Status: its in lowercase bc #aesthetic

A Life in Intervals


you were twenty-seven when you were awarded seniority in the legislator's branch.

this was due to your extremely high success rate. you had, in the six years you were employed, persecuted around four hundred fifty cases. you'd won all but nine of them. you were one of the branch's top.

the magistrate held a teacup in her hand. you remember she wore her exact shade of teal, a luxury few could afford. it was only a little bluer than yours. hello, counselor, she said. you remember she peered at you through her glasses.

you bowed to her.

good morning. have a drink. she gestured to a tea tray before her.

you thanked her, thinking it rude to refuse. you started to reach for the pot, but the magistrate laughed, high and cold. oh, counselor, no. she snapped her fingers, and a low caste dressed in gray entered the room from a door behind her, their head bowed, eyes dull and face gaunt. you were reminded of the caste three at your first interrogation. they don't make eye contact.

they poured the tea, setting on a saucer, and handing it to you, hands shaking. slightly confused, you took it. a flicker of relief appeared on their face, then they retreated.

you started to ask who that was, but the magistrate cut you off. sit.

you obeyed, sitting on the floor. you thanked her.

i've heard a lot about you. have you been here before?

you told her yes, you were a clerk.

did we meet?

you told you only briefly, that she gave you orders once.

i don't remember you, i'm afraid.

you assured her that she was very busy, and that you didn't expect her to remember you.

the rest of the conversation was a blur of questions about your cases and childhood.

all the while, the silver pendant burned on your chest.