She is loath to admit it, but she hates the attention.
She dislikes the throngs that surround her, the endless lines of admirers, of suitors, of gentlemen callers. They all want so much of her, and so little of her, and in the end, it has never been her goal to satisfy them, because they are Lesser Beings, in the grand scheme of things, and she doesn't have the time to waste on them.
She does, though, because as much as she wants to spend her life tucked away with her books, she can't as long as they intrude, because they are intrusive little bastards, and if left unappeased, they will never go away, and she's never been that good at keeping hidden anyway, so she gives them their smiles, their acknowledgement, their graceful affection, and she turns them like tricks in the hope that they'll just go away.
They do, but some don't, so many don't, and at the end of the day, there are still more of them, always more of them, and they all want so much more than she has ever had to give.
She gives it anyway. At least this way they can be managed.
A/N: I like writing irate!China. It feels a lot more honest than not.
~Mademise Morte, June 12, 2012.
