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[justify][size=11px]Adara had already formulated an adequate and benign reciprocation to Tonic's words, as well as an appreciative appearance, but just as she was preparing to communicate, when an unexpected voice transported through the atmosphere. Metamorphosing her position so that she could face the oncoming feline fully and respectfully, Adara commissioned an apologetic glance to Tonic so he could easily differentiate between her being rude, and her simply attempting to administer everyone proper regard. Dexterously diagnosing the advancing feline to be Caesaron who was the eldest original in the Society, Adara contracted her spine and fluidly inclined into a near flawless bow that she reserved for only those who she truly and deeply honored. And how could one not feel approbation toward a previously high ranking, original member of a prestigious Society?

"Do not sense obligation to address me as madam nor Empress, Caesaron, you deserve to be revered far more than I," Adara purred with a hint of affection toward the sixty seven moons old tom, "and I do suppose I have a moment or so to conference with you, as it seems important." Casting an apologetic glance at the Pleasure slave she had just barely managed to get a hold of moments before, she tried to gesticulate that she would seek him out once more after she was done conversing with Caesaron.

[justify][size=11px]It was much to the willowy argentate and ivory coated feline's surprise when she suddenly found herself pinned flat against the ground, her consciousness reeling from the sudden collision. Dispatching an inquisitive glance upwards, Adara began to feel warm as she recognized the familiar ebony lamination of Tonic. Without even understanding what was occuring, her ravishing cerulean oculars caught on his, the variegated irises appearing to be endless for their varied depth of pigmentation. Not that she noticed that in the least; the petite feline was far too industrious in ardently studying Tonic's entrancingly vivid malachite optics. Never antecedent has she felt so unusually introverted in someone's present, but she put it off as nerves from her graceless collapse. Ironically, Adara had been anticipating running into the tom, but simply not quite so literally. Perhaps all of this was a part of Bastet's undeniably celestial contrivance-even though, it was equitable to articulate that the Empress was not necessarily the most religious, frivolously dependent individual in the Cast Society. Indeed, before rising into monarchy, she had intended to concentrate her existence on traversing the world, and abandoning the Society altogether. Nevertheless, her opinion had metamorphosed ever since she commenced accepting and truly studying the Society way of life because, honestly, who could resist a wondrous secret society?

Barely refraining from eliciting tintinnabulations of bemusement at her own haphazard thought process, the Empress precariously slid away from the tom and the frigid tiles that decorated the hallway's bottom. She did so in such a way that was both gracious and benign, so it was apparent she was not disconcerted or disapproving. Then, dipping her head Adara allowed an inconsequential smile to radiate off of her feminine, delicate features as she looked right at the tom.

"I suppose I deserve that for bringing about the news so impetuously this evening," she articulated, a flicker of lightheartedness in her eyes showing she was merely jesting, "but I do actually have reason to conference with you, so if this is a good time...?"

[justify][size=11px]I have journeyed through an anguished period where all I perceived was a deadly future of a serrated, gleaming argentate blade gliding into my veins, crimson blood flowing subtly to the rough, unhewn terrain. I am thirteen years old. Thirteen years and no more judicious than any other, yet I have experienced already my dying breath, rattling out of my chest, and witnessed something grotesquely awry enter me, ensnaring my carcass. This monstrosity, this essence of something....more, still plagues me, toying with me and bringing suffering to what should be light hearted and frivolously intended. Pardon my dreary and undiluted thoughts, and usage of such brutal, verisimilitude filled discourse, but what I so disdainfully describe still thrives within me, enduring all my hardships along with me and feasting off of all the sorrow of a thirteen year old's world. Of course, as one might apprehend, much of the problems faced were ultimately brought about due to the being, which is what I have so wittingly decided to call it.... It seemed as though every single thought that soared through the depths of Bel's consciousness traveled, without a single hint of contemplation, through the fine point ebony fountain pen and arrived abruptly upon the paper that was flattened against her desk. Any other being gazing upon her scratched, poorly restored literature table might have experienced disgust or displayed distaste, but the ebony haired girl was too engrossed in her hurried commission to bother with caring. And indeed why should she? She herself was quite an unattractive mess with her uncannily long and thin legs, protruding ribcage, awkward frown, and permanently searching, large, impossibly atramentous oculars. Therefore, Bel did not warrant any special treatment from others, and bequeathed no such exclusive therapeutics to her belongings.

