Luna Queen

14 - Making Plans

14 - Making Plans

Azoic, Rostov Oblast
North Russia - Russian Fed; Population: 82,356
Romanov's Estate House

Sativa
I swallowed tightly as my breath caught in my lungs.

I gripped the glass of water tighter in my hands, draining it in a matter of seconds and walking over to the sink to rinse it, then I place it neatly on the wrack of the drying, glassy dishes.

It hadn't been to long ago that I had wandered down here in search of something to quell my insatiable insomniac nature. I sighed, pulling my sweater tighter around my body, my eyes scanned the massive kitchen. It was beautiful, and it truly never ceased to amaze me. I did not know how to cook, but I was more than willing to learn of it.

Wringing my hands together, I push open the door of the kitchen, slipping through it and heading down a short hallway, before coming to stop at the door that held the stairs to the direction of my room. I stopped, straining my ears to listen. It was the distant sound of a television. I looked at the door that led to the safety of my room, then to the hallway that follows the faint tone of a television.

Besides, it wasn't as if I was going to my room to anything but toss and turn on my bed until dawn came.

"No," Vienna cautioned.

I rolled my eyes, the wall's separation was getting harder and harder to keep - and, I didn't know why, "I don't remember asking for your input on this situation - shut up, OK?"

She only sighs, "You are a very difficult person, Sativa. Why can you not just be pleasant for once in your miserable life?"

"Rude," I reprimand.

"You're still unpleasant."

I frown, "I choose days to be pleasant to people. Today is just not your day - and, tomorrow doesn't look too good either." I smirk at her snarl of pure, unhidden irritation.

"Do whatever you want."

I chuckle, "Wish me luck?"

"Fuck you," was all that I got before she swiftly and openly, tries demarcate us.

I roll my eyes before turning on my heels, in an attempt to follow the culprit of the sound. I roam down several hallways, finally victorious as the sound of the television becomes more prominent at a door. I raise my hand and push it open, surprised to know that it is already open to just a crack.

I slip inside the dimly lit room. It was a small room from what I could make out in the darkness that was only lessened by the light of the television. It was plain too, oddly plain. A single-bed with white bedding sat on the right side of the small, oval-shaped window.

Nothing else adorned the room besides the small, pink couch that in front of the widescreen television. And, on that pink couch, was none other to Maya Amerce.

I scowl, preparing my left foot in the situation of reversing myself backwards into the cavern of my room.

But, my memory played me.

I smirk as I walked until I stood directly in front of her slumbering frame. Makeup cascaded down her face, making me believe that she had been crying. Her short dress hiked as a blanket lay loosely around her shoulders. Even in her sleep, she managed to look remotely of the devil's child.

"Maya," I tap her shoulder non-too gently. But, she doesn't move a muscle at all.

Ripping the covers away from her frame, I push her off the couch. A light thud and a lowly, whistled groan indicating her idle response.