Addie's POV
That night, those horrible nightmares brewed in my sleep. With them, came the memories. I was dragged from my mother's silent body, her eyes unblinking as the world shattered around me. I was locked inside a dungeon; cold manacles cutting into my wrists. The world was transparent through the smudged window; no one cared that the ten year old girl was tortured; the whole world slept on through the night while my howls of agony cut through the walls. That horrible brand imprinted on my wrist with a cruel wand-- the sign of the Deathly Hallows. I was no longer free, I was bound to the mark. And laughter. That cruel, eerie laughter. I was enriched in a life filled with empty servitude; all of those twisted experiments ensuring that I would remain a lackey. In this life or the next, I was always the pawn.
I remembered casting the memory charm; my eleven year old self casting it without remorse, too afraid of disobeying. My days in Durmstrang and Beauxbatons; two of the top schools in Europe. I had wrapped a layer of steel around my emotions to keep out the guilt; replacing my face with a mask of an empty brained prankster. Whenever the sign would burn, I would give those cold reports on the schools; infiltrating and acting. I was a despicable coward. The scene changed. I was on my knees, a high pitched laughter sounding in my ears. There was a flash of green light, a thud, and then everything went black...
I awoke with a start, cold sweat streaming down my brow. Morning had broken through the curtains; Izzy shaking me impatiently and telling me to go to the team. Right, it was the Quidditch game between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Getting dressed, I hurried downstairs with Izzy as we came to the table. The Slytherin table was glaring at me and the team; while Gryffindor and Ravenclaw watched on avidly.
I plopped into a seat and began eating my toast, throwing sarcastic waves now and then. The toast was very good. Then, the familiar whistle was blown and as an entire group, each Quidditch team filed out of the tables and headed towards the changing rooms. I hurriedly changed into my robes and pulled out my broom.
The Quidditch stadium was blanketed with snow; our boots crunching through the white crystals. The weather was remarkably fair for a game-- the wind was cold but steady and the sunlight shone dimly from the grey clouds. "Remember, team," Thomas had warned us in the changing rooms, "this is it-- Beaters keep the Bludger from the Seeker and Chasers follow my lead." He turned towards me, his eyes grim with determination. "Remember, don't get the Snitch until we are thirty points up. Do you have other tricks from Durmstrang?" He turned towards me pointedly.
I searched my mind, immediately thinking of the Wronski Feint. But it was too advanced for a Seeker of my caliber. "I can use a deviation from some other moves, but I am fairly confident." Apparently, Thomas was not as fairly confident as me. With a whisper, he made us join hands together in some kind of bloody friendship circle before chanting, "Hufflepuff!"I admired the sentiment, but to be honest, Durmstrang would have found our antics to be that of a little school girl with pigtails. I still vividly remembered the punching ritual, though.
We exited the changing rooms as the Hufflepuff side drew into a mighty applause. The other two Houses, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were also joined on our side-- despite the fact that the Gryffindor Seeker was glaring bullets into the back of my skull. I took the liberty to ignore him.
Norbert Shanty was once again commentating, his hat set at a jaunty angle. Madame Broomtail's shrill whistle kicked off the game. "And it's Michael from Hufflepuff-- he takes possession of the Quaffle and is now passing it to the very beautiful Alexandra Heart, who I'm going to ask out pretty soon--"
"Shanty!" Professor Spilt said reprovingly, her features annoyed.
"Yes, right, Proffesor. Heart takes the Quaffle and ooohhh-- that's got to hurt! Slytherin Chaser rams into Heart-- penalty for Hufflepuff."
I listened to the commentating, before I glimpsed the Snitch. A glitter of gold and a flurry of wings. Propelling myself forwards, I flew towards the minute orb, but not before I felt a sudden lurch. Travers was grabbing onto the back of my broom, his eyes glittering with malice. He chose to tail me instead of looking for the Snitch on his own. From his expression, it looked as if he expected me to be so shocked that I would let the Snitch waltz into his outstretched hands. Rookie mistake.
Madame Broomtail was too preoccupied with a fierce brawl between Alexandra who was struggling for the Quaffle against a Chaser five times her size. From the looks of things, she was not relenting. "So how is your day, Robins?" Travers asked triumphantly, his eyes mocking.
"A bit too heavy for my taste," I looked pointedly at his hands grabbing my broom, "but I suppose I have to lose the extra weight."
