If you'd have asked Persephone Cahill whether anything good could come out of falling out of a tree, she would've laughed at the thought. Pondered on the sheer pain one would have to endure. Considered the slight chance that breaking your foot could buy you a few days out of work, maybe. But, when all was said and done, the answer would be a resounding, unforgiving no. Nothing good ever came from falling out of a tree.
Until today.
The sunset that day had been too beautiful, too vivid, too colourful and vibrant and exotic and luxurious, to resist taking a photo of it. The clouds were thin like streaks of creamy ribbon in the sky, and the brilliant oranges coalesced with the milky tones of indigo and navy just so that there was a sparkle of pink in between.
Persephone couldn't rein herself back when she spotted it from her bedroom window, the sheer curtains thrown aside in favour of letting the colours glitter on her carpet. The windows faced west, which meant that, although the sun was in her eyes for most of the evening, she did have one of the best views of it setting beneath the horizon.
She grabbed her black shoulder bag from her desk and freed her bulky camera, checking the battery compartment. Ah, yes, she'd changed the batteries last week. It would still work.
Creeping to her window as if her actions could awaken the palace, Persephone opened her window. The bars across the bottom half of her doors prevented her from stepping out any further, and she wasn't fancy enough like the royals to earn a balcony, but it was still good enough for a shot of the sky.
The trees peaked from down below, chilly in the icy wind, and Persephone mounted her camera. The view of the sunset came into focus – the colour was somewhat saturated on this model, and it was sad that she couldn't fully capture the scope of the sunset's natural beauty, but she could do what she could to fix that in editing.
Satisfied with the angle, she clicked the button. Snap. The picture sealed in the camera's memory forever, and Persephone straightened to take a look.
It was a skewed angle of the sunset, the grading off, the ground below tilted. She tried several times to rectify this by taking more photos, but none of them satisfied her. None of them were good enough.
Gritting her teeth, Persephone grabbed her dressing gown on her wardrobe door, and pulled on some cotton socks and a pair of trainers. Yes, she looked silly, combined with her t-shirt and jeans loungewear, but for the sake of the photo, she would endure. Gently slotting her camera back into her bag, she headed from the guest wing of the palace to the outdoors.
If she could just find a better position, get slightly closer to the sun's point, then her photo would be glorious. Instagraph worthy, definitely.
She rounded a corner, so wrapped in corrections she would need to make for the photo that she nearly ran into a man carrying a ginormous stack of heavy towels.
"Oh!" she yelped, jerking backwards.
The man stopped, tilting his head to see passed the towels. Just Rudy.
If it'd been anyone else, Persephone might have been worried.
"I'm not sure how you could miss this towel monster approaching you, Miss What's-Your-Name, and yet, you managed," he said, cracking a wry grin.
Persephone waved him away. "Sorry. I was distracted." Smirk. "Rudy, is it?"
"Correct. And you are… Persephone?" said Rudy, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure a faceplant into the Towel of Terror would have brought you right back into reality," he said, light teasing.
Persephone grinned. She and Rudy hadn't been friendly until recently, despite the fact that they'd both been working and living at the palace for years. Only a few months ago, did Rudy go into one of the staff rooms complaining about being overworked when Persephone happened to be there – she'd been fascinated that anyone could manage to work with the infamous Prince Roy – and for some reason, they'd just clicked.
Awkwardly, Persephone hadn't known Rudy's name until weeks after that first conversation, but it turned out that Rudy was the same. They made constant jokes about it now that it'd become a running gag between them.
Plus, they were both redheads. Always a bonus.
"Why don't you just… put some down and make two trips to laundry?"
Rudy scoffed, righting himself so that he was blocked by the towels. "Emphasis on two trips. I'm doing this in one. No one can stop me."
"I just stopped you."
"A momentary set-back."
"You're stubborn."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
Persephone rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but warm. "Are you on duty at the moment?"
Rudy laughed. "Do you think I would be wearing this if I weren't?"
"I literally cannot see what you're wearing behind your towel monster."
