pandora grimaldi, district one | cbd [2]

You love like summer; loud like fireworks at the closing of the annual high-society fair, magical as fireflies dancing in the willow grove just outside the Grimaldi manor. There is nothing about you that is not bright and warm and kind. To be as affluent as you are, one could almost mistake you for being unaware of the societal gap between you and the common folk of One.

A tale of palaces and the paupers stranded just on the other side of the iron gate.

But you are no fool, even if you give yourself away foolishly. Your privilege curls around you like rose petals, a security as soft and downy as feathers glistening with morning dew. Little skylark, little princess, there is no dragon bold enough to risk the wrath of an old empire such as yours. You are acutely aware of this, girl skipping over landmines, chancing fate and gambling your affection away. It's easy to point the knife at yourself when you know no mortal force would dare cut you.

When you look at the world, you see something wide and abundant and overflowing with opportunities for you. They are yours, and yours alone, to pursue and squander as you see fit. You stay up past your curfew at all the trending parties, forsake your education for a modelling contract, fall for boys who come from the wrong side of the tracks. You have never known a life that has not bowed to you and the Grimaldi name. When the cornucopia is running over with fruit, bounty of the harvest, you take your pick and then reach for seconds.

Your place is not to worry over gaining all the things you dream of; it is to hold them in your hands, and to treasure them, and to risk losing them with every breath.