Travers's eyebrows furrowed, then he understood. "Hey--" he began, but I had already pelted downwards; making him screech as I pulled off sharply and then braked towards the right; right near the Slytherin goalpost. Travers yelped, and at the last second, he let go of my broom as the metal nearly collided with his face. "You'll pay for that, Robins," he snarled, his eyes gleaming with retribution.
"As long as I'm not paying in Galleons, I'm fine," I said dryly. But the moment was gone-- the Snitch had disappeared in the midst of the confusion. I looked at the scoreboard. That was my first mistake.
I felt the Bludger whizz past my ear; grazing it slightly. If it weren't for my reflexes, my head would have flown off. Travers was gaining behind me; his eyes screwed in concentration. He was undoubtedly good. Too bad I was better. I accelerated; twirling in loops and taunting him. Travers became the equivalent of a tomato. Then, I saw it. The slight glitter of gold, right near Travers's back. I glanced at the scoreboard-- Thomas was wrestling the Quaffle with the same Slytherin Chaser-- his nose bleeding badly. The scoreboard was forty points in Hufflepuff's favor. Stopping in midair, I shot towards Travers; who was intent on chasing me, now was shell shocked with surprise.
"What in the bloody hell, Robins?!" he shouted, obviously thinking that I was trying to hit him. He was partially right. I gained velocity from my spin; bulleting towards him and body slamming him. Durmstrang would be proud. With my other hand, I caught the Snitch with ease, as Travers spun off course and careened into the commentator's podium. Madame Broomtail blew her whistle to administer a penalty, but it was over. Hufflepuff had won.
My teammates immediately swooped in beside me as the audience went wild; stamping their feet on the bleachers. Meanwhile, Travers was met by furious teammates, who berated him how the Snitch was right behind him. To be honest, I was sure that none of the students minded that I hit Travers. Then, my eyes collided with a pair of icy blue ones. Tom Riddle was staring at me with knitted eyebrows; somehow not displeased at the sudden turn of events. I thought I could see him blink, then turn away into the crowd.
***
Tom Riddle's POV
The school was still outside-- celebrating Adeline Robins's victory. Her triumph over Slytherin was a mud print on the House pride, but everything transpired as it should. I slipped away, unnoticed, even without any effort into Hogwarts. The corridors were dark with suits of armor and gloomy paintings; all sleeping as I went past them. Seventh floor. The Room of Requirement. I imagined a room where I would be unnoticed, even if I should die from pain. The familiar bronze knob appeared and with a wave of my hand, it swung open to admit me. I closed the door behind me.
I dropped my gaze to the floor as I reached into my robes; withdrawing the diary that I had purchased all those years ago. I was a foolish boy, then, thinking that writing something; confessing all of my so called sufferings in an unresponsive book would bring about change. I remembered Wool's orphanage-- that damned place where my mother had abandoned me to go to death. She had left me to cruel life; she had been weak. I would prove her wrong-- when all of this was over, I would conquer death. I would be beyond suffering.
Placing the diary carefully on the floorboards, I turned the page, where it was written in blinding red ink, "TR." Tom Riddle. After today, everyone would not look away from the boy with a filthy Muggle father; the act that I would commit would cleanse my blood. I will become pure. I raised my wand into the air; casting the incantation. "Venait anima mea, in requiem." (My soul shall come to thee to rest). A fissure appeared in the air; sparks of red light jettisoning into my chest. For a moment, I thought of the Cruciatus Curse that I had cast multiple times, but this was far worse pain. I crumpled to the ground on one knee; the other arm shooting out to prevent me from collapsing. I grit my teeth. I was not weak.
Another flick of my wand and the spell amplified; my heart felt as if it was ripped into pieces with a rusted knife. I clutched my chest, but there was no weapon, just my intangible agony. Pure. I must become pure. Another jet of light pierced my chest; my other knee falling to meet the other one. Sweat, like blood, poured down my face. The page of the diary began to shudder, as if there was a tremor underneath. A sudden splitting pain in my head made me cry out-- unbearable torture searing through my veins.
I gnashed my teeth against my tongue; the coppery taste of blood momentarily jarring me to my senses. The cries of pain reached the ears of no one but my own, as the red ink glistened mockingly. TR. The son of a dirty Muggle. That thought gave me strength. With a final, ear splitting wail, I keeled over; the pain so intense that it rocked me back and forth. Silence. A bright orb, nearly colorless, and misty floated into the air. This was my chance. My hand moved in lieu with my determination and with a flick of my wand; it spiraled downwards and melted into the pages. The door of the diary closed with a final click.
