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You are Franziska von Karma, aged 16, living in a large mansion in the outskirts of the German countryside. You are cold and you are alone. Your father is distant, barely interfering in your sad, miserable life. He pays far too much attention to your younger brother, (who is 7 years your senior) grooming him for the success you crave, the success you know you deserve.
Your mother is gone and your elder sister hates you. She hates everything. Last you heard, she married some rich asshole and changed her last name to ‘Vanderbilt’...or was it ‘Valdez’? Something like that. You’re jealous of her, too. You crave that sense of freedom.
Back to your father. He’s working in America now, along with the sorry excuse you call a younger brother. You love him dearly, but by God do you hate him more than anything else. It should be you in America, blazing your way up the ladder, showing wimpy little defence attorneys a kind of pain that they couldn’t even make up in their cruellest nightmares, not him.
Yet, you're here. A large, empty mansion. It’s cold, not even your thickest skirts and sweaters protect you from the pure chill that penetrates your skin, gnawing at your flesh like a starving hound. And you are so very alone. Do servants count as company? You almost consider it, but they don’t talk to you. They press your laundry and make your meals, but they don’t even turn an eye to you. The closest thing you’d consider company is the portrait of your dead mother in your bedroom, but that’s still only one-sided. You tell her about your stresses, the interesting cases you have taken on, and the disgusting attorneys you’ve faced. She listens with calm eyes, a faint smile barely noticeable on her lips. She listens, but she never responds.
You realise you really are alone.
-
You are Franziska von Karma, aged 16. Your father has called you on the telephone (the first time in 4 months!) You are ecstatic. Even if he doesn’t love you, you love him. Even if the seldom hugs he gave you were deprived of any kind of warmth, you still appreciated them. Even if every single thing he has done for you has been for his own interest and gain, you still were grateful.
His deep voice is always startling, in person or not. You want to ask him millions of questions, like ‘How is America?’ or ‘How is younger brother?’ or even a risky ‘How are you, father?’ but you know better by now. You are a von Karma, and von Karma’s only share two things: their name and their wrath, even with family. So instead, you let father speak.
“Franziska, I think it’s time that you found a man to be your future husband. I will not have my sole daughter be some kind of spinster!” Father spoke in his deep, aggressive voice.
You cringe. The thought of marrying a man has always been unappealing. You have never seen a man you would call even somewhat attractive. But, you remind yourself that you haven’t seen many men in your life. Maybe you just haven’t found the right one yet.
“So,” he continues, in a tone so ominous it would scare away even the darkest of looming clouds, “I have found the perfect suitor for you.” Even if you can’t see it, you know he’s smirking a grotesque smirk.
He tells you the information about the meeting you will be having with said suitor, along with how much he is looking forward to you continuing the von Karma legacy.
After a very, depressingly short while, you hang up and sigh. You stare at the phone in your hands before rolling your eyes in some hope to spite the man who was on the other end. You bite your bottom lip, reopening the nibbled wounds. Iron fills your mouth and hot tears build and your stomach muscles grow tense and you get nauseous and you feel like you’re asphyxiating and it’s just all too much. Why is this so stressful? It shouldn’t be. You should be happy, happy that the stress of finding a man and getting married is off your shoulders, the only stress your father has taken away instead of giving you. Yet, the realisation that you’re only 16 and that you never want to have kids and that you’ve never ever loved a man in any way, maybe not even your own father sets in and it’s once again. You fall to the floor with shudders and sobs. The hot tears drip and spill from your eyes. You claw at the tight turtleneck, feeling the fabricate suffocate you. Suffocate. You are suffocating, asphyxiating. You’re dying, but God Fucking Dammit you would be happy to die because then you’d be free.
Your whole life has been out of your control, you realise, you have never made a choice for yourself. Everything was someone else’s choice, even the damn sweater. You go from sitting on the floor to falling over and laying on it. You are a ball of pain and tears and law and prodigy and you are done. You don’t want to marry whoever this mystery man is no matter how handsome or charming or gentlemanly he is. And you certainly don’t want to have his gross, disgusting, vile children.
However, you think about what would happen if you don’t. Your father has already decided that he only has one daughter, and you would kill yourself before he decided he had none.