"Which means I also cannot see you. A godsend for my poor eyes."
"I could push you over right now."
"Go ahead. Then I'll be sent to the infirmary for breaking my foot, and then you'd have to wash His Highness' towels."
Persephone shuddered. As much as Prince Roy intrigued her, she didn't want to do his chores.
"Why are you out and about, anyway?" Rudy asked, adjusting the stack in his arms. Persephone caught sight of his ponytail, just flicking over his shoulder. "It's nearly sunset, and I'm certain there's a court meeting early tomorrow morning."
"It is sunset," Persephone clarified. "I'm going outside to take a photo."
"Ah, yes. Your hobby."
Hobby. Photography had once began as a hobby like how a tree begins as a seed in the earth, before sprouting and growing into something larger than life. Now it ran through the blood in her veins, a destiny she could grasp if only she dared.
It wasn't a far cry to think that maybe she could be a professional photographer one day. Rudy just didn't get it.
Persephone pursed her lips, though she knew Rudy couldn't see. "It's not a hobby. It's a way of life."
"Of course," Rudy conceded – a twinge of his sarcasm rolled through. "Well, enjoy the bitter cold and freezing puddles of the outside world."
He passed her, flashing a cool smirk her way, before moving off down the corridor for the stairs to laundry. Persephone grinned, suddenly more invigorated to take her best photo, just so she could shove it in Rudy's face. Rudy didn't appear to have very many hobbies aside from extreme cleanliness, so of course, he didn't understand. But she could show him, through time.
Though their conversation had cost exactly that – the sun would be lower in the sky now, and the colours would have shifted more towards midnight blues. The balance had to be just right, and Persephone had to hurry before the picture quality became grainy with nightfall.
The guards watched her with dubiousness as she waded through the, yes, bitter cold and freezing puddles of the outside world, to a spot just passed the paved courtyards of the garden. Wind streamed through her thin clothes, but she clenched her jaw and endured it, if only for the sake of the photo. Pro photographers would do anything when they had enough passion, so Persephone would do the same.
She found a nearby tree and stood in front of it, soaking in the weak sunrays of October. The first glimmer of the stars were beginning to settle in the sky, and the clouds were dulling to slate greys and deep charcoals. She had to get the picture now, or wait until tomorrow – weather permitting. And even then, everything would be different. No two sunsets were the same.
Persephone clicked a few more photos, but each turned out to be equally unsatisfying. She tried raising her arms and snapping the photo blind, or tilting the camera slightly, but every photo ended up wrong in some way. The good thing about her bedroom was that it was on the highest floor of the palace, and her view of the garden, and the horizon, was nothing short of spectacular. Down here, she had to face the camera upwards, and it didn't make for a genuine shot.
Her mind clicked and chugged. How could she overcome this?
Her eyes swept over the nearby tree. If the problem was height…
Persephone shoved her camera back into the bag and approached the tree. It was a large thing, oak, with a muddy wave crawling over the edges of the leaves in preparation for a late autumn. The bark was still slightly wet from the rainfall, but, as she stroked her hand against its damp roughness, there were enough branches for it to be deemed safe.
So Persephone lodged one foot onto the nearest branch, and began to climb.
She wasn't inclined to sports or physical activity of any kind, but her sheer determination to capture the best shot possible drove her up and up and up. Shadows danced across her silk pyjamas the deeper into the tree she ascended, and the thick perfume of tilled soil and leaves embraced her like a hug.
Securing her hold, and about three metres from the ground, Persephone turned around. Branches clogged her vision, but since they were small enough, she brushed them aside with her hands. Sweat trickled down her neck from the work, but as Persephone gazed into the horizon, and the horizon gazed back, she knew it had been worth it.
Her damp fingers were slick over the camera, but she clenched it tight. Angle. Focus. Distance. Aperture. Exposure. She altered them all, balanced precariously on the balls of her feet and leant against a think, spindly branch.
Persephone lifted the camera, and closed her right eye. The shot came into view through the scope.
