There are certain rules that one must abide by if one is to possess their goals or daresay possess their destiny. The rules are not always easy to follow, at times they might seem a detriment instead of carefully laid out plans, but one must not falter. One must not become weakened by certain flights of fancy or immature whims headlined in fairy tales.
One must never give an inch to gain a mile. One must never compromise. One must never pretend to be a better person than one really is, and certainly one must never ever do what anyone expects. Never apologize, and for God's sake never fall to pieces in front of one's wide-eyed assistant.
Miranda Priestly's rules were never made to be broken, no rules ever really were. They had been created throughout years of disappointments carved into her heart with bitter pieces of her shredded humanity. As long as she knew she was acting within the set parameters of what she expected of herself then nothing else mattered. There was no room to second guess her actions, her motivations, her desire to achieve perfection.
One does not reign supreme by stumbling in front of empathizing minions. One does not maintain control by losing one's self to daydreaming of a life that existed beyond well established boundaries. One does not daydream at all. It was imperative to take hold of the world as it was and then squeeze until it bent to one's own personal slant.
One must always be willing to sacrifice lovers, friends, mere acquaintances to the guillotine. Sometimes it was necessary to sacrifice others so that one would not need to sacrifice one's self. There was no room to be nostalgic when wolves were at the gate always mad with the scent of blood. Everyone was expendable.
Every action must always appear to be deliberate, even when one is floundering through broken memories of everything that one had done wrong and how it seemed almost cruel that one could not apologize but could still feel the very real weight of regret. Years of regret piled up atop apologies that never would be uttered.
The weight of it all, coupled with another lover's head falling to the blade, could simply bring one to unwanted tears. It could make Miranda Priestly dab at her eyes with a disgusting bit of tissue in front of her assistant and direct idiotic actions about Snoop Dogg while said wide-eyed assistant offered, of all things, sympathy and compassion.
Miranda did not want Andrea's compassion. She knew that she no longer deserved it, and as she watched Andrea leave her hotel room, eager to do a good job, Miranda held not one bit of doubt that if it came down to survival, she would sacrifice the young woman to the same blade Steven had fallen to.
It was somewhat of a sobering realization. It wasn't enough to send Miranda into a blind panic, one did not go into blind panics, but with the her foundation on shaking ground and with the wolves tearing pieces off of the gate, Miranda could bring herself to regret her future willingness to destroy Andrea Sachs and her inability to apologize for it.
Miranda finished her pathetic bout of emotional outpouring and gathered herself for the rest of her stay in Paris. Things still needed to be done and time did not stop simply because one felt poorly. There were wolves to slay and she was incredibly talented at tearing apart the predators that were so ignorant as to confuse her with prey.
Everything had already been set up. Irv Ravitz knew nothing of what was going to eventually become of him, and Jaqueline Follet's amateurish vies for power would be taken care of. It would all be settled, and when Miranda returned to New York, Steven would be taken care of as well.
There was simply nothing worthy of her tears, and Miranda Priestly could do nothing but to get on with her night. So, when the night carried Miranda off into morning, and she rose again victorious, her tears had long since dried and her regrets had once again been buried. There had been sacrifices, but she stood firm. "No one can do what I do." And still, there was one more sacrifice that needed to be made.
What better way to rid oneself of a future regret than to wake them up to the devil they could become, were becoming?
"You've already have, to Emily."
Miranda exited the car, once again living on hope, hoping that Andrea would not follow her. When she turned around and did not see the young woman ready to take more instruction, Miranda could not fully contain her regret. She did not like squandering away potential; she did not like pushing away the woman she had broken her rules for, but it had been necessary.
Weakness drove Miranda to reach for her phone and propelled her into dialing Andrea's number. It even drove her so far as to form an apology on her acidic tongue, but Andrea did not answer her phone. She threw it away into a fountain and left it there, left Miranda and walked away so she never heard the apology Miranda would have helplessly let tumble from under her mounds of regret.
One does not live in the past, because the past has the ability to destroy everything. This was the only reason Miranda bothered to step out and acknowledge Andrea's continued survival, because Andrea would now survive since she was outside of Miranda's unrepentant blade.
Miranda smirked once safely blocked from Andrea's pathetic attempt at a wave. Andrea would never understand what she had been sacrificed for. Andrea would go on with her life, never understanding that one did not ever fall blindly into love.
Continued.