Tiaras & Razorblades

"Darling, do you always have to wear your hair like that?" The middle-aged woman tugged on a strand of wiry black hair with a look of despair in her eyes.

"Yes."

Caresa Beaulieu sighed, dragging a hairbrush through her daughter's impossible hair. Azure winced as her scalp started to sting. She was in a bad enough mood as it was; her arrogant mother wasn't helping anything.

"The ball is tonight. You have to go, you know that." Caresa continued tugging at Azure's hair, seeming not to care about how much pain it would cause her daughter.

"Yes, I know. That doesn't mean I want to, mother." Azure could feel the anger growing inside her, like a predator. She knew snapping at her mother would be the worst thing to do in that kind of situation, so she tried, almost unsuccessfully, to remain calm.

"And for God's sake, take those piercings out." Caresa was starting to stress out, and wanted nothing more than to retire to her room, for a nice glass of rosé and an afternoon nap. Her daughter always made the easy things turn into a long, arduous task.

"Make me." The young girl replied bitterly. There was only one reason that she had no desire to be at the ball that evening, although her mother was still as clueless as always. She longed to tell somebody, but knew her mother was the wrong choice.

"Can't you just do as you're told, for once in your life?" Caresa rubbed her forehead in annoyance, as she finally got the knots out of her daughter's hair. She grabbed a bobby pin from on top of the dresser and began to make an intricate bun in her daughter's hair.

Azure caught sight of herself in the mirror and groaned at how horrific, and unlike herself, she looked. The bun framed her face in all the wrong places, and, as it was pulled so tightly, her face had the appearance of being stretched unnaturally. She didn't know why her mother bothered; after all, she knew that as soon as her mother left the room, she would be unpinning her hair and pulling it into a messy bun, the kind that framed her face, and didn't make her look like an imperfect Barbie doll.

"Now, here's the dress you'll be wearing." Caresa searched around in the wardrobe for a few seconds, before yanking out a hideous, baby blue dress. Azure grabbed it, and inspected it carefully. Where was the black, the purple, or the red? What was up with the strange sequins sewn across the bodice? She nearly screamed in horror as she flipped it over to find...

"A corset, yes, but you're nearly sixteen now, you need to start acting like a proper young lady and learn how to wear the appropriate dress." Caresa droned on, and on in dull tones, appearing not to notice that her daughter was paying her no attention whatsoever, simply gaping in horror at the monstrosity of a dress she was being forced to wear.

As her mother left the room, Azure leapt out of the uncomfortable, far-too-rigid chair she had been sat on, and rushed over to the mirror, pulling the pins out with thin, lithe fingers. Her midnight black hair fell past her shoulders, thin and poker-straight. She began to hum along to an old Iron Maiden song, as she back-combed her hair to perfection and pulled it up into a ponytail. She smiled at her reflection, as it grinned back at her with piercing grey eyes.

She absent-mindedly wondered if a certain somebody would be present at the ball, and if he had yet to find a wife. Her smile slowly turned into a frown, as a tear began to well in her eyes.

"Tonight is not about moping; it's about being happy and making a good impression." She whispered to herself, although she knew it was all lies. No matter how hard she would try, she knew that the evening would end in tears and blood, and that however much of an attempt she made, which more often than not wasn't very much, her family would consider her 'the disappointment'.

She paced slowly over to her wardrobe, taking a second to glare at the disgusting dress. She rooted around in her wardrobe, searching through numerous boxes until, with a breath of relief; she found exactly the dress she had been searching for. She stroked the soft, dark material with her thumb, before holding it out to look at it. She spread it across her bed, and began to compare between her beautiful dress, and the poor piece of clothing her tasteless mother had chosen.

She switched on her iPod, and began to sing, or rather scream, along to the song that started to play, as she made her final preparations for the night.