Villainess’s Sweet Everyday

The sound of running. The vibrations from the elevation of the road. The mental test of the ground so many times that you wonder if you haven't deliberately repaired the ground. I slumber in a daze, and the illusion that I've left my mind somewhere else hits me. It's an area that looks like it could use a sepia-faded shot.

Soft as a marshmallow, somehow elegant, the color scheme is mature but innovative, reassuring to sit on, resilient to the touch, not unpleasant to look at, I wonder if this bus was state-run. The front seats. A large woman is humping the space for two people. The soldier has given up his seat, clutching the strap and glaring at the marginally better-dressed woman, his mouth muffled as if he wants to complain.

'How far would you like to go, Lady Marikana?　Are you going to keep circling the block?　I thought His Highness was worried about you.