Wisps Of Lockhart

•Chapter One•

Belle straightened the hem of her dress once again, smiling as she stood in front of the mirror. A fair-skinned, beautiful young lady smiled back at her. Her hair was glossy as it cascaded down her back in glorious golden waves and her blue eyes gleamed bright enough to rival the midsummer sun that streamed in through her curtains and cast a warm glow all over her skin. Her figure was slim, albeit bountiful, and was especially accentuated by the dress she wore on that day. It was a little red dress that hugged her upper body and flared out from the waist. She was going to see Damien on that day, and she knew that he was going to love it. Red was his favorite color, after all, and the dress was red.

Red; the colour that most encapsulates our love, Belle thought.

A colour that stood for the fiery passion he incited within her often with just the most infinitesimal of gestures - the lightest of touches, the most gentle of stolen kisses and just a few small but meaningful glances - but ones that set her alight all the same. After twirling in front of her mirror one last time, she set out of her bedroom. On her way out, she ran into one of her family manor's plenty maids.

"My apologies, miss Lockhart." The handmaiden bowed, having caught the vase of flowers that she had been carrrying before it could shatter against the ground. Belle eyed her contemptuously, her eyes narrowed with a hostility that she had adapted towards the peasants, whom she knew were beneath her, in order to remind them of their place.

"Don't be sorry, you harlot. Be mindful of where you're going." Belle spat, satisfaction coursing through her when she saw the handmaiden's eyes fill with tears.

She carried on about her way, feeling more satisfaction as more of the manor's staff stumbled and scurried out of her path to make way for her. She thought them all to be lowly plebeians, and was glad they knew exactly where they stood.

Belle, along with her three other siblings, lived in the large manor of their uncle: James Lockhart. He was the older brother of their father, Jacob, and had taken them in ten years prior, after an untimely and tragic accident took the lives of the childrens' parents. Belle had been fourteen at the time. Her second-born brother, Finnean, had been twelve, her second-to-last born sister, Odessa, had been nine and the youngest of them, Constance, had been five.

Belle supposed that while she'd really, truly, missed her parents: their lifestyle had never afforded for the one she was living then. It was a life akin to the one of a princess; one she had always dreamt about throughout her childhood - that was, until it became a realty. Her aunt Meredith - a barren woman who had always been desperate for children to call her own and had been all too eager to spoil them in return for their affections, and her uncle - a work obsessed man who was all too eager to throw money at his wife and them so long as he'd remain unbothered by them all - made sure that she was granted every one of her heart's desires.

Belle walked into the dining parlour, where she found the whole family seated for breakfast. Her aunt's voice was the loudest amongst the chatter. She was, as usual, haggling at her her husband for something Belle had no desire to know of. Her uncle was, as usual, ready for work and doing his best to ignore his wife.

Finnean, who had begun to work for his uncle's oil company as soon as he was old enough, was dressed and ready for work as well. He was poking fun at Constance and the noise of their banter made Belle, for the upteenth time, think that uncivilised barbarians held not a single candle towards the both of them. In between the uncivilised brutes that were rumoured to be her siblings, sat Odessa. Sweet, quiet and innocent Odessa. Ever so shy, ever so sensitive and ever so... nauseating.

That was how Belle felt about Odessa; she absolutely could not stand her.

"Good Morning." Belle said, upon reaching the table, before she lowered herself into a seat and began to pile her plate up with some of the delicacies that adorned the table. Never too much, though. She had to keep her figure slim. Her greeting had garnered the attention of her aunt; something her uncle looked to be immensely relieved for.