Magnificent.
Radiance shimmered through the lens, filling her with warmth like liquid sunshine. The dark and light colours married and danced in paint strokes, the sky a canvas, and Persephone just another, trying to recapture its brilliance. The foresty greens of the trees beyond the wall just reached into the shot, silhouetting the edge of the photo like a dark frame.
She pressed the button. Snap. The picture was even more beautiful now that her unsteady hands didn't affect the shot, and she admired each pixel. Her camera wasn't the best, but it did its job, and just looking at the picture ignited wonder and excitement that she hadn't felt before. People would see this picture and ponder on it – perhaps, even, discuss the colour work in galleries and museums.
Persephone liked to dream, at least.
The wind yammered, and Persephone came back to the present – her dressing gown likely torn from the rabid branches, and the hem of her trousers cloyingly sticky. What would another shot hurt? Maybe a different angle would be beneficial. Then she could compare and contrast several photos, and choose the best one to feature on Instagraph. One step closer to having her work recognised.
Persephone pushed on the branch to check its stability. It was rigid behind her, sturdy and strong. She wouldn't fall backwards.
She lifted the camera for another shot. Snap. Snap.
Filled with blossoming dreams, Persephone lifted the camera higher. Snap. Snap.
Just… one more?
Resolve filled her. Photographers did everything in their power to take the winning picture.
She grounded her foot, and inched the camera higher.
Something in the tree crackled.
She felt the deep rumble within the trunk before the snapping off the branch she stood on. Air shoved into her as she toppled through the branches, catching the stray leaves and twigs during her fall. Sharp thorns ripped through her clothes and skin. She belted a scream, and the ground gyrated and whirled.
My camera. Seeing the ground, Persephone twisted her body, shielding her technology from the brunt, and landed on her left foot.
Agony blasted up her leg, and she cried out. It throbbed, it heckled, it smashed into her conscience and stabbed like a thousand knives. Collapsing to her back, the wet grass crushed against her cheek. Tears blotted out the sky.
That glorious, beautiful sky.
Footsteps crunched from somewhere around her, but, delirious with pain, Persephone couldn't focus on it.
"Ma'am, are you— oh, my god, ma'am!"
She recognised the guard's voice before he treaded around to face her. She had made it a responsibility to know all the redheads since Rudy in the monarchy's employment, and the only rational chip of her head told her this was Officer O'Hannagain of the patrol units.
"My— my foot," she bleated. "I— it's—"
The blurry horror on his face was enough to tell Persephone that she'd busted her foot big time. Sprained? Broken? Had it fallen off entirely?
"Does anything else hurt?"
Gulping, Persephone tried to shut out the searing pain to focus on some other, any other, part of her body. Luckily, death only seemed to want to claim her foot.
"My camera," she croaked, unravelling her arms. The camera fell out of her cocoon and rolled onto the grass. "Is my camera all right?"
O'Hannagain raised an eyebrow, but he checked the device. "Er, no scratches or cracks here, ma'am."
Persephone didn't have the will to sigh, but relief poured into her. The camera was most important to her, as was the memory card deep within. As long as they were intact, she didn't care what happened to her.
"Nothing else hurts," she said, her voice cracking, tears threatening to fall.
"Would it be all right if I carried you to the infirmary, ma'am?"
She nodded, and said nothing else as O'Hannagain lifted her into his arms and ran to the infirmary.
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Dr Nagi had made quick work, X-raying and diagnosing the left foot as broken in the heel. Persephone's shoe and sock had to be cut off before she watched the skin puff and purple, swollen to the size of a peach, and bruised like one, too.
Swaddled in hospital bed sheets, Persephone stared up at the surf-patterned ceiling. The pain had lessened through medication, but she was still on rest until Dr Nagi decided what to do next with it. Whether it needed to be casted, or if she could let Persephone go free with crutches. It had to be bandaged, at least, but for now, Persephone awaited a firmer decision. Her camera was nestled in its camera bag on the bedside table, next to pain medication and her X-ray sheets.
