BTT x Reader | BloodXLust

Chapter Eighty Eight | ElizabettaXAristocracy

Dresses.

Frills.

Cooking.

Cleaning.

Babysitting.

How long have a kept up this charade?

I sweep up shop, papa watches me smiling.

I've fooled them, to some aspect. I'm pretending to be complacent as I am.

Mama reads every letter Anso sends me asking me to court him. I still haven't said yes, it's been four damn years that son of a biscuit needs to give up.

Biscuit?

I used to curse like hell now I can't even think properly, geez.

Brainwashing is intense when done by all of society. But mostly the fact I need to hide it from everyone. It kills me to hear Anso go on about his hunting trips or watching the Fencing tournaments. When I go to watch the fencers with him I have to stop myself from shooting correct positioning or better moves that could have been done.

He thinks I have a fragile heart so he doesn't take me to anything more violent.

At least ninety-seven seven times he's tried to initiate a kiss or other form of physical contact. When will he learn I have zero interest in him?

Having to dress fancier than usual and hold a bloody parasol only makes my attitude worse you dip.

Mama braids my hair before bed to make it wavy in the morning. She thinks it suits me. I don't. But that doesn't really matter, I refuse to learn to braid hair so mama does it for me, she hopes she can reconnect with me this way.

I look in the mirror, each time she glances away I make the most aggravated face I can manage trying to unleash my anger in the only way I can.

I haven't worn men's clothes since Gilbert left some time ago. Papa found out about that day and just gave me a disappointed look. He'd been kind enough to take me in and my disobedience towards him upset even me. Since then I've tried to be a daughter to him. But I find myself in the butcher shop every day. Even if all I can do is clean and smile and wave. I thought the shop would be mine, I want to at least help run it.

"Eliza you still smell of blood," mama clucked as she brushed through my hair. "Is it the time of month or just the meat?"

Before it got any more awkward I quickly corrected it was in fact just the meat.

Gretchen is braiding her hair beside me.

She grew up a little girl, complacent with society. She played with dolls and dresses and learning to cook and clean at a young age. She's not even ten. I'm only seventeen, soon to be eighteen.

In this society, I'm already considered old. Too old to still be single. Too old to not have children or have at least tried for them.

"Darling Vhen vill you accept Anso's hand?" She asked me, hope in her voice.

"Never," I shot down.

"Is vhere anyvone at all you'd be happy vith?"

"Happy? No."

Mama frowned and Gretchen started to braid her doll's hair.

I heard papa laughing as he played with Leon in the next room.

We nicknamed him Leo. Leon was the same name of the man who tried to kill me when I found out I was a girl, so the name didn't bring back any good memories. Eventually, in the same way, we started calling me Eliza we started calling him Leo.