1. The first meeting.

Maria could not be more bored.

Staring out the window and gazing at the sky, instead of listening to her professor drone on and on about this and that. When would the class end? It felt like an eternity till the next. She tapped her fingers across the desk and played with her pen, only to get a hiss near her ear.

"Will you pay attention?" her seatmate, Viva whispered, "I am not lending my notes again."

"Yes you are," she muttered under her breath, "you love me."

"That is the worst thing you've said to me, and that's saying a lot." She rolled her eyes. Physics always felt like a pain in the side; something about alternate timelines being discussed. It just sounds like an unrealistic plot of the next movie to her ears, about dimensions and theories and what not.

Maria's never really given any of these things attention, and does not plan to. Just an elective for this summer, and she's out.

"Miss Maria?"

Shoot. "Yes, sir?" she stands, well aware of all the eyes pivoting to her.

"What did we just discuss?" he asks, Professor Kwon the worst out of all her teachers, "I think everyone would love to hear your thoughts too."

She colors further, conscious of especially one pair of eyes on her. A glance at Viva, and she's as good as rat's tail. Practically useless. Her gaze strays to the board, a large butterfly drawn in the centre. "Umm," she starts, nervous, "about how different actions in one situation all lead to different outcomes? Like the same person may do something good or bad."

"Well," he turns up his nose, "that will suffice. Already surpassed my expectation with that answer." She sits, breathing out a sigh of relief, and Viva giving her a look that screams 'I told you so.' She ignores it, chancing a glance to the front of the class, seeing the familiar mop of black hair.

Rayan Evans. Her crush at first sight since orientation, and the only reason she took this elective instead of literature. They're in complete different buildings, so it's rare to bump into each other unless there's a party going on. He seems unbothered, noting everything in his book, tan skin gleaming where the sun hits him just right.

"You're so hopeless," Viva says, passing her notes anyway, "class ends in three. Take your pictures before I change my mind."

*

You see, Maria lives a pretty simple life.

She took an honours in arts, because it's the only thing she found interest in at school. Her parents don't care as long as she has some completed degree to her name, waiting for her to be done so she can be paraded at business parties in hopes of finding an eligible bachelor rich enough to guarantee a good deal. To them, Maria's greatest asset, and really the only one they want to care about, has always been her beauty.

She's never been allowed to cut her black hair above her waist, her mother citing a woman's true beauty lay there. Spas every two weeks, all the products one can only dream of owning stocked in her inventory. The latest fashion garments and accessories available to her at all times, and a dietician that dictated her entire food consumption.

Truthfully, there's not much to her than just another celebrity. Maria does not consider herself a wondrous goddess.

But her dark doe eyes, full lips and thin nose bridge all on a small face make any other person walking by do a double take. Not to mention her secret late night snacking (Vivi her accomplice who helps smuggle them in her fridge) making her hit the gym more often than not, maintaining her expected weight. A voluptuous body with curves in all the perfect places, and yet she chooses to keep them all under her baggy clothing.

Sometimes she sits in front of the mirror and imagines tearing off the picture perfect image. What if she scratched her face? Or marred her delicate wrists? What if she ate and ate like no tomorrow and gained a nice round pot belly? It feels like a fantasy sometimes, to be anything but what she gets to. One that can only exist in her head.

Which may explain her lack of interest in really, anything. When she knows it won't matter in the long run; after all, it will hurt less if she had nothing to hurt over, no? She just has these few years before her fate is sealed as someone's glamorized trophy wife, probably to be kept on display when her husband goes frolicking with other women.

Maria sighs, and tries to hope. For a good enough man, that at the minimum will let her live as she chooses.

It is somewhere late at night, when her eyes slip open, and the windows go banging against the wall. She sits up, heart climbing her throat, looking around as her mind catches up. A storm, she thinks, hurrying out of her bed as another cold gust of wind knocks down the trinkets on her cupboard, shutting them firmly and staring outside. She locks them as tight as she can, the world beyond the glass rain streaked and thunderous. Another crack of lightning, and she makes it back to bed, under her covers.

