Book of Oneshots

sakamaki sister!oc | the powder room

❝ THE POWDER ROOM ❞
an account on nostalgia, by the daughter of cordelia

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Whenever Mother went to parties, she always brought over an entire ensemble of ladies.

I loved Mother's lady friends. They would all pile themselves into her powder room hours before their parties, so they had ample time to drape themselves in their silks and diamonds and bind their hair with as much intricacy as they could. It had become a small joy of mine to watch them in that room. They were all so beautiful.

But Mother did not enjoy my presence. Anytime she caught me even relatively close to that powder room, she would toss me away, or call for my nurse, and I was never allowed in. But she didn't care for her lady friends that much either. She spoke sweetly to them, and she entertained them for countless nights of parties, but she always, always would snap back into the Mother I knew the second they were out of sight. She'd curse their names and rip out her earrings and strike me if I ever dared to ask about them.

I never understood why Mother kept inviting those ladies over. She only cycled through the same moods all over again each time. But a gracious, pleasant Mother always meant she wanted something, so surely there was a reason for it.

I admired this tenacity of hers almost as much as I feared it. I certainly couldn't keep myself calm whenever I wanted something. But I also knew the longer she kept herself poised like she did, the sourer she'd become once the ladies left. So it terrified me all the same.

I remember very distinctly one occasion where a lady had found me peeking into the powder room. She scooped me into her arms before Mother could say a word, and cooed and smiled at me, and even insisted on bathing me! I had felt so special to be soaking in Mother's own bath. She never would have let me do that if these ladies weren't here. I reveled in sticking my fingers through the waters of her golden waterfall faucet, and letting that lady rinse my hair with Mother's prized floral pitcher and basin. The moment seemed so surreal. After that day, I knew it would forever be ingrained in my memory.

...But Mother had struck me harder than she ever had before that day, too.

She did not like me interfering with her lady friends. I tried explaining to her once that nothing bad was coming out of it; I understood that Mother wanted something out of these ladies, and so I hoped she would listen to my reasoning that I could be a link between them. The ladies always praised me, saying I was so beautiful, saying I would make a fine heiress to Father. Surely their fondness for me could work in Mother's favor! But she did not care and only struck me again.

I don't know why I had been so surprised. I don't know why I had cried. It wasn't like this was anything new.

But Mother had never once been nice to me, not even after I'd grown up. True, once my mind and body and energy had matured, Mother ceased from striking me and bruising me, but that did not make her kind. Not even the sensible conversations we'd share every once in a blue moon made me think differently of her.

But kind or not, she was my mother. And for that, I could not hate her, even though I knew she despised me. She despised most ladies - the two other mothers in the family especially. Any woman who came to her apart from during parties could expect nothing more than a scowl and some sort of cruel jeer sent their way. Mother viewed every lady a threat.

Perhaps she saw me as a threat too, then, for I had grown to look every bit her daughter. Did she envy my looks? Could my looks even rival hers? I'd always thought Mother was the most beautiful in our family - maybe even in the world. Our other aunts and uncles and cousins would disagree and say instead that Stepmother Christa was the prettiest, but for as long as I could remember, Mother's charm and allure was something that always left me awestruck. It kept me grounded. From a young age, I had simply accepted that Mother was on an entirely different level than I was. I could never live up to her.

...But perhaps I had, in ways starkly distinct than in terms of beauty.

I was wretched. I was jealous. I was lustful. I've gouged out the eyes of beautiful humans, and I've cursed my brothers on more occasions than I can count. On the day they murdered Mother, I swore that I would kill them, that they would pay, that there would be retribution for what they had done.

I could never understand it, though. Why would I of all people defend Mother? For all the pain she had caused us four, shouldn't I have celebrated her death?

But I didn't. I ached. I grieved. I wept for the parties I'd never again get to attend with her. Of course I was never allowed to stop attending those parties - as the sole daughter of our Vampire King Karlheinz, it was only natural that I must represent our family alongside the heir Shu. But it wasn't the parties themselves I wept for - I wanted to go to them with Mother. I wanted to cling to her skirt again, knowing she wouldn't slap me away in front of so many important people. I wanted to sit with her and listen to her gossip with her lady friends again, knowing she couldn't shoo me off since all those women just adored me. I wanted to walk alongside her when she greeted the other nobles again, knowing she would have to introduce me to them and softly ruffle my hair in a manner that used perfectly false affection.

It had been very clear to me from the beginning that none of her sweet gestures toward me were real. I knew she would only scream and curse at me once we got home. But the moments themselves were glorious, and as long as they happened, I could endure as much of her abuse as Mother felt necessary. I made it this far. I was prepared to last several years more.

But now, all I had left were her dresses, and her jewels, and her powder room - which was where I stood today. I could do nothing but look... inside her empty bathtub, at myself through her mirror, and at her lovely floral pitcher and basin which sat on the low counter by the sink. Seeing all her belongings, I wished for her presence back in my life even more desperately.

I missed her so terribly. I shouldn't have. I knew I shouldn't have.

But I had clung to Mother. I admired her. I loved her. I loved her. I loved her so much.

Mother, if only you knew how much I loved you... But you did, didn't you? You just didn't care. You brushed me aside and focused only on your goals and wants, which I never had a role in.

I wish I could have killed you myself. That's what you always said, right? "Murder is a vampire's greatest confession of love," right?

You were so beautiful, Mother. If only I had been there to take your eyes, or your fingers, or your tongue before you left me - I only wanted a little piece of you before your other wretched children maimed you and burnt you to ash.

But your heart is strong. If there is one thing I know about you, Mother, it's that you don't perish that easily. Not even death can take you from me, right? I have faith that you'll return someday.

Until then,
Hoshio