ONE
10th November, 126 T.E.: The End of the Lunar Revolution.
Belle wandered throughout the crowds, smiling broadly and her favorite book, Epiphanies in Solitude, tucked under her arm, although her glamour showed her to be stoic aristocrat with a rather overly large purple fan, a nose too small for her face and a rather ridiculous hairdo with cages of songbirds and ribbons that was currently all the rage in women's glamours.
The crowds - both Artemisian aristocrats and commoners from outside of the main dome - were stampeding into the vast courtyard of the Palace of Artemisia, where the tyrant Queen of Luna, Levana Blackburn, used to live several hours ago. But that was before she was shot by Princess Selene.
Belle was pushed forwards by the overenthusiastic crowd into the bloodstained courtyard. Limbs, heads, bodies and mangled androids littered the floor - the final result of the Lunar Revolution. Belle almost wanted to puke, but her glamour only showed how she turned up her nose in disdain. The air stank of rust and salt; the smell of fresh blood.
The inside of the palace was even more bloody. Red smeared the floors and the walls. Some stains, for some unknown reason, were smeared onto the ceiling as well, even though it was several meters up. Crumpled bodies, dripping red onto the white tiles, were being trampled over by the crowds as they rushed in to cheer and bow down to their new Queen.
That was what ran through Belle's mind as she sat on her large bed in her family's mansion in the outskirts of Artemisia, the White City, now significantly more red with blood and with a new ruler and government. Epiphanies in Solitude was open at page 148 in her lap, the pages dog-eared form the many times it had been read. As her brown eyes danced over the pages, she thought of Princess Selene, the new ruler of Luna. She must have been so brave to stand up to an entire planet. And she was also charming enough to win the heart of an entire planet and the handsome Emperor of the Commonwealth, one of the most sought after bachelors in the entire galaxy. But of course, Belle didn't fancy him. She knew that even if she did, it would have been hopeless. Belle sighed; she was never going to be as half as brave or charming as Selene. She was just going to be... stuck, as a dreamy-eyed 16 year old, who knew nothing better than to read fantasy novels all day.
The clamour of the party downstairs in the ballroom was deafening. The music, was, as usual, sweet and lilting - the usual Lunar style of music. Sounds of clinking wine glasses and couples laughing and dancing in their lavish dresses and suits seeped through the thick walls. The usual party, reserved only for aristocrats.
Belle knew that she should be there to celebrate with the others, but somehow didn't feel like it today. She wasn't that much of a social person and preferred to read alone in the comforts of her bedroom. Her favourite yellow ballgown was laid out in a garment bag on the floor of her walk-in wardrobe that she hardly ever used. Most of the plain day dresses that she chose to wear were kept in a small drawer by her bookshelves.
There were three brisk raps on her door. Belle, eyes widening, jumped off of her bed and shoved Epiphanies in Solitude onto the closest bookshelf, proceeding to tear the garment bag off of the ballgown.
"Belle?" a shrill female voice - her governess, Marianne Devereux - called, knocking again. "What are you doing in there?"
Belle rapped her knuckles on her head, trying to think of something while slipping on her corset. "Uh... changing, Mademoiselle Devereux."
Her fingers swiped deftly over her corset-tightener that stood in the corner and the machine sounded soothing in a metallic way as it quickly laced the corset around her natural 23-inch waist - something that she got from wearing a lifetime of corsets and gowns. She could almost picture Marianne raising an eyebrow outside of her door.
"Alright, Belle, I'm coming in." Marianne sighed from outside of the door and before Belle could say anything in protest, she came charging in, clad in a very revealing purple ballgown with coiled hair, dyed in streaks of bright colors - glamour, obviously. "Stars, Belle! What are doing still in your corset?" Tutting, Marianne took the yellow ballgown in her small and pale hands, careful not to rip the silky material. Still tutting, Marianne waited until the corset-tightener was finished and shut down and draped the yellow gown over Belle's shoulders.
She took a step back, her rouge-covered lips pursed and nodded in satisfaction. "No, I don't think that you'll need jewellery today, Belle."
Belle nodded quickly; she despised jewellery. Necklaces made her choke and earrings felt so heavy that she felt as if her ears could stretch down towards the ground like Earthen toffee. "Well, then, what are you waiting for?" Marianne sighed and pushed Belle out of the door to escort her to the ballroom.
Belle walked past halls of ivory and marble, walls adorned with expensive drapes, Scenery-Shifters and portraits of relatives long dead, when there were no Lunars yet and Luna was still known as 'the Moon'. Their clothing seemed so old-fashioned; it was six-hundred years old after all.
Marianne paused in front of a pair of large white double doors - the very doors that led to Belle's greatest nightmare: the Ballroom. That was where she spent hours upon hours learning etiquette and having ballet lessons in frilly little dresses. That was where she spent hours dancing until her feet resembled nothing more than red lumps covered in blisters from her shoes. But at least that made her a good dancer.
As Marianne pushed open the doors, everyone turned to look. Belle immediately put on her glamour, turning her naturally brown eyes into a deep black, like her father's glamoured eyes. Her waist turned just a little slimmer and her lips deeply rouged, like they were supposed to be.
