I simply can’t raise my voice when I see that face, the lady-in-waiting lamented. She did love her lady oh so very much, despite her claims to the contrary.
“My lady, a word of advice, if I may,” she said. “The academy will soon begin its first semester of the year, and I think it best that you refrain from these disappearing acts for the time being.”
“I know. Speaking of responsibilities, I’m to meet with His Highness tomorrow. Are those plans unchanged?”
Claris answered in the affirmative. Anna-Marie had much to discuss with her partner in crime following the day’s events. And all of it important, she thought. The world wants to go off script and do things in weird ways, but I’m not about to let it take us toward a bad end. Consider this my promise to you, world! This is my oath, and I don’t need a boy to give it to! I will have a happy ending! She snickered to herself. Now I sound like the heroine. Wait. Promise…
Anna-Marie leaped up from the couch. Her eyes flew wide, and she shook like a leaf caught in a storm.
“M-my lady?” Claris asked, frightened.
“What have I done?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What have I done?!”
“My lady, what in the world is the matter?!”
“Claris! Pen and paper! Now!”
“R-right away!”
Anna-Marie threw herself down at her desk. Claris fretted at her lady’s state of mind but did as commanded regardless.
She timidly handed Anna-Marie the pen and paper. “M-my lady.”
“Thank you.” Anna-Marie twirled the pen dexterously in her fingers, a deathly serious glint in her eyes. “I can’t believe myself. Of all the things to forget.”
Claris gulped. What had she forgotten?
The perfect lady continued to gripe and grumble under her breath as though holding a debate over the most important matter in all the world.
“I can’t believe I forgot all about the short-skirt maid uniform I was going to design!”
Claris blinked as those words hung in the air. “Excuse me?”
“Happy ending my left foot. There’ll be no happiness in the world without miniskirts! Who doesn’t appreciate a bit of thigh? Nobody! Let’s go! Thigh-highs! Let’s go thigh-highs!” Anna-Marie’s pen spun faster and faster, her fervor growing with each revolution. “The only question is, what sort of design is best for the pure, conservative type? Black socks? White? D-dare I suggest, a garter belt?! The possibilities are endless!”
At last, pen went to paper, and the innocent, empty sheet filled with the raunchy scrawlings of a madwoman. Here was not the Scarlet Seductress, nor the perfect lady. Nor even Anna-Marie Victillium. Something else had taken over. Something feral.
“What if we did the sleeves like this? Show a little shoulder. Skin uptown, skin downtown. Double whammy. Oh, yeah. I’m cooking. I’m on fire! Claris, thoughts?”
“You…you rotten little hoyden!”
Claris’s expletive echoed through the estate, striking every single ear—save for the neighbors’, thankfully. It was a very large estate.
“Hoyden is a new one.” A sigh filled the office.
“I will simply pretend I did not hear it.” A second sigh filled the office.
“No, Claris!” came more shouts. “No! How could you?! Give it back! That’s my masterpiece! My masterpiece, I tell you!”
“The ashes in the furnace will absolutely adore it, I assure you!”
“Nooo!”
Business as usual for House Victillium. Sad, sad business.
Earlier in the day, some time after Anna and Melody left the orphanage…
“I’m back!”
“Welcome home.”
A small girl approached Sister Annabelle, who was busy making dinner in the kitchen. She had short pink hair tied in two little tufts. A cute hairstyle for a cute girl. She fell heavily into a seat and hunched over, lazily resting her chin on the table.
“Mind your manners, young lady,” the nun scolded. “No luck, I take it?”
The girl tilted her head forward in a vague nod, not bothering to lift her chin. “Still no jobs for me at the Guild.”
“I’d be surprised if there were.”
Maybe if this were a countryside farm in need of all the hands it could get, she might have had more luck, but in the capital, very few required the sort of limited help a child could offer. The prince’s economic revolution had brought an unprecedented number of laborers to the workforce as well. There was no shortage of able bodies.
“Every second counts,” the girl grumbled. “I have to find work so I can start helping out. And soon.”
“Listen to me. I appreciate the thought, but you’re only nine. You ought to be doing what nine-year-olds do. Eat well, sleep well, play well, and study well. Work can come later. What do you say?”
“It’ll be too late by then.” The girl sulked.
What would be too late? Why would it be too late? The girl never said. She’d come to the orphanage from the slums, so Sister Annabelle supposed it had something to do with her life there, but she could only guess as to where this urgency came from.
Then a growl rumbled from a certain someone’s stomach. Questions could wait.
The girl groaned. She blushed as she hugged her middle, too late to quiet it.
Sister Annabelle retrieved a plate from the cupboard, shaking her head. “We had fruit as a little afternoon snack. Might I interest you in some?”
“Yes!” The girl jumped to her feet and beamed at the treat the nun offered.
The sister chuckled. “It’s almost dinnertime, though. I worry you’ll ruin your appetite.”
“Sister, please! You underestimate what my stomach is capable of. I’ll have room to spare! Promise!” She thrust out her belly and patted it.
The sister chuckled again. Silly girl. “If you insist. Off you go, then. Wash your hands while I put this together for you, Micah.”
“Yes, Sister!”
The girl scurried off to the well.