That stupid tree branch. It had been holding her weight just fine, until she'd pressed her foot down a little harder. This wouldn't have happened if it had been just slightly sturdier.
Still, Persephone thought, photographers are injured like this all the time. Why should I be any different?
She knew the answer. She wasn't a professional photographer by any means. Just an amateur with big dreams.
And an even bigger obstacle.
She heard the high heels before she saw them.
"My daughter, Persephone— where is she?!"
Her mother's crazed voice pierced the tranquillity of the infirmary wing. Persephone managed to sit up and trace the closed ward curtains with her eyes before her mother threw them aside.
"Persephone—!" She softened. "Oh, Seph, sweetheart…"
Eleanor Cahill's usually warm brown eyes were incensed with coals and flame. Her dark brown skin was flushed with worry, and she gripped the footboard of the bed, her nails digging into the cold steel. The wrinkles by her eyes deepened like a carved network of trenches.
"What— what happened?" she said, breathlessly.
Unprepared to answer the question, Persephone blabbered, "I— er…"
"O'Hannagain informed me you fell out of a tree?" Eleanor said. "Why on earth were you in a tree?"
Eleanor couldn't know. She'd kill Persephone.
Unfortunately, the evidence was right next to her. On the bedside table.
Eleanor's eyes slid to the camera, and her eyebrows furrowed with realisation.
"You were out taking pictures, weren't you?"
Persephone gulped, but at the same time, a wall of defensiveness built inside her.
"The sky was gorgeous tonight, Mom," Persephone opened. "I couldn't get a good angle in my bedroom, so I went outside—"
"And you endangered yourself by climbing a tree?" she snapped back. "Do you realise how reckless that is?"
Steeling her shoulders, Persephone frowned. "Professional photographers do it all the time."
"You are not a professional photographer, Persephone Sutton Cahill." She waved her hand. "I don't mind you having a hobby – in fact, photography is wonderful – but risking your life for it is not acceptable."
That word again. Hobby.
"Besides that," Eleanor continued, "professional photographers have equipment and safety measures in place so that if they do want to climb trees, they can do so without risking a broken foot!"
Persephone held her tongue. Her mother was right on that part. But at one point, professionals were amateurs, right? They didn't become famous by staying in their comfort zones, which Eleanor seemed willing to do.
Eleanor patted her hair down, which at least obeyed her will to stop straying in her anger. Then, she placed her hands together, sighed, and took the seat by Persephone's bed.
"You will represent this country one day, Seph. You can't continue to put yourself at risk like this."
Persephone snorted. "You make it sound like I'll be princess one day, Mom."
Eleanor shot her a curt look. "I mean as an advisor. To Their Majesties. In the royal court."
Oh, yes. Persephone had heard this a million times. Advisor assistant had been her daily job, running errands for Eleanor, one of the king and queen's aides, until Persephone was old enough to sit it on their advisory meetings and become a shadowing advisor. Palace etiquette and country infrastructure fascinated her, of course, but not as much as snapping that perfect shot of a sunset.
Eleanor didn't really know that.
She fluttered out her hand again to Persephone's broken foot. "All this for a picture, for goodness sake."
"It was a great photo, I'll have you know."
It was Eleanor's turn to snort. "For all this, the picture had better warm me with real sunlight."
Despite herself, Persephone wheezed out a chuckle, and Eleanor did the same.
"But, you're unharmed, apart from your foot?"
Persephone nodded. "Right as a rose."
Eleanor paused to absorb this, checking Persephone over for any visible signs of distress, but, finding none other than the minor scratches, she sighed. "All right." Shaking her head, she leant back in the chair. "I was discussing some delicate matters with the queen you know, when O'Hannagain came to inform me of the news. I was glad to drop the topic of discussion until I heard it was because you were hospitalised."
Persephone withheld her own sigh, but figured she should venture. "What were you talking about?"
"Prince Roy's Selection," said Eleanor. She crossed her arms. "Apparently, the prince has been trying to fight it since before he announced it to Illéa."
