Fantasia

Drugs

Genevieve had spent hours slaving over her mirror, doing and redoing each meticulous flick of her eyes, every visible flaw in her face and all the tiny cracks in her lips.
Tonight was the Solemnity. She could not dissapoint. And she could certainly not shame.

However, just in case her pretty little face faltered throughout the evening celebrations, her father had left her the jar beside her mirror.
Something to help her float away in a pool of ecstasy, uphold their image as the best hosts with the best supply of happiness.

She finished plucking the last few hairs on her newly refined eyebrows and called upon her helpers to add the finishing touches to her hair.

"Clara!" A short, timid woman barrelled up the stairs, stuttering profusely as Genevieve beckoned her to help with the tassled mess of her hair.

Clara paused for a moment, looked at it and proceeded with absolute caution. The last thing she needed was a cut on her already tiny wages. She wouldn't have enough money to get her through winter, not with her ill brother.

Genevieve's ebony black hair was clipped into place, covered by a modest black wrap. On top of this however, laid the most extravagant wig. Plaits and ringlets, the masterpiece lavished with embellishment upon embellishment. Even delicately crafted, silver butterflies made their home upon her head.

To finish the lavish look, Clara helped her into the huge gown. To us, it may have looked like an antiquated Georgian gown with a twist- instead of bleak, modest colours it was topped with vibrant pinks and blue and yellows, dancing across Genevieve's slender figure like balerinas. And yet, to the people if the Solemnity, she would be a fashion icon. A rare beauty, a muse if all their younger days.

"Thank you Clara, you may leave," She remained perfectly composed as Clara politely courtseyd, and scurried out of the room.

As soon as Genevieve heard the click of the closed door, she scurried from her upright position at the dressing table, and grabbed the jar of Happiness. The small,blue pills hid inside like the devil's temptation, calling her to swallow them and bask in their bliss.

But she was having none of it.

She tightened her grip on the cold glass container, and smashed it, as hard as she could, against the wall.
No emotion stirred on her face apart from the odd furrow in her brow.
As the glass exploded, blood splattered her hands, leaving a crimson trail to flow down her arm.
She crawled to her mirror and turned on the taps on the sink, plunging her hand into the cold water. Shards of glass stuck in her fingers, paining her with every motion.
Grabbing her eyebrow tweezers, she plucked each splinter out, one by one, barely wincing as new pain flowed through her nerves.

"Genevieve!" She heard her father call out to her, becokoning her to leave. Hastily, she grabbed some cloth from atop her dresser and wrapped the wound as tightly and thickly as she could. Hopefully, the blood wouldn't seep through.

She scurried out of her room, most undignified, until she was within eyeshot of her father and brother. From then, she elegantly placed her hand upon the stairway banister, and glided down the steps. Her father watched on in awe, rosy cheeked and proud. Her brother stared, admiring her beauty, as she continued.

She took her brother's arm at the bottom, smiling sweetly as he began to talk.
"You look wonderful. I'm sure all will be thrilled to see you so radiant." He continued talking, politely and courteously, as Genevieve let her mind wander.

So many thoughts circulated around her head, thoughts of emancipation, freedom, ugliness. She always had the most peculiar mind, darting back and forth between the unthinkable and the impossible.

"Genevieve? What happened to you hand?" Nicholas quizzed from beside her.

She looked up at him, pausing for a moment, before adding in the sweetest most innocent voice,
"Oh, its the new fashion, didn't you hear? Adelaide told me in the tailors. All the young girls are decorating their ring hands with the most ravishing fabrics, its truly wonderful."

Her voice would sound patronising, annoying, pretentious to us. But to everyone else? Beautifully charming, well educated, intelligent.

Genevieve was the emulator, the girl everyone wanted to be.
But to her? She was caught in a moustrap. And the catchers would never stop tempting her.