After a shitty breakup, and losing your job, you've decided to take up a position wherever will take you. So you become a maid, to the Baroness herself. In her perfect manor, behind all of the secrets and all of the drama, something else is brewing...
You dragged your finger across your chin, wiping the excess lipstick off of your face. For the first time in weeks, you felt a burning urge to have a shred of dignity and pride in your appearance. Whether to woo the Baroness into another night of sex or to spite Anita Darling, it didn't particularly matter seeing as you decided that this event was going to start the train to heal the train wreck that is your mental state. You started to hear the buzz of downstairs, as the representatives from department stores such Liberty, Selfridges, Harrods and the like started entering the chic townhouse where the Black and White Ball was being held. With dainty fingers, as though not to disrupt the eyeliner that took about 7 attempts, you slid the fabric mask down your face, masking, as best it could, Y/N L/N.
The disturbing sight that greeted you was far more than dull department store dicks or fashion brand pricks. Bile rose up your throat as you stared at the bleach blonde bitch who was small talking with the others. You weren't aware in the slightest that the paparazzi would also be so early, and there she stood in all her twisted glory.
Celeste mother fucking Caruso. Heir to Tattletale, doll faced beauty, her tendrils tucked into a woven braid, dressed in a virgin white that made her look angelic, crystalline blue eyes second only to the Baroness herself. Many things, many faces, many surgeries she'd never confess to having. She looks youthful, which she was, you're older than her, two years, give or take.
She chatters around with the other "esteemed" guests, with a tramp twice her age on her arm and the feeling in your throat gets tighter, more destining, more twisted and stronger and downright painful. You wanted more than anything to look away but you still craved the sight of the past, wishing that it were you on her arm...
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I Hate It Here - Taylor Swift
🎶My friends used to play a game where We would pick a decade we wish we could live in instead of this I'd say the 1830's But without all the racists And getting married off for the highest bid 🎶
🎶 Everyone would look down, because it wasn't fun now Seems like it was never even fun back then Nostalgia is a mind's trick, if I'd been there I'd hate it 🎶
🎶 It was freezing in the palace 🎶
🎶 I hate it here so I will go to lunar valleys in my mind When they found a better planet, only the gentle survive I dreamed about it in the dark the night I felt like I might die 🎶
🎶 No midsize city hopes or small town fears I'm there most of the year 'cause I hate it here 🎶
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"Y/N, you look as though you're going to be violently ill, what's the matter?" The Baroness firmly turned you towards her, and you troubled yourself a glance at the brunette skyscraper that was her hairpiece, then a glance at her violent, overly coddled Dalmatians. "The... journalists... are here..." you managed to get a gasping sentence out eventually, although the baroness was getting increasingly impatient. "Yes?" She looked incoherent, which was expected. "C- Cel... Cele-" this was it, you were probably going to throw up on her. "Celeste Caruso? The blushing rose of journalism herself?" The Baroness chuckles, but upon realising you're not amused, she gives you a more serious expression."Who is Celeste to you? You're a journalist by traded that much I know, is she the cause of your... shift in career shall we say?" When she wanted to, Victoria knew how to dodge an issue just as well as nip it in the bud. "You could say that..." you mumbled. "Speak up!"
"Fine... she is my ex girlfriend."
As the Baroness bites her lip, realising she dared in the wrong place, you look down, willing a glimpse, like some deranged weirdo. All you saw was a man in an exterminator suit and a cloaked figure, likely no one significant. Victoria holds you for a moment. "You're dismissed." She whispers. "What?!" You whisper-shout. "Not like that. You're free to clock out." The Baroness corrects herself, with a smile, taking a strand of your hair in her perfect hands. "Get a bite to eat too, honeybee." She grabs the leashes of her dogs and floats away, slinking down the main staircase.
"Baroness!" You heard Anita Darling chirrup, her voice sweet. "Miss Anita Darling." The Baroness cordially addresses your former colleague, as though she knows you're eavesdropping from one of the lesser staircases. "I'm so grateful you decided to give Tattletale an exclusive tonight." Grovels Anita. The Baroness huffs in a slight amusement. "Not grateful enough, I see, to observe the dress code." She grips Anita's purse, pointing at a spot of blue ink. "No... colour..." Victoria purrs, shooting the purse into the nearest champagne bucket. You offer yourself a chuckle. "A- ah... my pen must've leaked. Tools of my trade you see-" "People are not interested in what you write, only how I look."
You sit on a small table near the gigantic cake, your head facing away from the ballroom as you nibble at cocktail sausages. You swirl your champagne in its flute, watching as the cloud of bubbles loop around the glass. Zoned out, away from the drama of the ballroom, you let out a sigh, wishing that someone you could talk to was here. You hadn't spoken to Via since you got the job with the Baroness, Estella was having her conveniently placed day-off and Victoria... well she was too busy being the belle of the ball.
Once you finish your drink, you stand to leave, but as you start to walk off, you see the hooded figure pull a glass of champagne from the pyramid, aimed so perfectly the entire thing falls, and every head turns to her.
"Do you have a light?" She purrs in the ear of a gentlemen who obliges immediately, and with said light, she sets her cloak ablaze.
The only thing redder then the gown that emerged was Victoria's face.
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A/N: I'm not dead! With school, writers blocks and other things, this chapter took a long time to get out, and I'm sorry about that gang. Let's hope my schedule gets a little better soon.
Lotsa Love, Liv
PS: enjoy this shot of Liberty when I visited xxx
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