even faster now. She shakes her head frantically, desperate to explain, to justify, but the words fail her. The fear of what her grandmother will do paralyzes her, and Lady Mountbatten can see it all too clearly.
"Oh, do not look so horrified. It is me who should be petrified by your actions. After all, it seems you have been hiding them from me already..." Lady Mountbatten watches the tears threaten to stream down Siena's pale cheeks with a cool detachment.
She clicks her tongue, a wavering breath exiting her lips as if grappling with the severity of the situation. She then takes a slow step back, surveying Siena with cold, narrowed eyes. The tension in the air is suffocating, thick like smoke choking Siena's lungs. Every breath she takes feels like a struggle, like an effort to keep from collapsing under the weight of her grandmother's scrutiny.
"Look at you," the old woman finally says, her voice low but sharp enough to cut, "Trembling like a common criminal caught in the act. I had thought, foolishly, that there was some dignity in you. Some trace of our family's strength. But I see now, you are nothing more than a disappointment— a disgrace."
