CH 1: The Escape

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The Getaway Car

Inspired by Taylor Swift's Getaway Car, among other treacherous songs

A.L.

For the kind of love that stays

The girl in the orange Cadillac hated sunny days. They were the worst logistically; planning heists and escape routes were sensitive to even the most minuscule of details, and she liked predictability. The sun was never predictable. One stray cloud was all it took to impose a distracting glare, and she could not afford a second of distraction, not when three cop cars were furiously pursuing her on the road (as they presently were). Also, she just really despised the sticky feeling of her bare thighs on the car seat.

She pushed up her cat-eyed sunglasses to avoid the sun's glare. A quick glance at the rearview mirror confirmed her foreboding premonition that she really needed to haul-ass-like-right-now if she wanted to ditch the tail, find a new ride, and spend at least a half hour on her hair, all before the Queen's Ball began.

Nineteen years of swindling and slipping her way across the globe had taught her three major things: One, trust no one. Two, Cheeto puffs were high-key overrated in every country, and three, no one detests tardiness more than royalty.

With this in mind, she grit her teeth, shifted gears, and, as the real speedsters say, fucking gassed it. The sweet escape had always been her favorite part of any heist. It wasn't the speed or the thrill that excited her, though she certainly enjoyed the adrenaline surge, but the power  that came from it. The police chased her because they had to. She ran because she could.

In the distance, sirens screamed. A voice in a megaphone commanded her to surrender. A single monarch butterfly hit a patrol car's windshield, wings instantaneously crumbling with a furious snap. No one noticed. 

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The girl formerly-in-the-orange-Cadillac stared sadly at the aforementioned car before her. Matilda was on her last leg, and as much as the girl adored the way the sassy orange tones complemented her own golden skin, she knew that their time together was up. The car was simply too discernible, especially among the full squadron of police she had left behind four exits ago. She rolled her eyes. For all the rising crime rates and drug overdoses the city was facing, one might think the police would have better things to focus on than a missing necklace.

Granted, those pearls had been the highlight of the Louvre's brand new royal jewels exhibit, but still.

"Goodbye Tildy, you served me well." The girl caressed the hood of the car softly once more before tossing the keys in the nearest gutter and setting her sights on the shiny brown Jaguar parked down the street.

This one looked like a Steve. 

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At half past 5, Steve pulled up to the Palace of Decadence (and yes, that was really the name of it). The girl couldn't help but roll her eyes as she tossed the keys to the valet. Royalty were really something else. Her mother had always said that their castles, toys, and children were all named such obnoxiously absurd things because they had so many of them, that they had run out of proper names long ago. 

Looking up, the palace gleamed in silk banners and reflected starlight. Every outer surface of the fortress had been designed to reflect, through strategically-placed mirrored glass and the triumphs of a really expensive architect, probably. You could see nothing from the outside looking in, and the girl found that ironically fitting.

She kept her snarky piques to herself though, as she smiled graciously at the butler who held the door open for her. Before she stepped into the corridor, she checked to ensure the strap of her mask fit snugly around her head, properly obscuring everything but her mouth. God, she loved a good masquerade.

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A/N: Hi reader! This is my first time sharing my work for the entirely sole purpose of personal enjoyment. Your kind words and likes are much appreciated, if you feel so inclined!

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