You stand up, wipe your tears with your hands, take a deep breath, and prepare yourself for the rest of your sad, miserable life as a sad, miserable wife.
-
You are Franziska von Karma, aged 16, and you are getting ready to go on the worst, most disgusting date in your life. The first date in your life, and probably the last. You know by the end of the evening, if the man wants you to be his bride you will. Even now, even in a time when women are supposed to be free and make choices and be happy, you are exempt. You are a millionaire’s daughter, and the daughter of legal royalty, which is basically normal royalty at this point.
You glare at your reflection. Your skin clings to your cheekbones tightly, leaving your cheeks hollow. Your jaw is not sharp, but it’s not hidden either. Your eyes have lines and bags and dark circles. You look like a woman thrice your age and you hate it. Although your contact with the outside world is minimal, only through court and the television, the women your age you’ve seen are purely beautiful. Their faces and figures are full and gorgeous. Their smiles are wide and their cheeks are always flush. Their hair is free and long, or it’s short and soft. You had to keep your hair shoulder length and prim (if you had the choice, you would buzz your hair all off. But that’s not your choice to make, is it?) These women are so happy, their faces are wrinkleless, and yet you look like you are about to enter menopause. You scowl at the middle-aged woman staring back at you in the mirror and you wonder if the boy you are about to meet is going to think he’s the unluckiest man alive.
You comb your frosty, thin hair and strands upon strands fall out and onto the bathroom sink. They stand out against the clean porcelain. Your hair has been falling out since you were 10, and it’s been getting worse and worse. You feel those hot tears build up behind your eyes for the 3rd time in the past hour as your lips form a sharp frown. You take a few deep breaths and splash water on your face.
You are 16 and you look 48. That’s okay. It’s okay.
-
It’s not okay.
You are in the limo, being driven to your date and you are not okay. The driver, whom you don’t recognize, has ignored your endless pleas, asking them to turn around and take you home. They are silent and focused on the seemingly endless road ahead. You are a mess, dishevelled, shaking and crying. You hold your arms tightly and look down. You feel like your grip is going to leave a bruise, but you couldn’t care less. It would be the easiest pain you’ve felt on your body today.
The limo carries on for a while as you cry in the backseat. The vehicle drives smoothly along the highways and every single move the driver is making is seemingly done with at least some amount of care and thought. Although, suddenly, there is an abrupt stop before the driver turns around and gestures for you to get out. You grab your small leather bag that feels almost as cold as your father’s heart and you do as they ask.
The building in front of you is small, quaint. It almost reminds you of a cottage. There are faint lights coming out of the windows and there is a large sign indicating the building is a restaurant. You pull your large mink coat closer, huddling it. You can’t believe that you, a von Karma, are going into such an establishment. It isn’t high end enough for a von Karma like you and you know that as a fact, You deserve better and you know it. To add the cherry on top of the shit sundae, you’re here to meet a man, a man you know you’ll never love. Ever.
You quickly walk in, and look around before a man stands up. Or, more accurately, a boy. He looks your age, if not younger, with a head of short blonde curls on his head. He smiles with rosy cheeks and shining teeth. He has braces with red and blue bands. You find his appearance mediocre at best.
He waves at you and opens his thin lipped mouth, “Franziska! Over here!” The poor chap also has a speech impediment. How did father find this boy the least bit suitable?
You carefully walk over, the heels on your feet striking the floor and making loud clacks. The boy walks to a chair across from his and pulls it out for you. You shrug off your jacket and place it on the back of the chair before sitting down on it. The chair is obviously cheap and glaringly uncomfortable, the firm cushion hurting your butt. You finally have a chance to look around the restaurant and you immediately feel regret.
The walls are gaudy and stained by cigarette smoke, the carpet is grimey and sharp (How could a carpet even be sharp, you ponder) and overall the place is just unsettling and uncomfortable. You shudder and sit up a little straighter. The boy across from you smiles something genuine, the corners of his mouth going up so high that he squeezes his eyes shut. You notice he has a retainer, too. Poor thing.