Maria hates weather like this. It strikes fear in her like nothing else. She cowers with another bout, now having grown accustomed to the solitude after her parents stopped coddling her. Grow up, they had said.

I have, she wants to say, over and over, but the fear has not.

It brings all sorts of terrible things to mind. Red flashes and agonizing screams. A glimpse of a face to disappear as soon as it had come. Maria finds even breathing hard on nights like these, clinging tight to the sheets and hoping for it to all pass. Somehow she manages to slip off to slumber, sure she was in her bed the entire time.

Because when morning comes, and she blinks awake, it is not the wool of her blanket slipping off her frame. When she shifts, it is not her cotton sheets that follow the movement. Instead it is all silk, and instead of her night shirt and pants, she is merely in thin white robes that have already come loose.

Is this a dream? She stares down at her hands, to find them her own. She checks her hair to see her own inky black strands, but longer. There is something cold around her neck and sat right over her chest--a pendant, of sorts.

"Have you awoken, your majesty?"

A very funny dream indeed. The room is all whites and blue, sliding door open on one side bringing sunny light and fresh air, carrying the delicate scent of flowers. The other doors on her right have shadows of people. Her eyes fall on the tapestry right behind her, hung over the bed, a portrait of her, and yet it is nothing she has ever seen.

"Your majesty?"

Is that me? She thinks. "Yes?" and there is a sigh of relief. Strange. "What do you need?"

"We have brought you the clothes you requested--will you join the rest for breakfast?"

The rest? "Who?" she slips out the sheets, soles of her feet laying flat against the cool wood. Maria adjusts the robe around herself, before reaching the doors, confused as ever. The women steps back, surprised, hurriedly bowing. "Who is it that I am eating breakfast with?"

"Why, his highness," one them says, still bowed, "your husband."

She blinks. A husband? "Since when did I have a husband?"

"Oh your majesty," one of them cries, startling her, "do not be so cross with him! We know he is not the best, but please! It has only been a week!"

A...week? "I genuinely do not know what you are talking about," she steps forward to pluck a ripe looking peach from a tray one of them holds, biting into it and humming when the sweet richness explodes in her mouth, "this is quite delicious. I would like to eat more in my short time here."

"Your majesty!" they all bemoan, "do not speak like that! It could not be that bad you want to die already!"

She shrugs. It's just a dream, anyway. Might as well have her fun. "Okay, will you help dress me in that..." she points at the robes, "thing?"

They rush to assure her, but first drag her to the baths. Maria is scrubbed down very well in warm water, added petals and serene scents. Their hands are skillful as they press against her scalp and release the tension there. She feels sleepy all over again by the time they're done with her. She half prays this is a world she will always visit in dreams, getting dressed in no time despite the many layers.

"Goodness," one of them says, staring at her before she dabs her lips with red, "really, your majesty. One of the most beautiful ladies I have had the honour to serve."

That's nice. "Did anyone get more peach?" A...servant? Nearly trips on her feet to bring it over, and she happily munches through it. With her mouth half full, she asks, "so do I still attend breakfast?"

The servants stare. One of them timidly speaks up, "yes, but umm. Let us--let us wipe your face a bite." Ah. She lets them, even her fingers, before being led down the twisting hallways. It is a beautiful corridor, lots of wood and paintings. Maria thinks she looks quite good in this colour too; a pretty subtle pink, with golden embroidery. They have adorned her in accessories; rings, bracelets, earrings and a waist chain to highlight her figure under the layers. Her hair half done up, cascading down in waves, well cared for with its shine.

She almost feels worthy the title. "There," they says, bowing, "then, after you, your majesty." She hums, hands behind her back, making a few of them agitatedly whisper. Maria steps in the spacious dining room, with a chandelier right in the middle, archways letting in sunlight from the outside. She finally gets a full view of the evergreen gardens, breathing in the fresh air, her face away from the front, where her husband is, apparently.

"Took you long enough," her feet pause, and her blood runs cold, "shall we start, your majesty?"

Sitting before her, in all his glory, is none other than Theo Valentine.

Maria sees red. In the moment she wishes to lunge forward or scream, the dream shatters, and she wakes to find herself back in her bedroom, a pendant still sitting, right above her chest.