Heathers Requests/One Shots

A Not So Happy Ending

Check out my other work? If you want to? :)

Royalty AU! TW// None

Everyone at this 'courtship ball' thing was a snooze. It was no fault of their own. Heather Duke was nice and she liked books and reading. She was smart and witty and locked away, but nice all in all. And Veronica was a lot like her, but more nice at first. But both of them were nothing, nothing, compared to Heather.

Heather was a bright red star, a burning hot fire, blooming red poppies. She was sweet and poison and hot and cold. She was her entire universe wrapped into a single, gorgeous person.

Except that she was Princess Heather McNamara. She was destined to marry a prince (or princess; her kingdom was, surprisingly, very tolerating) and live in a castle and have lots of jewels and little dogs and make an heir. When she was younger, that seemed fun. While not thrilling, it sounded nice. Laying about, joking with her ladies-in-waiting, her biggest worries about being which jewels she was going to wear today.

But Heather had flipped a switch in her. Now she knew there was something more, and she wanted it. She let her eyes search for Heather, but as always, she had disappeared into the crowd. It astounded her that someone so fantastic managed to disappear completely.

Horns were being blown and fanfare was sounding. She didn't know what it was for. Her father stood up, his gems glowing in the firelight. "Thank you all for coming to the courtship ball for my little princess, Heather." She had mastered this art, the pretty blush and the sweet smile. Her father beamed back, and continued on his speech. "And it is my pleasure to announce that Princess Heather McNamara will be wed to Duchess Veronica Sawyer."

Dread and nerves, a feeling she had never had to feel before, washed over her in a wave, sudden and strong. She felt herself washing away in the strong currents. Her body went on auto pilot, smiling and waving and sipping champagne. Veronica looked totally at ease in her navy blue gown. She swayed around, laughing with everybody else.

Everything sped up, her small steps becoming large bounds and the tapestries growing miles long. Suddenly she was slumped on her bed, her dress feeling like a glorified shining yellow prison. The door opened and Heather, her Heather walked in. Maybe with dark circles, maybe thin from work and malnourishment and maybe in a stiff uniform, but it was her.

"Heather! Oh God, thank goodness! You wouldn't believe-" Heather walked past her open arms, her feather duster hanging limply by her side. "H- Heather? C'mon? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG?" Heather took dangerous steps towards her. She tripped over her many layers of fabric, tumbling to the ground. Heather's green eyes flashed, like frozen grass mixed with a bonfire. They were a fierce green, like a lioness.

"You liked it." Her voice had dropped to something bordering on a growl. "You liked it. Am I just some servant you can play around with? Is this something you all do? Play with us before leaving us for your fancy suitors?" 

"Wh- WHat?" Oh no, what had Heather done? While on auto pilot, while things were flying by, what had she done? She struggled to her feet, fighting against the fabric and the ridiculous heels she wore to give herself a normal human height. "You're being ridiculous-"

"Oh, am I?" Heather shot back. They were being loud, too loud. Other servants were craning their heads to get a peek. "How do I know that I'm not some game to you, a little toy for you to throw away?" 

"Heather, listen to me!" Heather stepped forward, the size of her skirts making the other have to stumble back a little. "I love you! I've stuck with this for years. I'm not throwing it away for someone I met today. But if you don't believe me, maybe you aren't putting as much into this relationship as I thought!"

In some arguments, after something drastic is said out of anger, there's a long and dramatic pause. Heather, apparently, didn't believe in wasting time. Instead, she reared her hand back and slapped the Princess Heather McNamara straight (or lesbian?) across the face before fleeing. She must have known that Heather wouldn't dare have her kicked out. She knew that. Both of them knew that.

Heather closed her eyes as her door slammed. She knew what she said was wrong. This was one of those tricky situations where we're both in the wrong, she reflected. She took a deep breath. She felt eyes watching her and knew they weren't imaginary. They were her other servants, ones she earned through birth. She didn't deserve them.

"This never happened," she told them, looking around, meeting each of their eyes. Each nodded, some murmuring vague promises. "Good. Good." Nothing about this was good at all. But maybe, for the rest of the night, she could pretend like nothing had changed.

(818 words)