Flashbulbs pop as the young starlet descends the pristine red carpet. Her eyes glimmer beneath a halo of lights, casting shadows across the marred scar jutting from her brow to the crest of her chin cleverly disguised with make up. She recounts the crash, pain splitting within the recesses of her mind as her black platform shoes strut their way down the carpet. Innocently she turns her head to one side exposing her delicate, pale white skin and inticate hand made ruby necklace, and stops dead in her tracks. The glimpse of black versace's from the corner of her left eye and sound of footsteps forces her to turn her head the other way. A grey old man approaches her with a smile painted on his face.
"Father," Camilla says stretching her satin gloved arms out wide.
"Camilla, my dear," He muffles giving her a warm, gentle hug, "How are you?"
"Well I..." she manages to get out before she is interupted.
"Come let's take a walk. Shall we?" He says raising his arm for Camilla.
"We shall," Camilla says smiling sweetlly as her soft white fingers nonchalantly rest on his tuxedo jacket sleve. The two become very compact as they glide elegantly towards the large white mansion in the distance.
"I thought we agreed this was over father," she whispered.
"The boy, he lives," he hissed into her ear.
Camilla attempted to hold back her tears as her pace slowed. She covered her mouth as to not let the incredulous gasp leave her lips, and then wispered in reply as the first tear fell, "What are we to do? Surely he doesn't remember."
As they drew near the entrance Camilla's father handed her his hankerchief and said, "Here. Don't dwell on such horrible memories and occurances. We will visit him in the hospital later this evening."
Ligthly dabbing her eyes, she reasserted herself as she inhaled a deep breath. For the first time in her life, she felt scared from the insecurity and what danger it held. Camilla Grey, the world's A-Class socialite is full of secrets.
As she stepped through the open wooden door, she temporaily erased the pain and pushed it to the back of her mind. For the sake of appearances, she formed her ruby red lips into a sickly sweet smile, nodding her head to other individuals as a warm greeting.
It wasn't long before she she was welcomed by a short, stout woman with dark brown hair nicely styled in a formal updo. Her name was Mrs. Romano and her short sleeved untailored white dress reminded Camilla of a bridal gown because the hem drug on the floor similar to that of a train.
"Welcome my dear," she said in her Italian accent grabbing Camilla's hands and lightly kissing her cheeks, "I hope you find our party to your liking, no? You look so beautful, your mother would have been proud! "
Camilla giggled and politely responded back, "Thank you, the party is absolutely wonderful. I'm so glad you decided to host it."
As more guests appeared at the door, Mrs. Romano left to greet them.
"Champagne?" a familiar male voice offered from behind her, "I've heard it's quite wonderful indeed."
Cringing, she turned to face the young dark haired male and said with sarcasm, "Henry, how's mother?"
"Dead," he quickly retorted, "you would know if you had read my letters. I suspect you've thrown them into the fire just as you did with her, hmm?"
"My hand slipped," she taunted and began to turn away from him, when suddenly, he grabbed her arm tightly.
"Although it may seem like only a joke to you and those letters may have just "slipped" from your fingertips, it's obvious the crash hasn't," he said in a serious tone.
"Ouch," she said trying to break free from his firm grasp.
"Although you may hide it, you aren't fooling me Camilla. I know what you're doing and I'm watching you," he said finally letting her go as she let the full Chamagne glass that she held ever so tightly slip from her gloved fingers and smash into pieces on the wooden floor.
A few people gasped and the crowd hushed at the sound of shattered glass as Camillia discreetly wispered to Henry, "Obviously not close enough."
The tension thickened as everyone waited for a response, while silently and unoticed at the back of the room, Death's icy grip chilled yet another soul.
