224 Orwell, Ezekiel, and Anakin

That wretched girl.

Lilianne wiped her fake tears with a napkin, as tentatively as she could. Some young men approached to console her—and straightaway, she realized that she garnered unnecessary companions. Men, with no name and no elegance. Lilianne sipped on her tea as she smiles at these men. "I would like to be alone now. Thank you very much."

Lilianne knew that she need not to be polite to these nameless cretins. Commoners are nothing to her and are in no way beneficiary other than lowly servants. Lilianne Disfiegro's fake tears dried so quickly as if she didn't cry in the first place. Her mother, Luna Disfiegro, taught her how to bewitch people at such a young age, to the point it all came naturally. Too naturally. 

Lilianne crossed her legs as the waitresses cleaned up the leftovers that fell to the floor.

Faustina Feuerlon had left.