𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]

8: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰

This was followed by silence, which Brigitte took as a sign to continue.

"Confidence is believing in yourself, without that pedestal you love to stand on. I like how I look. It isn't any more significant coming from a man. My opinion is the only one that needs to matter," Brigitte continued, her voice measured. She smiled an overly-sweetened smile, blowing an air kiss with her glossy lips. "And I think I look good."

It felt good to be obnoxious, to be the spoiled brat Lily so desperately wanted. This was what Lily had come for, the breaking point where the mean, overly pretty girl in every romcom revealed her true colors, spilled out her eternal hatred for the nerd. Brigitte calmly ignored every scathing look, her blood

She checked her cuticles whilst Lily glared, signifying how little the conversation had affected her. "I can see your looks of disdain, you know. Maybe I'm pretty but I'm not blind. Has it ever occurred to you that I can wear lipstick and love Transfiguration? That enjoying expensive shoes isn't the only passion I have?"

"I'm sorry, that wasn't what I was implying." Her resignation was stiff, her keen eyes assessing the damage. She had to cauterize the wound before it bled out further, the bold scarlet blood on her hands.

But it was too late for that.

The gash had left its mark, settling against all the other scars that marked her heart. Lily's words had sprayed her with bullets, artillery aiming for soft patches beneath the hardened shield she put up. There would be no going back now, not as fury obstructed her vision, her jaw set in stern determination.

"Of course it isn't. I liked you, Lily. I really, truly liked you. Everyone went on and on about how kind you were, and I was so excited to meet you. I saw you, and you were beautiful," She whispered, every word rolling off her tongue pleasantly, the way one would discuss the lovely, un-Londonlike weather they were experiencing. The only giveaway was her neck, tendons flexed in haughty defense.

"Teachers loved you, students loved you, it seemed like everyone was friends with you, had been on the receiving end of your kindness. Everyone but me. Couldn't you have spared any of that cordiality for me?"

That had been the truth. Nothing was comparable to the ever-present disappointment she had felt that day and the weeks after. Lily was amiable, friendly, and hospitable, but she was not a friend. All those microaggressions had made it quite clear.

"Let's take a lesson back into history, shall we?"

Lily remained silent, seemingly unable to meet her gaze.

"Maybe you think Veela were just creatures created to keep males pleasured and happy, but you couldn't be more wrong. In Bulgaria, many men had the idea that women were their little toys, to be used and discarded as they pleased." Her voice had become a drawl, full of contempt at the entitled men, able to commit such disgusting acts without consequence.

"To solve this problem, a genius witch crossbred nymphs and fairies until the perfect woman appeared. This woman could put men under a trancelike state, make them do her bidding for long enough that the women could escape. Veela were created by women to protect women."

"Everything is in your favor, Lily. You get to be known as smart first, pretty second. Your credibility isn't tested in class. But you pitted yourself against me, over and over. I was the predetermined villain in the narrative you wrote." Her voice had crescendoed, all the pent-up frustration she felt bubbling up to the surface. "It's easy to hate me. But it's not fair. It's not fair that you look down on me for my hobbies, apparel, or species."

Then she was gone, the unattainable Brigitte Alarie.

She hated that word, unattainable, as if she was meant to be obtained in the first place. She was tired, tired of constant disgust girls looked at her with, girls meant to be her friends. She finally let her tears overfill in the empty corridor, muffling the sobs that threatened to overtake her.