At that moment, all strength left me as I sank to the ground, nearly unconscious. I had expected to feel jubilance and triumph, but I just felt the consequences-- pain ricocheted through each one of my bones and I thought I felt a piece of me missing-- a giant, gaping hole in my chest like a missing jigsaw piece. I felt incomplete, but now, it didn't matter. All I needed was to seal the Horcrux with murder.
I needed to kill.
***
Addie's POV
Ice glittered like molten glass through the snow as I walked on silently. Thrown on the shoulders of my teammates, we had paraded through Hogwarts with so much festivity that even the teachers, who glared at us reprovingly, allowed lessons to be canceled half an hour early. I could almost imagine Durmstrang; snow swirling thickly in clumps as our noses pressed against the window and stuck there to the glass from the cold. Now, I could hardly imagine what had happened to those within that school.
It was Grindelwald's move now-- he undoubtedly would send a communication system to me, in hopes that I would relay information. He would think that I was still kept under his shoe after all those years; my will broken. He wasn't wrong. I doubled back on memory lane, as it veered ever so close. I shook my head. I was like broken fragments of glass encased in steel-- once I was melted, I would fall apart and crumble to pieces. Suddenly, I bumped into someone, arms flying out to catch my fall. I looked up. Tom Riddle. But something was off.
He was as pale as a ghost; his skin drawn and sickly as if he had been sitting in the rain for a whole week. His eyes reflected weariness; but there was something irresistibly triumphant behind those eyelids. His grip was tight on my arms, as I narrowed my eyes. Something had happened, something big. I could not fathom.
"You look horrible," I commented, shifting my books in my arms, "what's going on?"
"Nothing that concerns you," he replied smoothly, and sidestepping me, he was about to go on his way-- but I shifted my stance; blocking his path.
"You did something," I guessed, making Tom Riddle's eyes flash at the accusation, "did you kill someone?"
"Not yet," he said through gritted teeth, looking frustrated at my question. I was unperturbed by the threat.
I set my lip, unwilling but I felt that familiar dark aura gnaw at me. I used Legilimency; trying to tear through his mind, but it was clouded from me.
"If you'll excuse me,"'Tom Riddle said nonchalantly, going around me and waving his hand behind him-- the snow melting a clear path for him. I looked down at the ground. The grassy path was singed a charcoal black. I narrowed my eyes. There was something about him-- something had changed. He was still the same manipulative Tom Riddle, but something was terribly off. The way that he walked and stared were more smooth; more devious, more...evil.
"Whatever," I huffed, melting another path around Tom Riddle's; the grass shooting out gratefully underneath the white blanket. Why did I care? The second I entered Hogwarts, the air turned toasty and the students all chattered and gossiped; excited for Slughorn's party tomorrow evening. He was a somewhat of a celebrity picker-- choosing those who were talented and well connected so that he could reap the benefits. Izzy had been among the "chosen ones" and she had chosen Will as her partner; at who Slughorn was profoundly distasteful. But I suppose Izzy was more than capable.
To everyone's surprise, I had also received an invitation; ever since the match with Gryffindor and Slytherin, Professor Slughorn had been quite amiable towards me; despite the fact that Slytherin lost. I turned back towards the Great Hall; my stomach losing its appetite but I had promised to meet up with both Will and Izzy for lunch. I spied them, sitting together, munching on some sandwiches until they spied me and waved me over.
Izzy immediately tackled me. "Who are you going with?" she asked.
I gave her a flat stare. "I'm not--" I began, but at that moment, I saw heads turning and a handsome teenager with bright blond hair strolling towards our table purposefully. I groaned. Daniel Rogers-- the Ravenclaw Chaser and captain. Girls swooned at the sight of him and face planted into their puddings, while he strode confidently towards the table and stopped right in front of me.
He was undeniably good looking with tousled blond hair and bright green eyes. But I had seen better. His trademark eyes gleamed at me. "Adeline Robins, isn't it?" he asked amiably.
I made a big show of looking over my shoulder. "I don't think anyone else has the same name," I said sarcastically, but he simply chuckled.
"I have to say, you are as every bit as feisty as I imagined," he complimented, "very nice Snitch catching by the way; very interesting tactic for beating Slytherin." He gestured towards the scowling faces in the Slytherin table.
"You are Ravenclaw's Quidditch Captain, aren't you?" I asked warily, eager to get to the point, "I saw your name in the Trophy Room."
"Well-spotted," he said breezily, running a hand through his hair.
"Just get on with it," I said impatiently, "I have more important places to be," I tapped my foot for emphasis.
