Under the Maltese Skies

[Omi]

Meanwhile, Charlotte was doing what she'd more or less become accustomed to doing all these long weeks, months, and even years since her initial capture. At first, her confinement had left her bitter, caustic, and frightened in equal measure -- everything from the twisted aristocracy of the Maltese themselves to the invisible poison laced in every breath of air seemed to conspire against her. It had taken considerable effort on the part of Loyola and her considerable network of support staff to pry the princess out of her shell, bit by bit -- and now, years later, the sharp-eyed Gallic scion has long since subsided into a torpor-like apathy. Now, even the poison was as much a part of her as anything else.

She had long since given up on requesting news from the outside world -- those inquiries were always met with a polite brush-off. Other than that, though, Charlotte found it difficult to fault her hosts for anything; her requests for anything other than contact with the outside world and a way off Malta itself were granted with a nonchalance that had been surprising at first. Now, though, it was just par for the course -- and while her mountain villa was as beautiful as ever, with its sweeping vistas and snow-capped peaks dominating the surrounding landscape, the days had long since began to blur into one endless haze. At least she'd had plenty of time to read -- one of precious few things available to her without the neural net at her disposal. Piles of books were, by now, strewn all across her living quarters, with the latest volume held delicately in one hand of the woman reclining in her chair.

The princess cut as distinctive a figure as ever, despite the years of incarceration. Shoulder-length, straight black hair framed her deep brown eyes, her fringe sweeping across one side of her forehead. Her clothing was relatively casual, yet finely made in its own right; an almost perfect replica of a Gallia-made jumpsuit, complete with the seal of the Gallic Crown inset at chest height. She perused her book with the same languid level of interest as ever -- finely balanced between a sort of neverending boredom and vague engagement. Life was, after all, not very full of surprises anymore, and today looked to be no different. Malta would never be home, that much was certain, and she was under no illusions as to her status here. As long as she wasn't allowed to set foot beyond the villa itself or its immediate fenced-off surroundings, she was a prisoner here -- even if, at times, she almost managed to forget that fact.

She was a million miles away, daydreaming, when the sound of a buzzer chiming interrupted her reverie. The unusual sound caught her attention instantly, the book forgotten as she rose to her feet.

"What is it?" she called, trusting on the villa's administrative intelligence to relay her speech. There were microphones everywhere, after all.

"Your presence is requested in the guest room," came the reply -- a man's voice. Charlotte had come to know him as the residence's administrator, but that was it. "Dona Enma is here and awaits your arrival -- when you are ready, of course."

The voice was as clipped, careful, and well-cultured as ever, delivering the news as if it were nothing more than a comment on the weather outside -- but they left Charlotte stunned. Enma was back? The enigmatic Maltese noble had kept herself to herself all these last couple of years, and although Charlotte was certain that frequent reports of her own wellbeing and goings-ons had made their way to the Dona's ears, she had heard very little of the woman keeping her here in return. Until now.

It took her a few seconds to compose herself enough to reply, her mind already racing with a million questions. They found themselves suppressed for now, though, buried under a layer of determination and gritted teeth.

"Tell her I'll be there in a moment," she eventually replied, her tone deliberately flat. It took her only a moment to decide she was happy to go as she was, her pace quickening as she made her way across the room to the hallway beyond. Her questions needed answering, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to get any after all this time.

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