Chapter 1 (a)

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 CHAPTER 1

It is a wonderful spring morning, a sunny and calm Monday.
I stretch my body on the gigantic bedpost of my luxurious room. I enjoy the nice sensation that I derive from rolling on the perfectly cleaned and perfumed silken sheets. I'm no longer asleep, I'm not even tired, but lying on this tender mattress is a cozy pleasure. Just another few minutes.

Dlanor: "Good morning, Miss Erika."

Erika: "Good morning, Dlanor."

I smile at my faithful companion. Every time I wake up from my sleep I always find her there, sitting on that exquisite Victorian armchair. She's always the first to greet me in the morning, a delightful routine that repeated itself for the past years. Her devotion to me is unparalleled and I consider her my most prized possession. I don't believe it's strange to consider her on the level of a "possession", that's simply what she is to me, after all... she's furniture.
Dlanor A. Knox is a young western beauty, English to be precise, and she is basically my personal attendant, my entourage. She is discreet, patient, professional and she never says a word more than what is necessary, a trait that I particularly appreciate.

Dlanor: "I presume you had a pleasant sleep. You look particularly radiant today."

Erika: "Oh, I did. I rarely felt better, I'm like born anew."

Dlanor: "Did you have a nice dream?"

Erika: "Not even one! That's why it was such a good sleep. You should know that I hate dreams, they are nothing but garbage devoid of any meaning. It's a waste for my many little grey cells to be occupied with such nonsense. Don't you agree?"

That's right, I really despise dreams, in all of their meanings, and I'm not afraid to tell. When that happens people usually react as if I just killed their favorite pet. It's a funny thing, really. It seems that dreams are seen in a very positive light by most cultures. People are insanely fascinated by them and some even believe that a man without dreams is a man without a life. To me that only shows how weak human beings are. In the end dreams are nothing but lies, just another way to escape a reality that nobody likes.
But I like how dreams are often compared to bubbles, I think it's a fitting metaphor. What there is to be so fascinated by little spheres made of soap, water and air? It's trivial, it's childish, and yet everyone thinks they are pretty, even adults. Everyone likes bubbles!
I like them too in a way, I like to burst them one by one. But what I enjoy the most is looking at the dumb faces of those who see them disappearing before their very eyes. Did you see what happened to that shiny bauble you liked so much? It's gone! Look, it's not longer there, it just vanished into nothingness! How does that make you feel?
I stand up. It's time to prepare myself and get dressed.
I let my nightgown slide to the floor, the servants will take care of it later. I watch myself in the mirror, a girl should always make sure to be in perfect shape. And I see there are no problems there, I'm as fit as ever.

Erika: "I think my boobs are growing again."

That's a lie, but I like to tease Dlanor. She's almost completely flat-chested, the poor thing. As usual she doesn't comment, she doesn't say a thing, she doesn't show the slightest reaction. She's adorable.
I take the clean undergarments and clothes that were prepared for me the day earlier. The maid in charge of this task made a sound choice, these will do quite fine for this day.
While I get dressed, I resume my thoughts on the futility of dreams.

Erika: "Do you know why do lotteries exist, Dlanor?"

Dlanor: "It's a form of gambling. A substantial number of persons gathers a considerable amount of money by investing a small quota. A single person among them is randomly selected and gains a great wealth, while the rest only loses a bit."

Erika: "That's a very nice way of putting it, but did you know that a most practical man once stated that lottery is a tax on people who are bad at math?"

Dlanor: "Yes, I heard of it before."

Erika: "And don't you agree with it?"

Dlanor: "It's a provocative claim, since a lottery isn't exactly a tax by proper definition. However, the underlying message that it isn't statistically convenient to pay the price of a ticket for the expected chance of victory, is undeniably true."

Erika: "That's right, it's undeniable. You can't argue against math. So why do so many people still gamble?"

Dlanor: "..."

Erika: "It's because they want to dream, Dlanor. They pay in order to create the condition that will let them dream. Because as long as they own a ticket and as long as the winner isn't declared, they can dream they'll become rich. And then they'll spend their days dreaming. What will they do with all that money? What will they buy? How much would their lives change? For them that alone is worth the price, even if they don't realize it."

Dlanor: "I see."

I move in front of the dresser and I start combing my long and silky hair.

Erika: "So, do you understand how foolish dreaming is? There are many other more practical ways to gain wealth, and in the end gambling is more likely to make you even poorer. However I must recognize that dreaming is all that is left to unskilled, unintelligent and weak willed individuals. Unlike me, they don't live in huge mansions of their own property, they don't have dozens of servants to do their biddings, they don't have luxurious garments to wear, they aren't gifted with superior intelligence and beauty. They truly are miserable."

I tie my hair into twin tails and I put on a light make up. I look at myself from side to side.

Erika: "How do I look?"

Dlanor: "Perfect as usual, Miss Erika."

Erika: "Good."

For a commoner it is probably unthinkable that all these preparations, just to go from a room to another of your own house, are required. But as an old acquaintance of mine used to say: you must think of the corridors of a mansion as if they are public streets. It would be unforgivable for a mistress to show herself in front of her servants with hair unkempt and a sloppy dress. Dlanor is the only exception, but there's nothing wrong in showing your naked body to mere furniture, right?

Erika: "I'm ready, let's go."

With Dlanor at my side I exit the bedroom and I walk the long corridors of the western mansion.
Dozens of servants dressed in white stand aside and bow as I pass them.
They all know well who I am and they all respect me, some even revere me.
In this place, I am a queen.
I look outside the windows as I walk, the garden is beautifully tended and the flowers are in full bloom.
It truly is a delightful spring day.
I finally reach the lounge where several tables are already set for breakfast.
There is a vast assortment of dainty delicacies from all parts of the world.
It is clearly too much for a single person, but I'm a filthy rich, I just eat what I wish and leave the rest.
I take a seat in front of a round table where a newspaper was prepared in advance.
I like to read news about the world in the morning, I must keep myself informed.
Dlanor, my inseparable companion, sits right next to me.
As I browse through the pages of the newspaper, scarcely interested in what they report, a man approaches me. He is Gorou Rokudou, the butler.
Being the head of every servant that work in the mansion, he is the second most important person here.
He doesn't really need to bring me tea and sweets in person, but since it is an honor to attend to the mistress of this house, he usually takes these chances to exchange a few words with me every day.

Rokudou: "Good morning, milady."

Erika: "Good morning, Rokudou."

Rokudou: "And good morning to you as well, Dlanor."

Dlanor: "It is not necessary to greet me, Mister Rokudou."

Rokudou: "It would be rude not to. How is my mistress feeling today?"

Erika: "Splendidly, this is a most wonderful day."

Rokudou: "I'm glad to hear that. I personally brought your tea and your favorite kompeito as usual."

The tea is a special blend of Keemun, Assam and Ceylon. The kompeito are handmade by my personal chef.

Erika: "Thanks Rokudou, your services are as always very much appreciated."

Rokudou: "It is an honor, milady."

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