"Well, I am wounded," Davies feigned hurt, putting one hand over his heart mockingly, "one might say that you are trying to evade me."
"Well-spotted," I said acidly, mimicking his words, "now if you'll excuse me--" I went past him, but he seized my elbow, drawing me back.
Rogers pointed his wand at the ceiling. With a "bang!" a blue banner issued from his wand; reading: Go to Slughorn's Party With Me?" I groaned, suddenly remembering that he was one of the invitees as well. Merlin's Beard. All around, people were staring at us; girls throwing me jealous glances and a chorus of "oohhs" evaporated into the air. Only the Slytherin Table looked glum, with Tom Riddle wearing a slightly annoyed expression, probably because the noise interrupted his fascinating book.
I rolled my eyes, before motioning towards Rogers to come closer. After an agonizing period of silence, I whispered in his ear one syllable-- no more or no less. No.
"Well that was very anti-climatic," Rogers said, scratching the back of his head, "but not completely unexpected." He turned his head to the back. "She said yes!" he shouted, taking me aback as everyone burst into a cheer.
"What, no, I didn't--" I tried to explain but my voice was completely drowned out. I shot Rogers a venemous glare. He chuckled before strolling towards me.
"Wear something nice, Robins," he said, giving me a suggestive wink and smile before disappearing into the crowd.
Oh, I will give him something to see, alright.
***
"You get to go out with Rogers!" Izzy chirped, Will looking somewhat annoyed.
"Relax, Izzy," I muttered, my mood souring considerably, "I never actually said yes to his bleeding proposal in the first place." We were seated in the Common Room, our homework spread before us as we continued to chatter about Slughorn's dinner party. To top it all off, a week later, Christmas break would be upon us.
"But you're still going, aren't you?" Izzy asked, partly scandalized.
"No way," I muttered darkly, "that will teach that insufferable rascal a lesson.""
"You're just mad that he beat you at your own game," Will pointed out, his keen eyes not missing anything as usual.
"He didn't beat me at anything, nor do I--" I began roughly, but a sudden sound made me scowl.
It was the unmistakeable sound of Peeves singing shrilly in his abhorrent voice, "Danny loves Addie! Danny loves--" Before he could even utter a syllable, I had burst out of the portrait hole furiously, shaking my fist at the poltergeist.
"Shut your pie hole, Peeves!" I snarled, pulling out my wand, but Peeves simply stuck out his tongue and whizzed past the corridors, resuming his chant. "Danny loves Addie--"
"One of these days--" I said darkly, as Izzy finished my sentence.
"--you will shut him inside a suit of armor and laugh," Izzy continued impatiently, "but Addie, regardless, it is Slughorn's party. Shouldn't you at least make an effort to attend?"
"Ok, fine," I said, crossing my arms.
"So you'll go?" Izzy brightened immediately.
"No, I meant that I was going to shut Peeves inside a suit of armor and laugh," I said bluntly.
"But Slughorn--" Izzy began.
"Speaking of Slughorn," Will broke into Izzy's protests, "we should probably finish the five foot essay he assigned to us."
His statement easily brought silence. The next two hours passed in fruitless labor-- our quills scratching the parchment. As the bell tolled six o'clock, Izzy and I left Will to go to the girl dormitories to change for Slughorn's Party.
I glanced at my wardrobe. Hufflepuff standard robes with gold stitching. A pair of pajamas. Jeans and shirts alike. I wasn't really the type to party, despite appearances. Perhaps I should wear the pajamas-- it would make quite the fashion statement. I sighed, running a hand through the tangled mess of my hair. Rummaging through my trunk, I finally found two suitable outfits. One-- a blouse and matching pencil skirt. Two-- a ridiculously short black dress. I shrugged. Ridiculously short dress it is. Perhaps I might give Rogers an excessive amount of shock.
I went into the bathroom, slinging the dress over my shoulder. It was tight around my waist and flowing around my legs, as I courteously put on stockings/ garters for the sake of innocent eyes. I added a few touches of makeup on my face and a blinding red lipstick before shadowing my eyes with dark blue eyeshadow. I surveyed myself in the mirror. I would turn a few heads, no doubt.
I walked out of the bathroom; to rendezvous with Izzy; who was dressed neatly in cashmere and cream. She gaped at me, shocked beyond disbelief. "Addie--" she began nervously, "this is a formal party--"
I snapped my head around immediately. "Are you saying that I'm not suitable?" I asked, arching one eyebrow.
