A Trampled Heart and Confused Mind {Nyte and Ghostsprincess}

Mother hasn't bothered to contact me once. I'll admit I should have figured as much, as little as that woma ever cared for me even when I lived with her. She was probably drinking every night now, passing out on the couch with whatever man she could find, like she's done ever since my father's death. Guess that's what happens when you marry for money and money alone. Although I don't remember meeting that man, I'd pay any sum that he was the only person who'd ever love me in a world as fucked as this. Hell, even I wasn't capable of it. Today a thick black liner attempted to hide my flaws, pale foundation and shiny shadow brushed across my eyelids. Perhaps I would have looked pretty if my face bore any other emotion than apathy. Impressing anyone here was worth jack-shit, currently, the competition hadn't even started and I wasn't going to kiss the ass of commoners until it was necessity. 

Yet I still obsess over my appearance this morning. Dragged a brush through hair tangled from a restless sleep, and pulled on the tightest dress I could manage. As it only reached my mid-thigh, I was quite pleased with the look. The few curves I'd developed after reaching adulthood accentuated perfectly by the black cloth. Surely, I'd get second glances, looks of confusion and distaste as I was dressed for an evening dinner and not a normal day. Surely, I didn't care. If there was anything my mother had taught me, it was that you must always be prepared. That when an opportunity arises grabbing it by the throat was the only way to ensure your own victory. After all, that was what she'd done with my father. Held her pregnancy over his head and forced him to yield his wealth to her and her unborn child. 

None of my other housemates seemed to have gotten their shit together. Mr. Black even yet to have arrived in the kitchen. I was almost surprised the poor hadn't dragged themselves out of bed. Weren't they used to working or begging or whatever they did in the early morning. Not willing to stoop low enough to make my own breakfast, I settle with pouring a bottle of sparkling water into expensive china, just incase any of my less fortunate roommates happened to wander into my quarters. It'd serve as a wonderful reminder of who was really better.Priscilla Sheppard of course. 

I hadn't noticed the worker until he dropped the bowl. My head turned so quickly I'm sure I was in danger of whiplash. He was dirty and disgusting, quite obviously of a lower class and immediately deserving of my judgement. Nose contorted as though I smelt something disgusting and brow furrowed all the same, I regard him. The china makes its way onto the marble counter, arms instead crossing defensively in front of me.

"I-I'm sorry,miss...I-I..." he mutters, only darkening my gaze. 

"You should be." I counter, no emotion laced within my tone, as I was only speaking truths. "What in the hell are you doing here?" 

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"Mr. Black...He,ugh...He ordered some fish and shrimp?" My first reaction was that of disgust. The boy was a commoner, someone who was quite obviously below me. The hatred bred into me by my bitch of a mother urges me to recoil, to turn my back on this pathetic boy and never look back. Leave him to his stupid fish and shrimp and never be bothered with him again. If I were a good daughter, I would have. Being good has never been something I excelled at. If I separated myself from every commoner I met, winning whatever competition Mr. Black had in store would be as good as lost. This boy had potential, he could be an ally, if he were willing and able to be my toy. The others wouldn't expect it! Prissy as they had taken to calling me socializing with the help? After I had publicly outed that whore Ms. White? No, this was good. This would be beneficial.

Managing to swallow the disgust for myself and for the help, my fingers are soon tangled within my locks. Gently teasing across the honey-golden hue that I'd never been allowed to dye, yet had darkened with age.  Much to mother's chagrin. "Dark hair is ugly, Priscilla, commonplace, no man would want a woman who cannot be distinguished from the creatures on the street!" I hated myself, hated her more than this boy in front of me, yet I somehow convinced myself that the dark emotions twisting within me were for him. Like mother, like daughter.

"So, you're an... acquaintance of Mr. Black?" More like a servant. Though the rich man's insistence to socialize with the lower class was more than questionable, perhaps this boy was a friend. Disgisting! My hand brushes wavy strands out of my face, hip resting against the counter ad I once again sip from the crystal mug. "You must be... in high quality fish business." the words are stunted an awkward, as I was not used to giving compliments to anyone but men I wished to bed. 

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Bile rises in my throat as I regard the boy. I'm feeling quite nauseous, the water I downed earlier doing little to ease my home sickness. It's almost sick how much I miss my mother, how much I miss her harsh tones and her unforgiving stares. Never had I been able to impress her, no amount of glittery products cakes onto my face nor the fancy clothes. (I was practically begging mother to notice me and yet she allowed me out of the house in scantily clad material without so much as a second glance.) 

He tells me that they are friends and my face twists into a that of disbelief, lip curling slightly so not to crack my lipstick. I suppose it was possible that Mr. Black had awful taste in friends, associating with commoners and those so much below a man of his stature. Nonetheless, if I wanted to get in good with this man I'd have to accept his friends as my own and so I grin at the boy once more, teeth peeking through a slight gap between my lips. 

My fingers work their way through tangled locks, my eyes still heavy with sleep and maybe I'd have cared I probably look like shit had I been in the company of anyone who mattered. (When did I become so bitter and angry? The days have melded together now, I suppose it was bred into me.) 

The only man who had ever loved me was a victim of my mother's greed and so the second man who loved me would be a victim of mine. It is a cruel cycle, but one I am devoted to. One I've traveled too far down to dig my way out. He tells me about his fish and I wonder how anyone could be so passionate about seemingly insignificant things. It's magical in a way. 

"Ah." I drawl, holding out a pale hand wearily, "I'm Priscilla, it's a... pleasure." And maybe it's not all a lie. He doesn't seem like a bad kid, not everyone that I hate is, but I am not a good girl. Like oil and water, we are. I'd step over him to reach success but it didn't mean that I disliked him without even having got to know him. No, it's complicated but I do not pull my hand away. What's the harm in knowing another name?