Cirice Forge doesn't know who she is. Other than a piece of paper with her name on it, she knows nothing about her time before she was dispersed into the foster system. Now, she bartends at a popular gentleman's club with plenty of ogling and still...
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Papa swallowed hard, finishing his glass of whiskey and studying the portrait that hung above the fireplace. He hated and loved it. He loved it because it was her, the only part of her he had left. He hated it because no matter how long he stared at it, it never did her justice. The eyes were too far apart, the smile didn't match hers, yet he knew that he couldn't be too selective as his outburst so many years ago.
He was pulled from his musings as the door to his study opened. He turned and gasped, taking in the woman before him. Cirice stood awkwardly, fisting the skirt of her dress and revealing her worn boots she had insisted upon wearing. She was more like her mother than the painting ever would be. Papa smiled, gliding over to her.
"Kära en," he cooed, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "You look stunning." he complimented as she eyed the dress.
"Ivy made the dress. She said it reminded her of Mother." Cirice had finally looked up at him and when she did, her breath caught in her throat. There was her mother, or what she assumed was her mother. She recalled a vague memory of sneaking into this very room just to stare at it until she fell asleep.
She strolled forward, dropping the dress to place her hands on the mantle to get a better look. She beamed as Papa watched her.
"You look so much like her," Papa said, brushing her cheek lightly with his gloved hand. Cirice smiled, taking his hand in hers.
"Now we have guests to attend to," Papa said gently, leaving his empty drink on the mantle and leading Cirice out into the hallway. They came to the main staircase and Papa paused, unlacing his hand from hers and offering her his arm instead. Cirice peered out from the hallway. In the foyer, at least a hundred party guests bustled about. Cirice anxiously bit her lip as her father smiled.
"Do not be afraid. They will love you," he said softly. Cirice smiled and they both started down the stairs. A sudden hush washed over the room like a wave as the came to the landing and turned to descend the last set of stairs.
"His Majesty, Papa Emeritus the III and Princess Cirice." A ghoul who had been standing at the top of the stairs annouced their titles as the group cleared a pathway to the right towards to large open wooden doors. Cirice kept her eyes fixed on the path ahead, the faces around her blurring as her heart banged against her ribs. Around them, whispers arose. Cirice ignored them as they entered the grand ballroom.
It was a two-story room, the ceiling depicted a painted battle. One side was light and beautiful, with angels and what Cirice assumed was God. On the other, a depiction of the Dark Lord and his followers contrasted. Angels with white and black feathered wings prepared for a battle that was forever frozen. Cirice had been so caught up in the ceiling artwork, she stumbled on the front of her dress. Papa steadied her and smiled as they ascended a few steps.
Papa gestured to his left where a beautifully upholstered chair sat. Cirice recognized it immediately and stood in front of it. She watched as the guests poured into the ballroom and waited in anticipation.
