Venris Dastonia irritably turned from her mirror, her ribbon in her hair still undone, clinging feebly to her long platinum tresses.
“Yes.” Her voice came out ice-cold, matching the glacial blue of her eyes and dress.
A maid opened the door slightly and shyly poked her head into Venris’ room.
“Lord Dastonia needs you in five minutes, Miss Venris. The guest is going to arrive any moment now.”
“I…see.”
“Do you need me to do some errands while I’m on my way to the kitchens, Miss?”
“Let me think…” Venris looked back into the mirror, peering at her own reflection, looking for anything lacking on her person.
As she was inspecting her image, she noticed that for some reason she was getting the impression that she was…fading. Her face had a shade of weariness painted on it. Her skin looked paler than ever before. Whenever she tried to smile to scrutinize her look, it lacked even the faintest flicker of mirth.
She was not much of a beauty, in fact there were many peasant women more pleasant looking, and more amiable, than her. The one thing that made her so attractive though, was that she was unattainable; too ethereal for them to touch.
She was one of the famed ghosts of the fickle Alberta society; one of those people who could be seen one moment, and vanish the next without a trace. She slips in and out of gatherings, a wraith. But even if people didn’t see her very often, her face was quite well known, for she was one of the favorite subjects for portraits.
She was an icon.
And because people didn’t see her very often, and never knew much of her life, they made fables about her, about how her cold, glacial eyes sparkle with pleasure as thieves and merchants kill each other to gain her favor. How it took such extremes to make her feel emotion of any sort.
Of course, they were all urban legends spurred by her frosty, distant demeanor.
“Oh.”
She noticed that her rouge was of the wrong shade. Too pale, she decided. Too… cold.
“Rumika?”
“Miss?” The maid carefully opened the door wider and let herself in the room, her back rigid against the doorframe, anxiously waiting for her mistress’ orders.
“Come here beside me,” Venris beckoned for Rumika with a slight gesture of her hand to the stool standing just beside the dresser where the mirror was mounted. “And sit there.”
The maid Rumika looked puzzled, but hurriedly complied and sat herself primly on the stool, letting herself get a full view of her mistress’ likeness. Her almost gaping expression as she stared seemed to say, Oh, beautiful.
Venris did not seem to notice. “I look very pale, do you not think so?” she asked, her voice completely void of its cold edge earlier. “Do you have anything that would make me look…warmer, perhaps?”
For want of a better term, she thought. But good enough.
The maid brightened up, being given a task where she, Rumika the Prettiest Maid in the Dastonia Household, the Keeper of the Albertan Merchant’s Hearts, excelled. She bounced off the chair and walked closely to Venris, examining her mistress’ visage all too closely.
“Hmm…” Rumika tapped her chin for a moment. Then she smiled. “What an astute observation, Miss!” She exclaimed, totally happy that she was able to use a--complicated--word successfully.
“The frosted look is very becoming on you, Miss Venris, but I think you should use a richer shade of pink instead of carnation for your lips.”
“Do you have a rouge in the shade you’re recommending me?”
Rumika nodded, proud that her pretty mistress was asking her, her, for beauty advice. And it seemed that she was going to borrow her things too.
“Why yes, Miss. It’s a bit…used, though…”
“That is no matter. May I borrow it?”
“Oh, but of course!”
Rumika scampered off, leaving Venris alone in the coldness of her room.
She faced her reflection in the mirror once more.
The Venris in the mirror seemed to taunt her. Why the sudden urge to change your appearance, Venris?
“Because…”
But she couldn’t finish.
Because? Because you couldn’t stand being the untouchable Venris Dastonia your stupid society wants you to be? Do you want out? Have you have had enough of the silly parties and gatherings your father makes you attend?
“Do I have any choice?” Venris asked, her voice tinged with utter tiredness. “Father…is the law.”
Don’t you see? He doesn’t care for you. He sees you as nothing more than a pawn. In fact, he could very well sell you off to the highest bidder if he so chooses.
“He may be the wealthiest and the most powerful merchant, but that’s too far even for him.”
You need to get out.
“I can’t.”
You know what you’re lacking, Venris? It’s hate. Hate your father. Hate the social circles. Hate everything that put you, here. Hate everything that made you lose the will to make your own path.
“I’m too tired.”
You’ve become what they want you to be, Venris. What a pity.
