Loveless/ a POWERLESS fanfiction story

Chapter 15: Blair

I stand before the mirror in my room, trying to focus on the evening ahead. Tonight is the ball, and I must look flawless. My emerald-green gown flows over my body, accentuating every curve, while the corset the corset compresses the chest and makes breathing difficult. Yet, instead of concentrating on my appearance, my thoughts keep drifting back to what happened last night.

What was that noise? I clearly remember waking up in a cold sweat. The silence outside was broken only by the rustling of leaves. But I heard something else—footsteps and sounds that resembled raspy breaths. I lay there for a long time, straining to hear more, but there was nothing. Perhaps it was just my imagination? The Trials, the preparation, the constant pressure—they all weigh on me, making me see and hear things that aren't there.

I square my shoulders, forcing myself to push these thoughts aside. I need to focus on tonight. This ball is another opportunity to prove that I am worthy of respect and recognition, even if it means wearing the mask of the cold, unfeeling Blair Archer.

"You look magnificent, miss," whispers Mary, my maid, as she secures the last of the ornaments in my hair. I nod absentmindedly, unable to muster even a smile in return.

A quiet knock at the door suddenly pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn around. Mrs. Hope, my nanny, stands in the doorway—the woman who has been with me since childhood. She looks slightly hesitant, as if unsure whether she has the right to enter without permission. I quickly signal Mary to leave us alone.

"Blair," Mrs. Hope begins softly as she steps into the room. Her face is lit with a gentle smile, but there's something in her eyes that I can't immediately grasp. "You... you're so grown up and so beautiful."

Her next words strike me to the core.

"You look so much like your mother."

I'm taken aback. I wasn't expecting her to mention her—my mother, whom I haven't seen in years and whom, to be honest, I've long buried in my heart. I don't know if she's alive or long dead, and it's become too painful a question to revisit. But now, looking at Mrs. Hope, I feel the walls I've built around that topic start to crack.

"She was just as beautiful as you are now," Mrs. Hope continues, coming closer. "You have her eyes. And that same willpower. She also knew how to wear a mask when the situation demanded it."

"What?..." I try to say something, but the words stick in my throat. Memories of her have always been painful. She left when I was still a child, and no one ever explained to me what happened. Everyone said she was dead, but I never saw her body, never heard any confirmation. Mrs. Hope always skirted around the topic.

"She loved you," Mrs. Hope says gently, taking my hands in hers. Her touch is warm, just like when I was a little girl seeking comfort from her. "More than anything in the world. Your mother had to leave for reasons you might not understand. But know this: she always wanted the best for you."

"Why did you never tell me this?" I ask quietly, looking into her eyes, which suddenly seem so old and tired.

"I was afraid of hurting you, Miss Blair," she replies, her shoulders slightly shrugging. "But now I know you have the right to know the truth."

"Is she alive?" I ask, almost in a whisper, dreading the answer.

Mrs. Hope looks at me with such deep sorrow that it frightens me.

"I cannot say, my dear. But I know one thing—she did everything she could to ensure you were safe and well cared for."

I avert my gaze, unable to endure her piercing stare any longer. How long have I dreamed of hearing something about my mother, learning what happened to her? But now, as these memories resurface, I feel vulnerable and weak.