"No," she said exasperatedly, "you look stunning, but this is really not appropriate."
I flipped my hair, batting my eyelashes mockingly. "Come on Izzy," I said with a wicked smile, "I deserve some fun, after that tiring Quidditch match. Don't you think?"
Izzy pursed her lips, but didn't argue. "Fine,"'she heaved a gigantic sigh and clasping her purse, we walked towards Slughorn's office near the dungeons. We opened the door-- several tables had been conjured and people were already seated, including Slughorn. Izzy immediately scurried towards her place with Will, but I simply clicked my heels on the floor, swaying my hips more than necessary. I was determined to scare off Rogers. Despite appearances, Beauxbatons taught me one or two things.
I immediately knew why Izzy was so disapproving. Everyone was dressed handsomely in suits and modest skirts. The looks on their faces were priceless. Some boys turned red, then a deep purple as they nearly gaped for breath. Only two people had different expressions. Rogers and Tom Riddle. Rogers was surveying me appreciatively, looking up and down with a slight curve of his lips. Pervert. Tom Riddle simply looked amused, his eyes glinting as if he knew what game I was playing. His blue eyes seemed to sharpen at every angle. Instead of Rogers, he did not look me up and down but he just looked at my face with an attractive smirk. The latter brought more shivers down my spine.
"Ahem," Slughorn cleared his throat, as I plopped into a seat beside Rogers, "I suppose we shall get our appetizers now." He clapped his hands and several house elves appeared; bearing small plates of steaming pumpkin soup. Food. Courses upon courses came-- salad, steak with fragrant sauce, and hot rolls sprinkled with seeds. All throughout the meal, Slughorn conversed with us, as if it was an interrogation. His eyes gleamed with greed.
"So--" he finally came to us, "Rogers and Robins. Even your surnames match." He laughed heartily, as we joined in unwillingly. "What are you planning to be when you grow up, Rogers?" he asked.
"I want to play for England of course," he answered proudly, puffed up like a peacock. The only difference-- I would have probably brought a peacock to this stupid dinner instead of him.
"And you, Adeline Robins?" Slughorn addressed, "will you be playing with Rogers as well?"
"I suppose," I said off handedly, pushing the peas to the side of my plate, "but I am not sure--"
There was a loud cough. Travers was still skulking, his face clearly displeased. I ignored him, before attempting to continue, "I am not sure if--"
Another cough. Abraxas Malfoy. Then another cough. Rosier. I thought I could see Tom Riddle smirking slightly, but he didn't lower himself to the childish game. He made no move to stop them, though.
Just as another Slytherin was about to cough, I exploded. I turned towards them pointedly. "Would you like a cough drop?" It was addressed to all of them but I was glaring at Travers in particular.
"Why?" he asked, feigning innocence. The entire table was silent; Slughorn watching out dispute with an interested look, his crystallized pineapple sitting beside his arm.
"Oh, you know," I mimicked his fake innocence, "because of that game yesterday. I was just afraid that you caught a cold after you fell off your broomstick." Travers became red.
"If I remember correctly," he hissed, "you body slammed me."
"If I remember correctly," my voice rose, "the Snitch was right behind you, Travers. Such a shame that you couldn't get, is it not?" I smiled wickedly, draining my glass of fire whisky in one shot. The satisfaction burned with the drink. The others looked noticeably impressed, but Slughorn wore a satisfied smile. He was now inclined towards me-- the battle of wits proving that there was more in store for me. Travers immediately stalked off from the table, muttering curses. I looked at distaste at my glass. I was already beginning to feel light headed. Cursed drink. All it did was make my head sore.
Awkward silence, then the chocolate éclairs were served. Slughorn now turned to Tom, in who he held the greatest personal interest in. "Tom, my boy," he said, turning his walrus like body fully towards him, "what are your plans for the future?" I gagged unhumorously, but Tom ignored me.
"I can't say, Professor," Tom said smoothly, "but I suppose a position of power would be best attributed to my talents." Coming from anyone else, it would have sounded like bragging, but something about his voice just made everyone believe that what he said was simply fact, nothing more.
Slughorn chuckled appreciatively. "I wouldn't put it past you, my boy. If I may say so myself, you would do very well in the Ministry of Magic-- a couple of high seated associates there have once been very good students of mine. I could put in a good word for you."
Tom inclined his head politely, but I was skeptical. Put a Tom Riddle in the Ministry of Magic as a visitor, and he would gain the approval of the whole staff. Put him in there for a job and he would take over the whole place in less than a month. Besides, the Ministry of Magic wasn't the only seat of power left in the world.
