Edge of History (Billie Pierce x Orignal fem character)

Part 1

Just as a little PSA, this is my first time writing anything fanfiction related, so please keep that in mind. I also have not proofread this, so sorry for any mistakes in advance.

I step into the Governer's Mansion as I take in the party. There is a pair of women standing in the middle of the room in front of the grand staircase. One is wearing a sparkling cream gown, and hair graying hair is in a low bun. The other had a similar gown, but her hair was darker. The foyer had an arching doorway on each wall that looked into more rooms full of party goers.
I chose to keep my curly rich brown hair in simple yet complicated looking half up half down style. Three braids on each side of my head joined the rest of my hair together in two ponytails, one on top of the other. I am wearing a floor-length red gown that hugs my curves and flares at the knees. The has thins straps at the shoulders and long sheet sleeves that bunch at the wrist.

I kept my makeup simple with a brown smoky eye and red tinted gloss.
The warm lighting of the room and the hum of people chatting relaxed me. I was hesitant to come to the party when I received an invitation from an anonymous sender a few days ago. After much debate, I decided that getting out and meeting new people would be good for me after I spent the last few months secluded from the outside world. The only people I saw daily were the small team of four that I oversaw. We're in the middle of researching some new artifacts that were found in Northern Chile. I only last year finished my doctorate in Southern American history. That is where I met the team. Dylan and Andrea are still working on their dissertations. While Therese and Orson finished at the same time as me. We all have grown pretty close because of the constant close proximity and similar interests, but we still haven't included each other in our personal lives. I have connected more with Andrea the most because of our shared Colombian heritage. She is fluent in Spanish, but I am still learning. When my parents immigrated to the US before I was born, they already knew English. While growing up, I only spoke Spanish when we visited family for the holidays.
The smell of rich alcohol hit me as I swayed towards the bar. They were serving champagne for all of the guests. I picked up a flute of the bubbling substance and took a sip as I walked over to the food table. Seeing the spoons of deconstructed gumbo made my stiffle a laugh, and I took another sip of the champagne to calm down. Though no one was looking at me, I was starting to regret coming. I had thought it would be weird to invite Andrea to come with me, so I decided to brave it alone. The confidence has slowly been fading since seeing that everyone else seemed to have people to talk to.
While debating between my curiosity of finding out why I was sent an invitation or simply slipping back out of the party to my snuggy and bed, I heard the announcement that the event was a surprise party for the governer. Everyone was instructed to have their champagne flutes filled for the toast at 6:15. I moved along with the crowd as some of the servers came to fill glasses and direct people to the room where cake would be served. I glanced at my phone and saw that it was 6:10. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tall figure with blonde hair rush up the stairs. The security guards had moved to line the perimeter of this room to contain all of the guests. My curiosity at the figure on the stairs and the unknown sender of the invitation led me to leave my half drunk flute on the table of crab legs and head over near the bathroom. While one of the guards was distracted, answering an old lady's question, I slipped behind him and into the hall next to the bathroom. No one was in the next room as it was almost 6:15. I entered the foyer once again and walked up the stairs and at a slow pace. As I reached the last few steps, I took a deep breath to calm myself and assess the situation. I find myself standing on a platform that leads into several rooms. Each room is an exhibit of different artifacts, maps, and portraits. Coming from the third room to the right is a muffled voice. As I inch closer to the arched opening, I hear the voice again. It sounds like a walkie-talkie, but it is too muffled to make any words out. Still, I strain my ears while moving to peak into the room.
The room has a window on the wall opposite the door. On the left side of the window is a portrait of a man, and on the other is an old map of Louisiana. The wall to the right is lined with a book shelf completely full of historical documents and other writings. Though the most interesting thing in the room is display case in the very center. The blonde figure is standing in front of the display case and has her back to the door, so she can't see me. Her hair is cut in a blunt bob that stops just above her shoulders. The blonde strands have been curled at the end. She is wearing a strapless maroon floor-length gown.
There is an odd in the familiarty of the way her shoulders tense and her hips move as she fumbles with something on the glass wall of the case. As I'm observing the woman, I found myself drawn in by her. I want to know what the fabric of her dress feels like, what she smells like, and what her face looks like. In my curiosity, I inch forward ever so slowly leaving my hiding place behind. Suddenly, I hear something click and fall to the ground. The woman opens one of the sides to the display and carefully takes the book out with a gloved hand.
With the book in hand, she turns back to leave. We make eye contact, and I freeze. There is something familiar about her face, though I don't recognize her. She smiles and raises an eyebrow at me. The way her eyes crease with a knowing look leads me to believe that she also recognizes me. Though it seems that she knows exactly who I am, whereas I only sort of recognize her.
Before I can pinpoint an exact memory of her, that could get me the answers I desire, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The mystery woman steps forward and grabs my hand. "Come on," she whispers. I stand there frozen, stuck between the present and the past, trying to figure out where this beautiful woman fits. The footsteps grow louder as they reach the top of the stairs. "Come on, Rita, we have to go," This time, the whisper is more urgent. I begin to follow her when I ask, "How do you know my n-," but I'm cut off by a man's voice yelling, "HEY, PUT THAT DOWN!" We begin to weave through the hallways and cutting through rooms. I hear the security guard call for backup as he runs after us. Finally, we make it to a door that leads outside where there is a black car waiting for us. The woman opens the passenger side door and immediately goes around to the driver's side. As she gets in the car, she yells for me to get in. Generally, I would refuse no matter how much I want to know who this woman is, but the door bangs open behind me. Three security guards rush towards us. I know that I have to get in the car because even if I had the time to take my heels off, I could not outrun all of them. Stranger danger is out the window as I lower myself into the car and slam the door shut. She grins a little and speeds away, leaving the guards in the dust.