You reluctantly begin talking to this poor chap and find out his name is Klaus. He really has the universe working against him, doesn’t he? He talks about his interests and his hobbies, as well as his 5 horses. He rattles on about this or that, and you interject every so often with a glaringly uninteresting, “How cool,” or “Tell me more,” You lean forward and rest your head in your hand whilst he gestures wildly with his.
He’s actually a really interesting guy. For someone who you find out is only 15, he’s been through a lot of interesting life experiences, and he knows a lot about a lot.
But, he’s not husband material. You feel no attraction to him whatsoever. He spits when he talks and his hair is all over the place and you just can’t see yourself with…this.
Like some sort of saving grace, the waitress walks over and oh.
Oh.
She's beautiful.
You feel every word leave your tongue and your mind, your blood stop circulating, and your heart skip a beat. You go bug-eyed as she turns her gaze to you and smiles.
God. Her face is so round and perfect, her lips are red and full, her hair goes down to her back and she has this aura of pure warmth. She opens her mouth and you can barely track what she’s just so. Damn. Gorgeous.
“What kinda drinks can I get started for y’all?” she asks, flipping open her order pad and clicking her pen with a sense of grace and skill, like it was muscle memory.
You stare at her, slack-jawed. She is so gorgeous, so beautiful. You can’t think, can’t speak. How could you think of a beverage when this gorgeous, elegant, amazing woman is right in front of you?!
Klaus orders a water calmly.
The beautiful angel in front of you once again turns her attention to you, and you draw a blank.
After a few moments, she grows a little concerned. She smiles awkwardly and asks again, “Can I get you something to drink?”
You mutter, “A tea…Hot tea..”
She smiles a genuine, warm smile. It reminds you of summer days wasted away under large trees, light shining through the leaves, illuminating little spots under the shade. Your body fills up with warmth, and your heart skips a beat.
As she saunters away, you continue leaning your head on your hands, and you watch her. You hear Klaus lean forward, too.
“Ah,” he starts, “I see what's going on here…” His voice is low, unlike the tone he was speaking in before. He sounded serious, but not in the same way your father sounded serious. Klaus was speaking in the voice of someone who had a serious, deep understanding of the world around him, even if that understanding took ages.
He stood up, pushed in his chair, walked across the tawdry carpet of the restaurant, and left, the door slamming sharply behind him.
-
The limo ride home was full of contradictory sobs and sighs of relief
-
You are Franziska von Karma, aged 29.
You lie beside your beautiful wife, Maya Fey, as she snores in her deep slumber. She’s so adorable. You love staring at her, and you’re glad she’s all yours to stare at.
Your home is warm, but not so overbearingly hot that it’s uncomfortable. The blankets covering you are soft and plush.
You lean over and place a hand on Maya’s forehead, pushing away some of her thick black hairs with your fingers. You caress her soft, tan skin for a while, smiling at all the little grunts and snores she makes as she sleeps.
You do that for a while, until her eyes begin to slowly flick open, revealing beautiful brown irises. She stares at you with half-lidded, still sleepy eyes, and she smiles. It’s a weak smile, likely due to her own exhaustion, but it’s still a genuine smile. You’ve seen many smiles in your life, the violent one of your father, the snarky one of your brother, the narcissistic one of your older sister, and the many, many illegitimate ones of your nervous employees and coworkers. Maya’s is by far your favourite.
It has been some 10 years since you last felt a true sense of being alone. You began surrounding yourself with people, subconsciously or not. Even if you felt lonely, you were never ‘alone’, whatever that may mean.
That was around the time you met Maya, a love and an inspiration. She had been through many tough times in her life, like you, and she was struggling to heal (like you) but she was trying so hard to heal. (something you hadn’t even considered trying yet.)
Your date with Klaus, or whatever his name was, made you realise something about yourself. It wasn’t an instant realisation, but it planted the seed to grow the thought. You realised there was no room in your heart for the romantic love of a man. However, there was room for the romantic love of a woman. And, even if the people around you weren’t, you were okay with it.
Your life has grown from something of a sad cautionary tale of what happens when someone grows an estranged relationship with their guardian to a success story of a woman who grew up in a neglectful home making it big and finding her own family.
Maybe things will be okay after all.