FREEDOM - THE VERY LAST DANCE

FREEDOM - THE VERY LAST DANCE
Blank styles my hair as I round up my make-up. I don’t know where the hell he learned to style a female’s hair into an elegant up-do, but I’m grateful that he did learn it. Especially since the frizzes of my strands aren’t a hindrance to his craft at all.

At least I won’t have to worry about the hair anymore. I would just call him.

After he’s done, he helps me into my dress. And we both stand in front of the mirror when we round up the struggles of wearing the dress.

He’s too tall. Too tall that I only reach him on his chest. But it’s one of the things I love about him.

Now we’re matching. The Belle in her red dress and the prince in his black stylish tux. And he IS so handsome in that attire that I wish he would off them.

“Are you ready?” he asks. I nod. “Then I’ll just go down and set the audience for your coming.”

“Is that necessary?” I ask, but he’s already at the door.

“Very much necessary,” he echoes back and retracting.

I take in a deep breath, still staring at the mirror, only now staring deeply.

This would be the first time in my life when I’m not dressed to please anybody. When I’m not cautious of what to say or do. When I’m not wondering what would trigger negative comments for me.

Today, the only thing I have on my mind is having fun and a rich time with Blank. And I’m determined to make that happen.

After letting out one more breath, I finally find my way to the living room.

What I meet isn’t what I expected—mom and dad standing at the stairs with Aunt Mellow, Beavan, and Blank, all looking up at me.

It makes me feel special. It makes me feel like the Belle of the ball indeed. A feeling I never knew I would experience.

What tops it for me is seeing aunt Mellow in the same attire as I am. And I don’t even know when I skip the stairs for her.

Thankfully, I didn’t fall.

>>>>>>>>

“Can I request that we dance to Blank’s choreography?” I ask some moments after aunt Mellow and Blank’s dance ended.

Now that I’ve scratched that itch of wanting to see them dance together. I now have one more itch to take care of—knowing what it feels like dancing to Blank’s choreography.

“What choreography?” dad asks.

“The one you told me about, that you saw in the videos of them. That Blank taught aunt Mellow on one of their ball dates.”

Dad said he watched the videos, and the dances were ethereal. But now he doesn’t seem to like the idea, at least his shoulders that suddenly fall defeated say so.

“Is there a reason you keep doing this to me, Nectar?” he asks jokingly.

The hall falls into laughter before aunt Mellow interrupts it. “I’ll guide you,” she tells dad.

“If Mellow guides your dad and your Blank guides you, who guides us?” Mom asks, referring to she and Beavan.

“We’ll just fly about, madam,” Beavan responds, triggering a round of laughter from all of us.

The six of us take our positions. The females line vertically on one side, while the males line vertically at our right.

Aunt Mellow and dad lead each gender line, Mom and Beavan are in the middle, while Blank and I are last.

As the music with a dominant harpsichord melody strikes, we portray each step of the dance while still maintaining the line. At a point, we each reach out to our partner with a hand, linked only by that hand.

However, the line formation begins to scatter according to the choreography, each couple coming together to form a triangle. Within that triangle, we circulate, switching partners from time to time. I even get to dance with dad, which is premium fun.

As partners switch again, and dad hands me over to Blank, I hear him whisper to the latter, which sounds like, “Let me tell you, Su Pointe, treat my daughter with the utmost care. If you trigger her wrath, you are calling mine as well.”

Blank chuckles. “I know that. But it’s shocking that you’re cool with this. How are you not overprotective? It’s unlike you.”

“It’s been twenty years, Su Pointe, I know better now.”

I can’t help but smile at the convo, even though I was uninvited.

As I’m told, a lot of people—known to dad and aunt Mellow—died twenty years ago. Bad and good.

There’s my paternal grandpa, who was known as the world-wide bad guy.

Then there’s my paternal great-grandma, whom dad said preferred to be called Mama Tia. He said she was once nice until her sheaths came off to show the sharp edges of her hidden side. A side that was rotten and despicable, in mom’s words.

There’s also uncle Zachili, who masked himself as Cross. I was told that his brain harbors a bridge between psycho and sane, although the bridge had divided and the other half part leading to sanity was slowly crumbling before he died.

There was also Chelsea, Yesli Toorsman. The story about her is a little complicating to my understanding, especially the relationship between she and uncle Zachili, so I like not to dwell on that.

The one that got to me most was aunt Mellow’s daughter, Eryis. Dad said she was a cheerful kid, too cute to be a corpse. It’s unfortunate that she had to be the direct victim of the drawn line between cruelty and benevolence.

Thinking about all these loses, I’ve come to a conclusion that today’s a celebration of life, of those who have survived and won.

Sometimes, I look back at aunt Mellow’s story and I’m inspired. It’s what inspired the talks of freedom in my art. It gave me the idea of liberty.

And, now, I think I’ve finally reached that point in my life that I’ve always wished for. When everything comes together and makes sense. When someone finally hands me the keys to my chain. Or, better yet, when I finally break those fucking shackles.

This brings me to the point where I think of what to call you, fucker.

I would feel too bad if I keep calling you that word, especially since you’ve helped me so much during these past few days.

Should I call you my luck charm? Because who knew things would get so much better the moment I met you?

I plan to go on a fun and romantic trip with Blank. While I’m in that trip, there will be no writing between you and I. AND NO FUCKERS.

After the trip, I’ll think of what to call you that’s not ‘diary’ or ‘journal’.

So, yeah, I’m still your girl, with a tinge of delusion and anger, Nectar Diza Lupin.

PLAYLIST.

Golden Brown (Elliot Sutton) Slowed Best Part – The Very Last Dance.

The End.

APPRECIATION.

I just want to say a big thank you to all the readers who have seen my book worthy of their time; who have spent coins and voted for the books.

Thank you for reaching this stage, and for finally saying goodbye to this book baby of mine with me.

And just so you know, this is the first book I have ever completed. Ever.

In the past few years, I’ve struggled with writing, and have not completed a book despite starting numerous books, so it’s a big celebration to have this baby marked completed. And it’s all thanks to your encouragements.

You don’t know how much it meant to me seeing the views as well as the number of people who added to library everyday. Not to talk of the coins used to unlock each chapter. It made me wake up every morning knowing that I needed to update the book for you lot. Even when it was five people reading the book, it motivated me to update.

Now, we’ve finally come to an end of this journey, and all I have to say is thank you.

DEDICATION.

This book is dedicated to you all wonderful readers, and to those who were tempted to read ‘Chris’ in place of ‘Christopher’.

Honestly, Mellow wanting to call Christopher ‘Chris’ was purely me wanting to type Chris instead of Christopher. But then I remembered I was not writing for myself. He-he.

~

If you would like to follow more of my work, here are my next books that you can read now:

\- MY PRISONER SEDUCED ME (This is on pause until next year).

\- BOUND BY THE ALPHA AND HIS SECRETS (Ongoing as of 2nd December. Will hopefully finish by January. Hopefully).



Love,

Seprai Harle.

TK: @the_nyctophilicauthor

IG: @thenyctophilicauthor

FB: Seprai Harle or @thenyctophilicauthor

YT: Seprai Harle