Marianne peeled back her ruby red lips and smiled, revealing two neat rows of pearly white teeth. Belle's glamour followed suit, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Lords, Ladies, Thaumaturges and Gentlemen, I present to you Lady Belle Deneuve, daughter of Lord Francis Deneuve." Marianne announced, with the hidden maliciousness of a crocodile that finally found its prey. Belle shivered; Marianne's artificial smile reminded her of Levana, the former Queen.
The ballroom erupted into polite applause and the men and women parted to allow Belle to reach the center of the room to dance and for the young gentlemen to reach her. She waltzed past with the grace of a swan, gliding across the surface of an Earthen lake, her heels barely making a sound on the tiles. Hushed voice reached her ears as she walked past the crowd, her glamour appearing nonchalant.
"Belle Deneuve?" a girl around her age exclaimed, snapping her blue fan close.
"She's changed so much." another whispered, but clearly she wasn't that good at whispering as Belle could hear her, even amidst the murmurs of the others.
"My, my, what a charming young lady..." a young thaumaturge raked over her figure with greedy eyes. The men around him nodded in agreement. Belle instantly knew not to dance with them; some men's hands tended to wander.
"Yes, too bad she's so... queer." one with a monocle and green top hat rolled his eyes.
"Always with her head in a book. This is the first time I've seen her without one." a lady with an aquarium in her heels fanned herself. "Who knows, maybe she even goes to sleep reading them."
"Hm." a rather elderly woman harrumphed in response, narrowing her eyes at Belle. Belle gulped and kept moving forwards.
"You know, maybe she grew to be someone else, someone like us." another lady beside the woman with the aquarium in her heels whispered behind her fan and adjusted a ribbon in her hair. It was dyed a metallic blonde and coiled in an exquisite fashion with ribbons and cages of songbirds. Of course all a glamour. Belle scoffed under her glamour. That lady can dream on for all she likes, but Belle will never be anything like her. Ever.
Lord Francis Deneuve was looking at her with an eerie calmness in his glamoured eyes. He beckoned her forward when all the others got bored of watching her and went back to talking and dancing. "Belle. Why are you late?" his voice said with barely suppressed anger.
"Sorry, Papa." Belle lowered her head in respect and glamoured a blush on her face. "It was my..."
Her father sighed and patted her gingerly on the head, all the anger seeming to have evaporated. "Never mind, as long as you're here." her father shook his head slowly and offered her his arm. Belle took it with caution. Her father could be a kind man, but sometimes he let his naturally cruel Lunar self show. Lord Francis had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder since her mother, Lady Antoinette Deneuve, died eight years ago, giving birth to Belle's younger brother. But the infant, newly named Georges, died hours later. Under her glamour, a tear slipped out of Belle's eyes. Her mother was beautiful and kind and sometimes just so stubborn. She liked reading as well; she was the person that introduced Belle to reading.
She nodded courteously as usual with a demure curtesy to people who had stopped her father to talk to her. She always replied light-heartedly and with the honeyed voice of the usual Artemisian Lady. After greeting five thaumaturges (all of them were male), three Lords and two Ladies, her father finally reached his destination. He cleared his throat behind a well-muscled and tall young man. The man turned. All Belle could see was a smug smiling face, radiating pride and power and greedy black eyes roaming over her figure.
"Belle, I would like to introduce you to one of your suitors, Lord Gaston Françoise." her father said, gesturing towards the young man in front of her. "Gaston, this is my daughter, Belle Deneuve."
"A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle Deneuve." Gaston said and leaned down to kiss the back of Belle's hand. Belle's glamour looked nonchalant, but underneath, she was cringing; the kiss on her hand was warm and wet and slobbery. "May I have your first dance?"
Belle, even though she didn't want to, nodded once. She didn't want to make her father think that she hated the suitor that he had picked out for her out of all the other ones. Gaston led her towards the dance floor and gripped onto her waist as they started dancing. Belle, uncomfortable, stomped on Gaston's foot. Gaston, not even noticing, kept pushing her around the ballroom as they danced. Belle hated him; she thought that the men were supposed to lead the women, not push them and pull them around like they were a rag doll, and he looks to be such a prick. Belle didn't want to swear, of course; she was simply taught not to.
"You look very beautiful tonight, Mademoiselle Deneuve, or is it Belle?" Gaston said, trying to get Belle to look at him, which made Belle even more determined not to.
"Thank you, Monsieur Françoise." she said, dead-pan.
"Just call me Gaston, darling." Belle saw him wink out of the corner of her eye. She resisted the urge to vomit on his polished black shoes.
"Monsieur Françoise will be fine." Belle said and did not speak for the rest of the dance. Gaston, to her amusement, looked very flabbergasted and did not ask her for another dance. But as Belle was reclining near the dessert table, feasting on a chocolate truffle, she saw something very peculiar out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see a pair of sea green eyes staring at her from outside of the window in the gardens. The eyes seemed to belong to a large and muscular shape with... were those horns?
Belle didn't run away or scream in terror. She just cocked her head to the side and stared. The creature stared back, but after shaking its head frantically once or twice, it simply ran off, its large bulky shape melting in with the shadows of the dark night, where the light from the Earth didn't reach the ground.
Belle never saw it again after that night, but for a very troubling and unsettling reason, she felt as if she wanted to.