For the first time, Persephone felt a long-distance kinship with Prince Roy. Both forced to do something they didn't want to do to please their parents.
Then again, at least Roy had the opportunity to be vocal about his displeasure. Persephone was forced to keep quiet about the infinite joy that photography gave her. The passion that flared through the marrow of her bones for her cameras, and editing, and sunsets and colours. But no way would her mother let her stray from the path of advisor, as she herself was one. Married to work.
Persephone didn't want to disappoint her mother. It just wasn't on the cards.
An idea flickered into existence so fast Persephone could hardly keep up with her scrambled thoughts.
Perhaps... perhaps there was a way to chase her dreams and not disappoint her mother.
Like... entering the Selection.
It was a small chance. Practically hopeless, that Persephone would be picked, that her name would be called out from the bowls on live television, and bolster her status from lady of the royal court to Selected. That she would no longer have to suffer in those meetings when the call to her camera had tethered to her like a swirling, persistent mist.
It was a small chance. But it was there.
The month to apply had nearly run out, just over a week left to have fill in a form and have her picture taken.
If she succeeded in being chosen… she would more likely be able to follow her passion. She could take pictures every day, of girls, of dresses, of foods and jewels and ornaments beyond her wildest dreams. Heck, she joked about it before in a throwaway line, but she imagined the vast range of subjects she could have access to if she were a princess. The princess.
Becoming involved in the Selection probably meant she would never leave behind political matters fully. But that wasn't the point – at least she wouldn't be trapped doing it for the rest of her life. She could chase her dreams, or do both at once. When she retired the crown to her children, she could have photography retreats or even take classes.
At least the Selection provided a choice.
Though that meant having to woo Roy, too, and Persephone tried not to think deeply into it. The prince was a handsome young man, albeit arrogant, but whether they could be anything together? She had no idea.
Regardless of her thoughts on him, the plan had lodged itself into her head before she could stop herself, and it had no intention of floating away.
Eleanor's voice broke her concentration. "I don't blame the prince, really. It was a rather sudden turn of events for him. Though perhaps it will instil some responsibility into him." She smiled, placing a delicate hand on Persephone's leg, and whispered, "You're far more organised and intelligent when it comes to politics than he is, sweetheart."
The plan was beginning to take shape in her mind. She just had to ask someone to drive her to the nearest town office – probably buried somewhere in Los Angeles – to fill in the form and have her picture taken. Her mother would never find out.
"Right," Persephone said, not paying attention.
Eleanor removed the hand, oblivious to how much thought was churning in Persephone's head.
"Now, you get some rest; I should probably return to Queen Ji-Yu to reassure her about your state of health. When Dr Nagi returns, make sure to tell her to email me your medical files." She stood up, before pursing her lips. "And no more gallivanting off to dangerous places for your hobbies, okay?"
Hobbies. The word stung like an electric shock.
But Persephone knew she would prevail. Hobby would become profession. Her heart would not let her become imprisoned as Roy had with his Selection. She had a passion, and she would pursue it. No matter the state of her feet, or the parental obstacles blocking her path.
"No more, Mom," Persephone said. Hope winked within her. "No more."
A/N: suprise! I figured, I've got three of these damn chapters sitting in my docs, why not yolo it and post a few before 34? So here you are! If you remember, Persephone Cahill had busted her leg during the first few weeks of the Selection, and this is why. Hope you enjoyed it!
Thanks to wolfofstark for Persephone! She's a unique character amongst the Selection, given that she lives in the palace, and I wanted to capture even just a semblance of her life. I'm always attracted to those with secrets, lol. Don't worry, I intend to flesh out her photography passion in the main story, too. ;) I've kind of been struggling with how to end 34, because I cannot for the life of me think of a decent hook (read: cliffhanger of death ;P), so... yeah. Sorting through that, but 34 is nearly done, so after that I can finally move onto 35 hahah.
Reviews, favourites and follows most appreciated, dear friends. Thanks for reading!
~ GreenWithAwesome