Pausing momentarily, and studying her unsteady scrawl with a perturbed appearance of dislike, she nearly scratched out her handiwork as tears condensed within her peculiarly lovely eyes, beading in translucent pearls on the thick, elongated lashes framing her optics...in the end though, Bel came through and despite her inner struggle committed herself once more to working, ignoring slight complaints from her stomach. Even now as I write these foul, arduous words my infernally gluttonous stomach thirsts for appeasement, and the creature, known as anorexia, brings me to feel disgust- A gasp elicited from her soft, diminutive lips caused Bel to relinquish the pen which had been clenched firmly within slender, delicate fingers, and she choked back a sob. It was so unbearably difficult to face that she was never truly going to be free, that there was always something within her that was incorrect. Nothing could reconstruct her programming, and entirely avoid the essence of the being, the one that plagued her in every way. Nevertheless, the way the small thirteen year old saw it was that she had committed a deadly sin, and was now paying the reparation for such an uncouth decision.

But in all verisimilitude, it had never been a choice, because there had been no avoiding it. It simply happened, and at nine years old all of her antecedent innocence was appropriated-reserved for someone else, with a better future. Three hundred calories, three hundred calories, three hundred calories, having finally regained firm control of her spiraling emotions, Bel returned to her tedious work, three hundred calories to live off of each day. That was the limitation I placed myself under for over a year. Of course, there was much trouble as a result, for it does not take much for strict yet adoring parents to notice when something is amiss. Within only a matter of weeks, baby fat melted off, leaving newer, sleeker lines and opaque, disturbing shadows beneath once bright, childish eyes. At first I believe they struggled to convince themselves I was only going through a growth spurt, and I had always been a healthily plump child....but the sleek lines became sharp, bony edges, and the shadows became endless. I was no longer alright, I was murdering myself and somehow relishing each new bone that appeared. Oh how Bel desired to burn up the page now, to quit dissecting her antecedent life of pure misery and simply give up. For in a most disturbing way, she felt mournful that she was no longer in such a state. To be only skin and bones, to feel smooth, solid osseous matter right beneath caressing fingertips...

Removing the vulgar thought process from her cerebrum with no lack of mental exertion, the brunette unsteadily got to her long, thin feet, toes curling into the plush auriferous carpeting. How pitiful and fragile she felt, and it was a horrid sensation, for it only called back her mourning of her prior state of body and mind. Collapsing herself into an ungraceful heap of odd appendages and shorn deep chocolate tresses, Bel unconsciously began to trace her ribcage, shivering slightly at the sensation of her frigid hands. Mind you, this was not an erotic shiver or exploration, it was the psychologically stimulating actions of someone suffering from an eating disorder; sometimes such sweet, undulated exuberance came from acknowledging that their was always still a base, always something stronger and more reliant just beneath the coverings of epithelial and muscular tissue. Not to mention, it kept Bel's anorexic nature pleased and at bay when it came to her worst moments. Oh yes, over the years multiple times had she been forced to thinly veil her lapses into chaotic anorexia induced madness. Such madness included sobbing fits where she would exhaust herself into unconsciousness, severe starvation, and even purposely making herself ill in order to purge until blood speckled what escaped her mouth.

Utterly abandoning her previous engagement, Bel pushed one flat, sleek palm against the luxuriously comfortable rug, and regained her footing. Heading toward the kitchen with precise movements that hinted at grace, she purposefully grabbed a spare glass on the countertop, and filled it meticulously to the brim with water. Another problematic issue in the unusual girl's being was that she had to remind herself to allot spare time to force water down her throat, as she hardly ever felt thirsty. In fact, it sometimes made her wish that her endless hunger could be switched with her inappropriately low thirst. Sighing once more, in a manner that betrayed that she had endured much more than usual for a young girl, Bel pushed herself onto the counter top, taking a small sip and drawing her knees up to her chest like a small child. Ever since she had been indeed a little girl, she had behaved in such a manner and her mother and father had never scolded her for doing so. It was just that, when atop of a solid surface and far from the ground where mortals roamed, it seemed as though everything was just a little bit better-safer, lighter, and more accommodating. Sure, it was an unusual way to feel, but Bel never questioned her sensitive, conflicted spirit and simply went with her instinct.

At the moment, Bel was desperately in need of assuagement and illumination, for she was more than aware of how with every lost moment she was falling into more of a dire state of depression and discomfort. Oh, how she yearned to race fully into her mother's embrace or bury her face into her father's rigid chest, tears streaking down her face...but then inquiries would be necessary and the petite teenager was in no state to reveal the truth, that she suffered from an eating disorder. She had already dispelled the thoughts from her loved ones multiple times, and it would be atrocious to give in and finally divulge that she had been lying. No, Bel did not want that and neither did her anorexia. Instead, she brought into the focus the matter of finding a fling, or simply someone to love who would understand her and willingly accept her affections. Sadly, she did not know of such a being...and who could ever love a girl who barely qualifies and attractive, and who is burdened with an endless supply of sarcasm, and thinly veils and eating disorder?