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Undercover; DNR - Short Story
Topic Started: Sat Mar 25, 2017 5:12 am (66 Views)
♥Cordelia Brooks
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"Please stay here while I retrieve the baroness," said the goblin. Despite his short stature and crisp bow tie, Cordelia knew he could shred her open if he tried. With a practiced aristocratic accent, he could hide his humble beginnings, and with a suit he could almost hide the atrocity of his verdant skin, but no amount of etiquette could conceal his sharp teeth or his long, bony claws.

At the end of the hallway, he looked over his shoulder to ascertain Cordelia had not move.

"Fetch her already," she said. "I'm not in need of a babysitter." She scoffed. The goblin, with an irritated huff, rounded the hallway that lead to the grand staircase. She could hear the echo of his feet plop down on each step fade as he moved beyond her earshot.

The foyer of the mansion was as grand as Cordelia remembered it. Decorated with glass, the foyer sparkled like a winter eve—the flickering flame inside the lantern fixed to the center of the ceiling brought the glass to glittering life. The walls were not made of glass, but were instead covered in sheaths of it carved with squares, and diamonds, and other shapes that pleasantly caught light. Long shadows undulated against the walls to the rhythm of the lantern's flame.

If the foyer were lit by moonlight alone, to stand inside it would be like standing inside a snowflake.

Cordelia shook her head. Such delicate luxury befuddled her. On a small, round table close by sat a candy dish, and as the goblin's footsteps neared, she unwrapped a candy and hurriedly pressed it into her mouth.

The goblin returned, stood directly in front of Cordelia, and cleared his throat.

"Presenting the Baroness," said the goblin.

From behind the corner emerged a woman with skin as white as marble, hair as black as coal, and lips as red as blood. Her face possessed the roundness of a cherub, and her eyes—blue as a spring twilight—twinkled with the joy she discovered in her own benevolent spirit. A white silk robe, with billowing sleeves and a train, was all that adorned her figure.

Upon seeing Cordelia, the Baroness pressed her hands to her heart, and her cherry mouth spread into a warm smile.

"Cordelia," she said.

"Eupheme," said Cordelia.

"Thank you, Jacobs," said the Baroness, Eupheme, to the goblin. "Hard as it is to believe, this is indeed my sister."

The goblin looked between the two women. The resemblance halted at the colors of their features. Cordelia's face was far more angular, and beside this, she wore a traveler's clothes: a ratty red coat, muddy boots, trousers. Her hair was short and unwashed. There was a coldness in the way she set her jaw that the goblin had never seen in his employer.

"Will that be all?" he asked.

"Yes, Jacobs, thank you. Cordelia, shall we go somewhere more private?" Cordelia took a step forward, but Eupheme halted her with a raised finger. "I won't have you track filth into my clean house. Please remove your shoes."

"Really? You can't pay someone to mop up?"

"I can, and I do," said Eupheme, "but I'm in a bit of a hurry tonight. I'm hosting a banquet."

"My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail."

Eupheme's smile did not falter. "Don't be silly. I'd never invite you."

"I know." Cordelia yanked her boots off and tossed them to the left of the double doors. With a gesture of her wrist, Eupheme entreated Cordelia to follow her. Once the Baroness turned her back, Cordelia reached into her mouth and stuck the mostly chewed candy to a part of the foyer.

"Mature," said Eupheme flatly, though she hadn't seen.

Cordelia chortled. With a smirk on her face, she followed Eupheme up the grand staircase, which cascaded down either side of the ballroom. The steps were made of glass, and the railing was some kind of metal—sturdy, but painted with a glittering silver so that it would not create dissonance with the rest of the room. The floor was a checkered tile of black and white, and marble columns with carvings of family symbols connected the floor to the ceiling, which was painted with images of birds in the Gloomwood Forest.

At the top of the staircase, Eupheme lead Cordelia down a long hall, at the end of which stood another pair of double doors. These were black, with golden knobs in the shape of two doves. Inside the room was a canopy bed draped with a sheer white sheet, a large boudoir, a dresser. The closet door, left open, entered into another room; a walk-in. The walls were white, and the carpet was, too; this ceiling was painted with clouds.

Eupheme went to her dresser and sat in a golden chair. "Make yourself at home, my dearest sister," she said.

Cordelia sprawled out on the love seat next to the dresser. "Nice pillows on this."

"Thank you." Eupheme picked up a brush, and began to glide it through the curls of her long, black hair. Silence inflated between them, after which Eupheme turned her eyes to meet Cordelia's. "You're welcome to stay for the banquet, but you can't possibly wear… that."

"I won't stay," said Cordelia.

"Oh, thank you."

"Such relief."

"I do have dresses that would fit you," said Eupheme, "but you know how it would look, what with your… reputation, shall we say, and my reputation, and the two of them being so different—"

"I don't care, Eupheme," said Cordelia. "You play nice with your political friends, do whatever it is you have to do. I won't ruin how they see you. Do they even know you have a sister?"

"You know the answer to that question."

Cordelia's laugh was hollow, almost hurt, but she was unsurprised. Sick of staring at the ceiling, she sat up on the love seat, and leaned forward. She brought her hands together, folded her fingers.

"Five years."

"I know," said Eupheme.

"We've gone longer."

"We have." She spritzed herself with a sweet smelling perfume. "What's the reason for your visit today?"

"I'm getting married."

In the midst of rubbing lotion into her palms, Eupheme paused, and shot around in her chair. Her brows raised, and her mouth twisted into a confused pout. Her eyes scanned Cordelia more than once, as if searching for something that she had missed.

