Smoke bellows out of the apartments in a way that borders on the titular.
Above it, brilliant lights skim the void keeping shards of reality apart, as if sharpening the edge of a knife, or say, a royal trident. The wind is howling, and a familiar note is produced: the breeze. Its familiar, dulcet tones are reassuring as the stars overhead are pulled in before you. As they say, gravity is an errant thief, plucking stars from the sky as if they were spiky seeds from a pumpkin, ready to be carved.
Your sixteenth birthday has come and gone, and for the first time, you feel something missing from your life. What you thought was a purpose has been torn from you. The dense circuits of capital leave scars as they are pulled from their place embedded within you, like, again, a royal trident. It has been a tumultuous three years since you were given the role of heiress, and as a belated gift to yourself, you have finally assumed a role of your own volition. It's not the prestigious role you had dreamed of, but the only person you can ever be: yourself, as you are now.
Perhaps that's good enough.
"This is the way it feels to me. Can you understand what I’m saying? Does it also feel this way to you?" - American deputy director, Leslie Knope
Yes, you are certain Leslie Knope said that. One hundred percent positive.