Standing outside the stately door at the end of the stately hallway that lead to her ‘father’s’ office, Blaire pondered over her situation. She had died by jumping off the cliff she made in her construct, and the second her cold eyelids lowered over her glass eyes and the mini-world she’d spent the better half of a millennium painstakingly constructing closed in around her, she jerked to life, actual life, in a place that looked like what she could only call a fairy land; Definitely so when compared with her home.
The situation she currently found herself in would be sending her into shock… but it itn’t. Blaire, the construct, had seen more than any human could even fathom. in their worst nightmares. At this point, even seeing empires fall before her had little to no effect, other than make her wonder about how the next empire would be built.
In her life as a construct designed ‘by God’, as her ‘father’ would always claim, she’d seen precisely seven of the eleven major empires of her world fall. Three of the seven managed to bounce back under new names - The Empire of Flawn, The Great Republic of Kernashia and The United Kingdom of The Ulesian Drop. Blaire shook her head. Their names were as ‘saucy’ as their policies, of that, there was no doubt.
*knock-knock-knock*
Pulling her out of her reverie, the woman in the yellow dress, Tilda, knocked on the darkly varnished door of her new dad’s office and leaned in close, donning an understanding and compassionate expression, though Blaire detected a hint of conspiracy in the way the skin around the lady’s eyes crinkled.
“You see, I don’t think the Lord is, um… of good health, miss. I’m sure you know, I’m sure you know~” she said, waving her hand towards Blaire. “Goodness, you know better than anyone else, poor dear. But nevertheless… Be wary.”
The door opened, and Tilda stepped in with Blaire in tow.
Blaire entered the room, and her eyes widened.
“Who-”
“- My Lord! Marvelous news, your young Miss is back! Oh, how blessed we are on this day-!”
The Lord of the mansion, sitting in a leather chair behind a grand desk, the finish on the desk even darker than that of the door, massaged his glabella.
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“Leave,” he commanded, looking at Tilda and the men that had just entered, the butler and the other man Blaire’d already forgotten the name of.
“And in good health- w-what? Oh… U-um, y-yes, of course.” Tilda turned around stiffly, though she again leaned closer to Blaire on her way out. “Um… Good luck.”
Blaire gave a polite smile, and straightened her back, looking motionlessly at her ‘father’ in the chair. When the false young Miss and her ‘father’s’ eyes met, both their gazes were unflinching.
[...]
Blaire had had over ten lifetimes to perfect both her posture and her backbone, but even then, seeing the man before her, she couldn’t help the slight twitch of her shoulder from… from what? Stress? Shock? … Fear? Nevertheless, her eyes looked straight ahead as though nothing had happened.
The man took in the sight of his ‘daughter’ as well, giving her a once-over. He leaned back in his chair.
“You left.”
“...I did.”
“And you came back.”
“I did.”
The man frowned, observing is 'daughter's' face.
“You’ve changed, Claire. Your eyes are… deader.”
“My name is Blaire, sir.”
“What?”
“My name, is Blaire, sir. Is there a problem with my behavior?”
The corner of Lord’s mouth tugged up in a poisonous half-smile.
“No, no, of course not, Blaire. I was simply stating an observation.” He gestured at her body. “You’ve also brought dirt to my carpets. I see you’ve been on a hike. How did that turn out for you?”
Hearing the man’s aggravating tone, Blaire’s tone didn’t change in the slightest, her voice as emotionless as always. “Well. The sky was beautiful. The grass was green.”
The man, who’s name she still did not know, scowled.
“I see. How nice - no, how pleasant." He smiled happily before dropping it entirely, trading it for a dissaproving frown. "Get out. Henrick will come see you later. You’d better not try to run away again. The marriage will happen regardless of your 'moral scruples' - you’ve always known this.” Giving her a pointed glare, he shooed her away, returning his attention to the documents on the desk, starting to read through them as if Blaire simply ceased to exist.
Blaire said nothing as she left. When the door was closed behind her, her smile faded as if it’d never been, and for the first time in five hundred and sixteen years, Blaire, the construct, scowled, and rage filled her dead heart.
“Filth.”
The man in the room behind her, the father of the body she now found herself in, was the spitting image of her tormentor, of the lunatic, the crazed genius, the creator of her undying body in her godforsaken previous life.