"Why?" asked Eupheme.

"Why what?"

Eupheme sucked her lips into her mouth. She had numerous questions, but was unsure where to begin. Turning away from Cordelia, she took her time rubbing the lotion into her skin, dedicating time to each finger and each line in her palm, and then stood. She sat at the other end of the love seat, and surveyed Cordelia with a critical eye.

"Why are you getting married again?"

"I love him, Eupheme."

"Love is never enough of a reason. What else?"

"It may not be enough for you, but it is for me."

"Don't be such a child. It doesn't suit you. Has he got money?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Has he got money?" When Cordelia didn't answer, Eupheme frowned. "Can he provide for you? Protect you?"

"I don't need to be provided for, or protected. I can do those things well enough myself. You forget who you're talking to."

"Is he—decent?"

"No. He's like me."

"Mother and father wouldn't approve."

"Good thing they're dead."

With a groan, Eupheme leaned her forehead into her palm, and closed her eyes.

"I didn't come here for my little sister's approval," said Cordelia.

"Then what did you come for?"

"You're my sister."

After a moment, Eupheme opened her eyes, and lowered her hands. She tucked them neatly in her lap. "You're right," she said. She reached out and took Cordelia's hand, and offered a gentle squeeze. Neither looked at the other. Instead they looked straight ahead, or at the walls, or at the ceiling. The room lacked windows, and so on each wall hung an elaborate set of paintings. There were portraits of people Cordelia had never met, and pleasant landscapes of places in Imythess. Each painting rested inside a gilded frame, and on the corner of each frame was some ornate spiral that reached out into the room.

"It's just the first time was so devastating," said Eupheme. Her voice was small, and quiet, and far away. She knew this sentence could have consequences, but spoke it anyway. The room changed after the words had a chance to hang in the atmosphere. The tension between the sisters shifted into a sort of melancholy, a deep seeded pain, the root of which only the two of them could understand.

"I don't want to speak of the first time," said Cordelia.

"Your new husband—is he human, or…?"

"No." Cordelia shook her head. "No, no, no."

"Well. Good."

"I wouldn't make that mistake twice."

Eupheme patted Cordelia's hand. "He's like us?"

"As similar to us as any one can be." Cordelia laughed. "No one is quite like us."

"Of course." Eupheme slid her fingers between Cordelia's. "You know, it wasn't quite your mistake, the first time. It was mother and father's. And mine, too, a little bit. They wanted you—"

"I know what they wanted," hissed Cordelia.

"And this time it's not at all like what they would have wanted, so maybe… there's a chance."

"I love him, Eupheme."

Eupheme slid closer to Cordelia, and tucked a lock of scraggly black hair behind her older sister's ear. She rested her head on Cordelia's shoulder. "It's sweet, how much you believe in love. Unexpected, coming from someone like you."

"Don't mock me."

"I don't mean to," said Eupheme. "I shouldn't send a wedding gift. People shouldn't know we're sisters."

"I shouldn't have come to the front door, either."

"No, but that's all right. Butlers are replaceable."

"I noticed Jacobs was new."

"I ate the last one."

Eupheme turned her head, and grinned up at Cordelia without any sweetness; this was a grin to show off the two rows of sharp teeth in her mouth. Cordelia clacked her jaw in a mock bite.

"You're as savage as me," said Cordelia. "You just hide it. It's disgusting."

"I know you think it's cowardly. Let's not have the same old fight we've fought for years. It's boring, and I did miss you."

"You didn't miss me too much."

"No, not too much. But enough." Eupheme burrowed into Cordelia's shoulder. "Enough to make me want you to stay a little longer."

"Will you come to the wedding?"

"What?"

"You don't have to send money, I know that might be traceable. But will you come poke your head in?"

"Oh…"

"You don't have to be my maid of honor," said Cordelia. "Or even a bridesmaid. Just come. Meet him. Meet my children—"

"Children?" Eupheme bolted upright.

"Adopted. Well—the boy is adopted. The girl is my future husband's."

"Goodness, I was so surprised, I thought maybe—"

"No."

"I hoped, for a moment—" Eupheme touched Cordelia's shoulder with a consoling palm. "You always wanted to be a mother so terribly. I'm glad you finally are."

"Will you come?"

"Briefly," said Eupheme.

"Thank you."

"I would do anything for you, Cordelia. I would follow you into hell."

"No, you wouldn't."

"You're right. I wouldn't. But I do love you dearly. I wish we could see each other more often."

"Do you?"

"Maybe if you lived like I do, or if I lived like you. Yes, in that situation, I'd want to see you more often."

With a roll of her eyes, Cordelia stood, and adjusted her red coat. "Tell your husband I said hello," she said.

"He's probably in his room down the hall, if you want to say hello yourself."

The sisters both grinned, and managed to laugh, though it was a little forced. Eupheme stood, and brushed some dirt from Cordelia's shoulders. She disappeared back to her dresser, rooted around in a drawer, and returned with a small bottle of perfume.

"In case you ever decide you want to be pretty," said Eupheme.

"You need it more than I do."

"Don't hurt my feelings."

"I'll see you at the wedding, Eupheme."

The sisters did not embrace. Cordelia did not turn back once she reached the door. She exited the bedroom without waving, and scurried down the glass stairs. The banquet was still a few hours away, but for the sake of her sister's political reputation, she left the mansion through the back and meandered her way through the property until it was safe for her to reemerge in the streets. People like Eupheme didn't associate with people like Cordelia.

Not in the open, anyway.
Edited by Cordelia Brooks, Sat Mar 25, 2017 6:16 pm.
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