The Pretty Blindfold ✔

Scandals can be the hardest adhesive

The sunlight danced on her fingers, as she wiggled them to create black moving silhouettes on the ground. Her hair flowed towards an imperceptible force that beckoned it forward only to be brought back by the hair tie that kept her hair together; save for a few tendrils that had escaped its clutches.

Leaning towards the open window of the cab, she breathed in the fresh scent of morning dew on the trees and the smell of grass layered on the solid ground. Her eyelashes fluttered against the cool breeze as she warmed herself to unaccustomed surroundings.

She missed home in New York, where everything was a crescendo - the traffic, the people, and nature. But most of all she missed the small pleasures of playing hide and seek with the paparazzi.

After all, she was the only daughter of two enigmas - the business tycoon, Martin Winters, and fashion designer, Vivienne Winters.

Here, she would only be known as a stranger, who had dropped by for a few months, only to go back to the same bustling city which never slept.

But she was not a tourist in need of a reviving vacation, as she had disguised herself to be. She was a social pariah. She was a queen turned into an outcast before she could even comprehend, because of a videotape that emerged showing her beating up her chauffeur. It was all the evidence they needed to taint her perfect image black.

Did she do it? No.

But her voice was suppressed amidst the amassing accusations and society's declarations.

From that moment onward life was a downward spiral. Friends were no longer friends; fans were no longer fans and family were just names on legal papers.

In that circle of loneliness, all she had was herself and Maria, her housekeeper. But Maria, a fifty-year-old unmarried woman, would only understand so much. She would not understand her athazagoraphobia - the constant desire to be an image without any blemishes, otherwise, she would easily be replaced by one of the many in line to be tagged as the next Ice Queen.

Yet, if it were not for Maria, she would not have found her escape from the constant pounding of reporters and social activists who demanded justice for the chauffeur. But what about her? Wasn't she the one who had been ultimately wronged?

People are fickle-minded willing to jump into any conclusion they deem as satisfactory. For this reason, she had to wait until some celebrity graced the tabloids once again. Then she would be back to being her infamous self.

It will take time, though, to restore her image. But she would be the perfect star once again, soaring up higher.

That was the reassurance she gave herself as she got down from the cab. Maria's sister was kind enough to provide her housing. But as she looked at the house she regretted agreeing to come here; more like forced to by her parents.

This was no house. It felt like an abandoned building with two floors and a poorly maintained lawn, filled with overgrown grass. Back home, this would have been one of the servant quarters. Would they even have enough rooms, or would she have to make do with the floor? She shuddered at the thought of living in this cramped up house. It was best to walk back and stay at some hotel.

She was a shopaholic, who never saw the need to be thrifty when her parents were loaded filthy. Even though her parents cut her off financially, to soothe the public's anger, she still had some money left which Maria had forced her to save up. Now she could not be gladder. It wasn't enough for a month of stay at one of the luxury countryside resorts here, for she would not settle for anything less, but she would think about that later. She could always give a call to her parents when she ran out of money.

As she turned to leave, she heard a female voice calling out, "Miss Winters?"

This was why she should never dawdle around. A lesson she still had not learnt, it seems.

"Are you talking to me?" She asked, pretending to be confused.

"You are Miss Winters, right?"

Perfect! They did not know how she looked. The recent makeover, red hair instead of her natural brown, a failed attempt to camouflage herself, finally proved to be a success.

"No. I'm not."

"Really? Then what are you doing here?"

"Uh... out for a walk?" Even as she answered that, she wanted to smack herself for sounding so doubtful.

"With that many suitcases?"

"Uh-huh... Weight plus cardio is the new trend. Haven't you heard?"

"No. Miss Winters, do come inside. We've been awaiting your arrival."

"I really am not Miss Winters."

"And I am a ghost."

If there was one thing that terrified her enough to freeze every single blood cell of hers, it would be ghosts. She believed in their existence, more than she believed in herself, ever since she was a child. Even though she later realized the flickering masses at night were just shadows moving due to the movement of objects under a light, it was not easy to let go of a fear engraved deep in her bones.

Her friends had always mocked her because of this. Now her friends were not here, so this fear shouldn't either.

She breathed in deeply and then breathed out. That was what her yoga instructor had said. 'Peace of mind achieves everything.' But deep breathing was not helping her move her legs.

"If you don't hurry Miss Winters, the ghost behind your back will eat you alive."

Screaming, she dashed past the middle-aged woman into the doorway of the house.

It seems there was something much more effective than Yoga.