The woman's hand, decorated with rings, was squeezing the sides of her throat; the gun stuffed in the blondes mouth. Breathy whimpers slipping past her lips, and mascara dripping down her puffy, red cheeks.
Renata tittered, her haughty tugging the...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Days had passed sinceMagnolia passed out in the arms of her Boss, the more she thought about it, the more agitated she got. She barely left her room never mind the apartment unless Roach was desperate, and she just kept dwelling on what her past entailed, sour memories flashing through her mind over and over. Everything wrong that has ever happened in her twenty-four years of life has been in her mind.
She found it difficult to separate the life she's living now with a new identity to the one that used to be. She hasn't looked back at her old name last name, Magnolia she kept because of how meaningful it was to her late grandmother, it was her favourite flower.
Her grandmother was well known fashion designer, her legacy remaining from the Magnolia's mother's determination to keep it alive and prosper.
I miss my mum.
Magnolia pulled the duvet over her head, her body scrunched up into a ball and her eyes burned with the tears that began to spill out over the flashing images of her mother and the fond memories they shared, especially the ones separated from her father.
A petite young girl stared in the mirror, looking at her pretty reflection as she smiled and swished around her dark curly hair, twirling the dress as she felt her excitement for the night bubble.
It was her first time attending the Christmas party that her parents hosted every single year. She was only ten years old, maybe she should grow out of behaving like that? Many other ten year olds didn't twirl their dresses with squeals and happiness, but she didn't know any other ten year olds. With the strict rules her father placed her under for his idea of protection, socialising with children was a whole other ball game.
The only exception is relatives; they never came to see her though.
The lack of secondary socialisation and exposure to the outside world made growing up a little harder.
Unbeknownst to little Magnolia, Hillary stood at the door admiring her daughter, she had her eyes and nose and hair, the rest was her fathers: his tan skin, plump lips, face shape, and eyebrows. A smile graced her deep red lips, matching with her long red satin cocktail dress, a slit that begun mid-thigh.
"Hi princess," She cooed, moving into the bedroom and closing the door, locking it with a key to prevent them being disrupted. "My, my! You look absolutely gorgeous, just like mummy." she beamed, squealing in the inside with how much she was a mini-Hillary.
Magnolia giggled and hugged her mother, slightly ruffling her dress but Hillary didn't care as the warmth of her daughter spread through her body and made her warmer on the inside.
"You're so pretty mummy," The little girl compliments, feeling the soft fabric of her dress and giving her a big smile. "I hope I look like you when I grow up!"
"You'll be much more beautiful than me."
The brunette frowned, shaking her head at her mother with furrowed brows. "No, we'll both be beautiful in our own ways. No such thing as 'more' beautiful." she disagreed with her mum's statement, going into her jewellery box and putting the diamond tiara her parents bought her for Christmas last year on her head.
