White Lily

One Girl’s Story

Written By | Series: Maria-sama ga Miteru

Notes and Disclaimers: The basic premise around which this story is based is the property of Konno Oyuki, Cobalt Shueisha and Geneon Entertainment. The characters, the impure thoughts, the sarcasm and the bitterness are mine and mine alone.

Marimite crackfic, or the end result of a series of rational thoughts about life. You decide. But if you enjoy it, please feel free to email me at yuricon@gmail.com. Please do also consider joining us on the Yuricon Mailing List – the least suckiest group of people on the internet and a lot of Maria-sama ga Miteru fans who will be glad to chat with you.

For yuri anime, manga, clothing and gifts, there’s the Yuricon Shop. For crazy stories, keep reading. :-)

 

One Girl’s Story

The lights went on without warning, as they did every morning.

She did not need to look at the clock that sat by her bed to know that it was 4:27AM, and that in exactly one minute, a too-cheerful female voice would bid them good morning and see to it that everyone was rising from their beds.

She was always one of the first out of her bed, seeing no point in rebellion or procrastination. All it would get her was a public condemnation or a reputation for “being difficult” – something that, in this place, could cause repercussions year after year. And that was something she didn’t want. Not now, not ever. Not for 3 months more, at least, when she would get out of this hellhole and back into the real world.

She sighed, and allowed herself a quick glance at the calendar. 2 years, 9 months she had been here. From the early-morning mandatory prayer, to the meager breakfast, and the enforced exercise, each moment was drudgery and torment, each day here a moment in hell. She forcibly removed her eyes from the one thing that reminded her of the light at the end of the tunnel, and turned her attention back to her duties.

First, make the bed. Corners must be tucked and tight. Well-meaning keepers trying to install good work ethics would check and, if your technique were found lacking, you would repeat the effort many times over until it was approved.

Gather your toiletries and line up for the showers. Seniority order. She took her place at the head of the line, nodding to the others as they greeted her.

They looked to her for guidance, she knew. Her actions were scrutinized not only by those who kept this place, but also by the others who were forced to be here, by circumstance, family difficulties or through their own actions.

She showered quickly, with minimum fuss or waste of water, setting a precedent. Those who chose to follow her would do well to do as she did. “Her” girls didn’t get in trouble, they did their time, and sometimes they even managed to eek out a privilege or two from this Spartan existence. They were good girls, even if she was not.

Return to your room. Wash face, brush teeth. Dress neatly and properly; don’t think they won’t check to see that the uniform is pressed and tidy. After church, she and the others would be escorted to their breakfast. There was no privacy here, except in her own mind. And there, buried deeply away from everyone, she kept her thoughts.

Gather up prayer book and arrange items for school. Homework, all completed, neatly stacked and ready to be handed in. There was no room for failure here, where the education was considered to be “superior” and assumed to prepare the inmates for anything the world might throw at them. She scoffed in the privacy of her heart at this simple-minded view of the world. If life was so easy, then how had she ended up in this place? And when she was allowed to leave, what would Biology 101 and French lessons have prepared her for? But to fail would have brought condemnation and punishment upon herself – and that was unacceptable.

She glanced around the room, assuring herself there was nothing visible to compromise her; nothing she wouldn’t want them finding, nothing she would mind losing forever. With a quick nod, she closed the door and headed down the hall at a brisk pace.

The first three doors were closed as she passed, but the fourth opened. Two young women stepped out, saw her and bowed.

“Good morning Rosa Foetida.”

“Good morning Akira-sama.”

She pasted a gentle smile upon her face and nodded to them. “Good morning. Hurry now – don’t be late for church service.”

“Yes, Rosa Foetida,” they both assured her and followed her.

Three more months and she was out of this place, forever.