The rest of the dinner progressed with little incident until I rose from my seat with the others as the clock chimed nine o'clock. Rogers held me back, his voice urgent, "I need to talk to you." I nodded briefly as we took a spot outside Slughorn's office; right next to a suit of armor.
He cocked one eyebrow arrogantly. "I really like your dress, Robins," he said, acting like a typical male teen, as he looked me over again.
"Thanks, I like yours too," I answered with a fake smile.
"I'm not wearing a dress," he stated, his eyes confused.
"Really, you aren't?" I asked innocently, pointing to his suit.
He smirked. "Well, at any point, Robins, I like you. You entrance me. Meet me in Hogsmeade tomorrow in Madame Padifoot's Teashop," he said, not mincing his words, as if he expected me to follow his every order.
"Don't you have a girlfriend or something, Rogers," I said annoyedly, "just ask someone from your fan club if you want to drink tea that badly."
His smirk broadened. "What if I want you?" he asked.
"Then you'll go away before I hex you."
Rogers threw up his hands. "Very well, Robins, I will see you around, then." He gave a wicked smile before sauntering away, said he knew something that I didn't. Wasting no time, I saw that he immediately jumped towards an attractive blond, flirting with her shamelessly. I rolled my eyes. What an idiot.
I froze. The corridor in the dungeons was empty, but I thought I could hear something. Hissing. "Lumos," I lit the tip of my wand; the light guiding me as I followed the noise. The Girl's Bathroom. I half expected Riddle to be up there, crooning to his toilet water eels or something, but I heard sobbing. Feminine sobbing.
I took a deep breath before entering the bathroom. The hissing had suddenly stopped. A girl was hunched over, her face buried in her arms; tears splashing on the bathroom tiles. I took a closer look at her. She had pimples on her face and a pair of thick glasses that seemed to make her plain brown hair even more mousy. I had a foggy memory of her. Myrtle. Myrtle Warren.
"Hey," I said gently, kneeling down and touching her on the shoulder.
She looked up. Her eyes were puffed and red from crying and tears stained on her bloated cheeks. "What happened?" I asked, but she began to sob horribly again, until I finally got her to stop.
"What happened?" I repeated a second time.
She sniffled, "People keep teasing me," she mumbled, tears trickling down her cheeks, "they keep telling me that I'm ugly. Don't you think I'm ugly?" she turned towards me. I was in a dilemma. If I answered that she was not, it would be false--it was true, Myrtle was no beauty, and my words would be seen as no more than a lie.
"Hey," I said, "I can't say you are beautiful, but you have the potential to be."
Myrtle sniffed disbelivingly. "You're lying," she said.
"Am I?" I asked, "everyone has the capacity to improve. Look at me. I used to be a failing student, but now, I have changed for the better. If I can get more than a Dreadful on a Potions exam, then with a bit of exercise and healthy diet, you can clear up and perhaps even be beautiful."
That shut her up. With a final sniff, Myrtle stopped crying. She looked at me skeptically. "Are you sure?" she asked plaintively like a little child, "do you promise that one day I can be pretty?"
I smiled, "I promise," I said, before arching one eyebrow, "besides, I once was so horrible at riding a broomstick that I crashed headfirst into a goalpost, believe it or not. Trust me on this." Myrtle nodded, still a bit wet with tears, as I pulled her off the floor. "Now, go and get some rest," I said, "they don't call it beauty sleep for nothing."
Myrtle smiled through her glasses slightly before bolting out the bathroom; eager and hopeful. I sighed. I had set her on her way; but she had to truly be committed for this to work.
I didn't know at the time, but I would soon see that I had broken my promise already. Myrtle Warren would not live to see past this night.
****
Please let me know what you are thinking below; I really need some feedback! Thanks for reading!
I also want to address something important. A lot of you might be wondering why Addie was so close-minded when she told Myrtle about her perspective on beauty and how to change herself. During the 1950's range, beauty was so important to women that they had their own beauty books that told them how to dress, how to keep up with the latest trends, and even then, how to be a pretty household wife. Of course, nowadays, the view on women has very much expanded compared to back then and we can all fully appreciate not just one conformed beauty standard but an infinite number around different cultures and different people. Addie has many flaws and perhaps this is one of them she has unconsciously-- she is grown up in an environment and society that emphasized beauty and as sassy as she might be, she is still influenced by those ideals. So, what I suppose I am saying is that beauty has many different spectrums :D