Miss Taken
Boz1310
Warning: I do not own Kuroshitsuji or any of the characters in this story.
At the brush of dawn, when the rest of the word is still asleep, she awakens. The golden sun pushes back his covers, his red crown peeking from the tops of the wispy clouds- she follows suit. The crickets resume their melodic chirping, the lark begins her morning song, and she begins to sing hers. The dawn is hers and hers alone. It is her time to shine.
She approaches her vanity. What a silly name, she thinks.
She sits down and lights the candles around her. The room, previously dark and shadowy, comes alive with light- a soft and luminous radiance that makes fireflies glow green with envy. The room fills with the smell of black orchid. She can see her face now and it is beautiful. She is beautiful. She is born anew with every dawn.
She powders her face with exquisite powders that enhance her features. She fills in her brows, two lush hills that frame her eyes. With care, she lines her eyes with kohl. This is done with the precision that reflects a lifetime of practice. Her eyes: swirling orbs of greens and hazels mystify her complexion. She is a mystery to everyone- including herself. Her eyes, now complete, smile at her. She smiles back. Last, but certainly not least, she reaches for her lipstick. It is a dark wine red that women shiver at. She smoothes it onto her lips. They are glossy, creamy, and perfect.
She slips on a floor length gown. It is a simple cut- deep red and made of silk. It tickles her legs and hugs her waist as a lover would- but better. She pins up her hair. It gleams like moonlight- but better. She fixes her satin gloves and her shoes. She puts on a simple necklace and earrings. She sprays her favourite perfume at her pulse points. Then, she steps back.
In the mirror, she sees-not a woman- but a lady. She gives a quick twirl.
She is perfect. She is beautiful.
She is late for work.
Her face blanches as she sees the time. She has already been late twice this week. She cannot be late again. William would kill her.
She looks over at her closet and at her dreaded uniform. It is bleak, bland, and boring. No amount of red would change the fact. She looks down at her dress and briefly considers sporting the look to work. She decides against the idea. She doesn't need another reason to be mocked by her coworkers.
She sighs quietly as she takes off her earrings, then her necklace, and then her dress.
Naked in front of her full length mirror, she is forced to face the truth.
She looks at her reflection sorrowfully- at her flat chest-at her straight and bony hips-at her angular jaw line that is too square and broad. She doesn't dare look at her crotch. It is disgusting.
Suddenly, she feels very sad, sad enough to want to go back to bed and never wake up. She pushes the feeling away, burying it deep into the chambers of her mind. She doesn't need that kind of attitude. That attitude didn't get her to where she is now.
She forces the ends of her mouth to curl up.
She is happy.
No.
She is misguided. She is misaligned.
She is a misnomer. She is a mistake.
She is every type of 'mis' there is. Maybe, just maybe, if she tries hard enough, she will be the 'miss' that she wants.
Words: 680
AN: Being someone you are not is never fun. It is the worst way to live. Stay true to yourself first and foremost and the rest will follow.
Please feel free to comment, review, or correct grammatical and spelling errors if need be. Also favourite/follow for more stories! Any suggestions or question can be sent to my PM box and I will respond as soon as possible.
Cheers,
BOZ1310- March 29, 2014