You are now Eridan.
You sit on the blue shag carpet that covers the entire flooring of your bedroom, leaning up against the footboard of your Pink Ivory bed frame, imported all the way from Africa. You sigh dramatically despite knowing that no one can hear you, what with your seven-inch thick sound canceling walls, professionally painted a royal purple with miniscule white sparkles decorating the entirety of each wall. When your room was consumed by darkness, the sparkles seemed to light up, like a reminder that there would always be some good even in an abundance of bad.
The obvious symbolic statement only manages to piss you off right now. You abruptly stand, knees popping as you do, and glare at a specific spot on the wall. There's nothing particularly offensive about this spot, nor is there anything to set it apart from the rest of your room, and yet it remains the target of your frustrations. You growl, a sound rarely made by someone of your standards, and march over to the Bocote night stand exactly two inches from your king sized bed. Resting atop it is a cobalt blue crystal-blown lamp: a gift from your aunt last Christmas.
You make it a personal goal to see to the lamps demise. With what could only be described as a warriors call, you grip the lamp harshly and send it sailing through the air until it strikes the wall in the exact spot you'd been glaring earlier. The lamp shatters instantly upon impact, weirdly filling you with satisfaction. Still enraged beyond belief, you kick the night stand harshly, but it doesn't budge even a millimeter.
Fuck you, you think towards the wood furniture before deciding that staying here is a poor decision. You aren't entirely sure where to go, seeing as you have no friends, but you still know deep down in your heart that you need to leave this damned mansion.
You stomp over to your closet, deciding that you might as well look nice since you're going out. Even if you're mad, that doesn't give you the right to look like a miscreant. As quickly as you can manage, you throw on a plain white t-shirt with a grey cardigan over it and a pair of burgundy regular fit jeans and grey Vans. After staring a couple moments at your reflection in the silver rimmed mirror, you scowl, grab your car keys, and walk out of your bedroom, into the long corridor that eventually leads to one set of spiral stairs.
Going down the staircase two at a time, you start to hear voices coming from the foyer in the jointed room. Seeing as you have to go through there to get outside anyway, you decide to go check things out. One voice you recognize as Cronus, but the other is unfamiliar and admittedly REALLY high pitched. You enter the room and come to a halt in the arched doorway, displeasure filling your being.
There on the Lexington Upholstery Salon Sofa, a gift from a friend of the family whom you've never met, sits your brother in a white tank top, a pair of black loose fitting jeans, and grey Vans similar to yours that don't complement any aspect of his ensemble. Next to him, snuggled into his side, is who you assume to be Ayexis, who's wearing a Nirvana t-shirt, faded yellow skinny jeans, and black Osiris'.
At least HE has the decency to match his shoes to the rest of his outfit, you think, hating yourself for even giving him slight kudos on anything. They don't seem to notice you, for they're far too busy addressing the person sitting in the double wide hanging chair suspended midair. Oddly enough, this person looks incredibly familiar from the back, and soon you realize what a terrible mistake you've made by leaving your room.
Because there Phaedra was, slouching in the cushions and being addressed by both her and your elder siblings.