Protégée

two.

"I never realized how busy the streets were."

That's all I can manage to say to my driver, who stares ahead in silence. It's true, the streets are busy - for a day where fog lurks above the ground and the wind is so cold it seems to bite you as it blows. There are no flowers nor really any flora - only cold, calculating grey buildings and walkways.

"You've never been outside the orphanage, girl?" The driver keeps his eyes on the road, his bushy brows furrowed in concentration. It is hard to see through the tinted windows, in addition to the thick fog.

"No," I tell him, "I have. But only on Sundays, and not very far. We were only allowed to walk in a line. No exploring for us." The driver grunts.

As the distance between the orphanage and me grows, the amount of buildings become very sparse. I take this hour or so to drink in the world around me; take it all in, because this chance may never come again. People go about their daily business, buying food for their families, grabbing lunch, chatting and laughing with friends. People are at liberty to do as they please here.

Suddenly, there are no more houses. We pass a sign that says, “Now Entering: the District of Arts”. There are mountains in the distance, and with the fog lurking through the trees, it has a sort of ominous beauty. We departed the Hospice about an hour ago.

The car slows to a stop at the end of a long pathway. At the other end is a large stone building with a certain grandeur; sturdy pillars, gargantuan doors, proudly carved Latin - “Vivimus ut Serviant”. Though I don’t know the meaning of it, it gives the place a sort of pride.

The chauffeur opens the door, and my heart flutters. This is my new home. This is my place of residence for an indeterminable amount of time.

“Here we are,” he says. “Les Étoiles-Soirée.”

A short, stout maid comes bustling down the path. “Good day, sir,” she says, out of breath. She turns to me and extends a hand. “My name is Mildred,” she tells me. She takes my luggage. “You must be Finch.”

I nod, wrapping my threadbare shawl tighter around my arms. There’s a chill. Mildred must sense this, because she takes the initiative to tip the chauffeur and bring me inside.

The foyer, and the rest of the house, is enormous, furnished and painted entirely in white. Through a glass door, she leads me into what must be the living area. Overstuffed divans, loveseats, and armchairs litter the floor, each equipped with enough embroidered pillows to serve each girl in the orphanage. The windows are enormous and dramatic, the drapes cascading down and parted enough to let the little sunlight through. The beauty of it, the white-everything with gold accents, is breathtaking, and more luxurious than I ever could've imagined. It takes me a moment to realize that, on the staircase, are about ten girls positioned by height order, staring at me. And at the bottom step is a tall woman with hair as white as the room around her, coiffed perfectly and secured in a bun, smiling artificially at me.

"Finch," she says. "It's such a joy to have you here. My name is Kassandra, I'm the owner of this establishment. We hope you find it a comfortable place to reside." We shake hands, then she orders, without looking back at them, "These are the Belles."

One by one, they go down the line by saying their names. Moira, Isabelle, Elisa, Gabriella - I count ten of them. Each suited with a beautiful, elegant name, unlike my own. Finch. How unattractive is that? All seem like lovely people, except for an uninviting girl named Audrey, right behind Kassandra, who doesn’t even bother to feign a smile as she observes me.

"It's such a pleasure to meet you all," I tell them politely. "You're all so very lovely." They stare back with smiles.

After a second of silence, Kassandra adjusts her pink tweed jacket and speaks again. "Well, I suppose there's no use in dilly-dallying. Let's get you settled in, Finch."

The girls file into their rooms, and Kassandra motions at me to follow her. She is a stern woman who has very clearly had years of finishing school. She practically glides up the stairs; she bounces none. Her matching suit jacket and skirt are perfectly clean, without any hair nor stain. Her makeup perfectly done, lipstick expertly puckered. She appears to have no flaws.

The hallway at the top of the stairs seems miles in length. At the very end of the hallway is a set of double doors with ornate golden handles, stark in comparison to the single, plain doors with regular knobs. She leads me to a room near the end of the hallway and unlocks the door with a key from a ring. The room is simpler than the living room, but lavish nonetheless. The bed has four posts and had a velvet canopy. There is a plush stool placed in front of an elongated mirror, with chests of drawers on either side.

"I'll let you have about an hour to yourself, to collect your thoughts. Dinner will be served promptly at seven o'clock. Find something... suitable to wear. I hope you find your new garments appealing." She nods curtly with a smile and begins to close the door, but I stop her.

"Wait, Kassandra," I say quickly.

She reopens the door and pokes her head in, questioningly. "Yes, my dear?"

"Why am I here?"

She considers the question a moment, and searches for an answer. To compensate for my vagueness, I scramble, "I mean, I can't dance. I never have. Why would you want me for this... this prestige?"

She exhales and closes the door, as if readying to answer a question she knew I would ask. She sits down on the bed and pats a spot next to her. I sit.

"Finch - you might not remember this, but I met you as a very young girl." She breaks her eye contact with me. "I was at the Hospice one afternoon - for, you know, Miss Winston is my half-sister. I was paying a visit, and we were chatting in her office. She looked past me halfway into conversation - she could be somewhat rude. Anyway, I turned to look at the commotion, and there was a beautiful little girl of about seven, standing in front of two younger girls."

"And that was me?" I ask.

She nods. "Indeed. And I kept looking, and she - you," she corrects herself, "you stood up on the tips of your toes. And it was magnificent. You had such high arches, beautiful posture... you performed with such ease and grace. And at that moment, I knew I wanted you. Although you were merely trying to impress the other girls with your strength, you unknowingly admitted yourself into this academy."

"Why didn't you take me then?" is all I can manage to wonder.

"You were too young. We only accept girls your age and up. But I told Elaine to keep a strict watch on you - I told her, 'That little girl is going to be big someday. Make sure she doesn't slack.'"

I nod.

"Well, there you have it. You're here now. And as soon as we get to work with you, you're going to make something of yourself." With that, she stands up, smooths her skirt, and leaves me to myself.