But I've read this script and the costume fits
So I'll play my part
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The cotillion ball is the day after the enforcers squander the Undercity rebellion, so the entirety of dinner is subdued— anyone I ask claims they're happy and proud of our success, but their body language suggests that they're nervous more than anything. Unsettled. Perhaps they fear a second attack.
I don't. I saw the wreckage from the Council room. It was horrific. I know the citizens down there are criminals, but I don't think they deserved to die. There just wasn't any other option; the enforcers had to defend Piltover.
Perhaps that's why everyone is nervous: they feel sorry for the Undercity. The way most of them talk, however, I'm not confident about that.
Mum did my hair up with strings of opals and bought me a new gown from the boutique. It's white, like everyone's, with a full skirt and lace on the neckline that I told her was itchy, but that she told me I could endure for a few hours. I wait until the rehearsed class dance is over and the guests have begun mingling throughout the ballroom to give myself a good scratch. Many of the other girls are spinning around together, but I'm not really friends with any of them, so I linger by the glass door. It rained earlier today, and the patio sparkles.
After a long time smiling and curtseying to aristocrats who pass by, I hear someone whisper-call "Caitlyn!" and turn to see Rosemary and Lydia approaching, clearly enacting a clandestine scheme. I raise my eyebrows. Rosemary points to the door.
"We're going to play outside!" she hisses. "Would you like to join us?"
I scan the room and find Mum conversing animatedly with Councilor Bolbok; Dad is out of sight.
"I can't," I whisper anyway. I scarcely even speak to Rosemary and Lydia in the first place.
"But you look miserable," Lydia says. "It will only be for a little while."
"This is the cotillion ball," I say. "To 'play' on a night like this would be improper."
"You are such a goody-two-shoes," says Rosemary.
They carefully pull the door open and prance out onto the patio. I watch them with the corner of my eye and force my annoyance into a bland smile for the benefit of anyone nearby. I'm not a "goody-two-shoes"— I merely understand my duty. If the others are immature, that's a problem with them, not me.
I take a second glance at Mum and run out the door.
"Caitlyn!" Lydia whispers delightedly. The string quartet is still audible on the patio in a warped, distant manner that makes it feel as though I'm a world away from where I just was, rather than five feet. She and Rosemary are dancing around with most indignity, swinging their limbs every which way. Lydia's braid has already started coming undone.
Mum would prefer that I marry someone with whom I can produce an heir to our House. I'm only interested in girls, so my courting pool is small, and Lydia isn't in it. Mum likes her, though. By the time I'm old enough to marry, I'm sure she'll understand that there are more important things than heirs.
Lydia and Rosemary pull me into the fray. They both have their shoes off, so I take mine off too, as well as my stockings. They're the ones with the tiny, woven-in gems that itch as badly as my neckline. The chilled marble of the patio feels nice against my feet.
"This isn't the performance," Lydia says, grabbing both of my hands. "Stop trying to follow the routine."
Her hands are soft. I let her pull me around and emulate her every movement, the music switching from fast to slow to fast again. Rosemary eventually insists that we move into the garden instead. I'm not allowed to go barefoot on grass, especially when it's just rained, but they run ahead of me and I can't help but follow.
The musicians are out of hearing range down here. Rosemary says we should hold races instead. I haven't been part of a race since I was a child, unless it's part of a shooting competition, and I know it's inappropriate, but I agree, and the wind pulls my hair down just like Lydia's. The opals get tangled up and I don't even mind.
It's on our fourth round that I suggest we make a full circle around the manor. I'm in the lead, and I hear Lydia call out, and then I'm down in a puddle of mud on the north side of the patio.
"Shit," I say. I'm not allowed to cuss, but as I stand, I can see that there's mud on the palms of my white gloves, around the entire hem of my dress, and all across its front up to my knees. Lydia and Rosemary gasp.
"Caitlyn Kiramman!"
We all look up. Mum stands at the top of the staircase, silhouetted by the white-gold light from the ballroom windows.
Rosemary, Lydia, and I all fold our hands and lower our heads. I feel my cheeks flush, the spell of our freedom broken. I'm so foolish.
"I cannot believe this," Mum says. "I simply cannot believe this. Lydia, Rosemary, go inside. I will be speaking with your mothers."
They run off toward the staircase we first came down, unwilling to pass my mum. I blink back tears as her pristine green gown sweeps down the steps, her shadow falling over me, and I start to stammer out some weak explanation, but she clutches my forearm and tells me to be silent.
It's lucky that we held the ball at our home, because she can drag me in the front door and away into my room without anyone seeing my state of disarray. I accidentally leave a muddy footprint in the entryway and she makes me stop and rub my feet on the mat until they sting. A passing guest almost spots us and Mum runs nimbly the rest of the way while I try not to stumble.
Behind my locked door, she stands over me again. I hold my skirt tightly so the hem doesn't touch the carpet. A displaced opal bumps against my cheek.
"I am in shock, Caitlyn," Mum says. "You disappear from your own cotillion ball, and I find you running amok in the mud like a feral street urchin! Dirt all over you, barefoot outside, I think I even heard a cuss— what on earth do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry. I'll give back my birthday money to make up for the dress—"
"You know full well it isn't about the money! What if someone had seen you? The councilor's daughter, looking like she came right out of the Undercity!"
"Mum, I'm sorry—"
"Sorry isn't good enough, Caitlyn. You're a young woman now. You don't get to behave so abhorrently and get off with a slap on the wrist."
It seems these days that I'm a child who doesn't need to be speaking whenever I have a good idea and a young woman who needs to grow up whenever I have a bad one.
"I'm ashamed of you," says Mum. "I expected so much better of my daughter."
My tears fall, and it makes me mad all of a sudden, even though this whole mess is my own fault. "I just wanted to have fun, Mum!"
"Fun? You can have fun during horseback riding and piano. I even allow you to take the shooting class, as useless as it is. Is that not enough?"
"No."
She squawks disbelievingly. "I apologize if this is news to you, but you are not entitled to have fun at all hours of the day. You have responsibilities. Appearing well-mannered for a night is not much to ask."
I stay quiet.
"And with everything I do for you! The shooting lessons, the brand-new gown, the nanny— I could be spending this money on myself. You could be attending the public school in year-old clothing. Your spot in the Academy could go to someone else. You could be learning to ride from the servants. I even did your hair tonight myself, and look at what you've done to it—"
"Okay! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mum."
Her face is flushed too, but only with anger. "We have the Council dinner coming up this weekend," she says. "If you make any sort of spectacle whatsoever, there will be no more shooting. Ever."
I nod.
She turns her back and opens the door.
"I love you, Mum."
She glares at me over her shoulder. "Clean yourself up, Caitlyn. You're going to bed early."
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Intro lyrics from "Cleopatra" by The Lumineers.
baby Cait my beloved :,) guys i have so many mommy issues for you coming, just you wait