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“Sonia-senpai, why are you so distant?”
The question takes her by surprise, and she blinks. “...Distant? I am not sure what you mean by that.” A polite smile appears on her face. “I try my best to treat others with kindness.”
“I don’t mean it like that. I mean... I don’t know. It’s like you’re not really there. Like I’m talking to a doll.”
Her eyes darken.
“Not at any fault of your own, ‘course. I mean, you’re a princess, after all. But I wanna get to know the real you, not the Princess Sonia that you sell everyone. I mean, don’t you hate it?”
“I do not hate my duties,” Sonia replies. Her smile is clearly forced.
You hum. “Is that you saying that, or is that Princess Sonia?”
“It is me.” There’s a new edge to her voice. “E-Enoshima-san, I am not sure why you doubt me, but I assure you that I am being genuine.”
“Does a genuine version of ‘you’ even exist? Or are you the mask you sell to everyone?”
“...I would appreciate if we changed the subject now.”
“No,” you laugh cruelly, “I’m not changing the subject. I want to talk about this, and you’re kind enough to indulge me, aren’t you?”
“...My cordiality has its limits, and you are, quite frankly, testing my patience.”
“Then get mad at me. Come on, you want to, right? You wanna get angry and curse me out. You want to tell me to shut up. So tell me.”
She stands to leave. You tug her by the sleeve, yanking her backwards. She frees herself quickly, giving your hand a sharp shove. She hurries towards the exit, but you’re faster, not limited by a regal garment like she is. By the time she reaches the door, you’re already leaning in the doorway, giving her just the right shit-eating grin.
“Going so soon?” you ask. “I was really hoping we could talk some more.”
“Enoshima-san.” Her voice is edged with warning.
“Come on, Princess.”
Suddenly, you’re on the floor. Your jaw hits the ceramic tiles hard, delivering a searing shock as blood begins to stream from your gums. You indulge in the metallic taste for a moment, running your tongue over your teeth, before you look up at her, grinning ear-to-ear.
She has both hands over her mouth, eyebrows raised like she just watched someone be attacked. Like she wasn’t the one who hurt you.
“I-I am terribly sorry!” she begins, “I do not know what came over me, that was—”
You cut her off with a bloody cough. “Hit me again,” you slur. “I know you wanna.”
She starts to protest, apologizing profusely, but her gaze never meets your eyes. (It’s no surprise to you.)