A:N/ I love BioShock Infinte. I really wanted to put more light on Annabelle Watson, wife of Booker DeWitt, since we don't really know much about her other than the fact that she's Lady Comstock's counterpart and that she died during childbirth.
So, here's my little story that I hope will bring an interesting point of view.
London, 1888
The upbeat music and the laughter of the elite of London filled the air and anyone within earshot knew that there was another show of glitz and glamour amongst their midst.
With glitz and glamour came beauty.
Annabelle Watson took a deep breath before she decided to close her fan as she entered the candle lit venue. The ballroom was gorgeous and the dancing seemed marvelous, but she needed to pay attention to what she needed to do.
She squared her shoulders just so, elegantly swept her hair to the side, and she made sure her skirts were brushed once before she spotted the person she was looking for.
Commander Lucas Scott was chatting away with his Army buddies, and Annabelle smiled that dazzling smile and made her way towards him.
"Well, hello, gentlemen." She greeted, warmly, making sure she brushed against the Commander ever so softly as she reached for his glass.
She felt a small elation of victory as she saw the Commander look at her with appreciation in his eyes.
"Miss Watson, what a pleasure to be graced with such beauty tonight." One of the men complimented her.
Annabelle feigned light laughter as she once again brushed up against the Commander as she cheekily smiled up at him.
The dark look in his eyes was enough to let her know that she had won.
She watched as her brother counted the money that she handed him, and she winced a bit at the sigh that escaped his lips.
"What a cheapskate." Her brother groused as he angrily slammed the money down on the table.
"It's as much as I could afford for the night." Annabelle tried to reason as she watched her brother angrily get up and pace the floor.
"It's not your fault, Belle. It's these American men who think they're all that for coming into our country, thinking that we need their protection." Her brother muttered as he grabbed his half-filled glass of alcohol from the table.
Annabelle, sitting primly and properly, watched her brother carefully before sighing.
"I can try again tomorrow. There are plenty of men who have just arrived. I can—"
Her brother cut her off as he placed his glass down back on the table.
"We are in debt, sister. Enormous debt."
Annabelle couldn't help but frown a little, looking at her brother's face.
"I wonder whose fault is that." She argued, softly.
Her brother glared at her, but he didn't say anything as he got up. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her and Annabelle more than welcomed it.
Before she could leave the room, she was stopped by her brother's voice.
"If it comes to selling your…assets, Belle. I wouldn't discourage the notion." Her brother said.
Annabelle gritted her teeth and clenched her fists and she had to take a deep breath before answering her brother.
"My asset is my charm, brother. I charm men for their money as they pay me to dance with them and give me drinks, but I refuse to share a bed with them for money. I would not disgrace our family for money. Goodnight, brother."
Annabelle angrily brushed her hair as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
It had been only a year since she left the convent to rejoin her brother as he finally returned home from America.
She had been so happy and hopeful when she hugged her brother when he came to pick her up.
She hadn't seen him in years since they left Paris as newly orphaned kids and arrived in London to live with their late father's relatives. Her brother was ten years older than her, and he had taken care of her as much as he could when they were kids, but he had decided that their father's relatives didn't have their best interests in mind, so he had left her to go to America to make something of himself as soon as he was old enough to do so.
Thinking it dangerous, he left her to be with the relatives in London, but they had decided to put her in a convent as soon as she was six years old. She had lived there for ten years, learning and growing in the faith of the Sisters.
When her brother came back and found out where she was, Annabelle had been so ecstatic to be reunited with him, but it had been bittersweet since she did miss her caring nuns and friends she had made in the convent.
She had even entertained the idea of being a nun herself.
She had chosen her brother instead, and she had been excited to hear of his success in America.
That's when her happiness was short-lived.
Her brother had lost all that inherited wealth that they both had shared through lost business and other vices.
He didn't admit it to her. He didn't have to.
She had quickly caught on, and she strived to try and help their situation. They still had their father's name, even their mother's name, who was a true-born Parisian, but they just didn't have the wealth to back it up.
Her brother found work through delivering milk and mail while Annabelle, well, she had tried to find work through caring for the sick or maybe sewing new clothes for anyone who needed or wanted it, yet that had failed.
It wasn't long before her brother realized that men flocked to Annabelle's side during the events that they had to show face. They gave her money to go to the powder room. They gave her money to buy herself flowers. They gave her money to buy a perfume they thought would be perfect for her. They gave her money to think about their marriage proposal.
That's when her brother decided that his sister's beauty would be their saving grace.
Annabelle had always been told she was beautiful since she was old enough to understand the word itself.
Long, cascading dark brown waves, smooth, pale skin, and large blue doe-eyed eyes, Annabelle caught every man's attention by simply walking past them.
Yet, all Annabelle ever wanted to do was go back to Paris. To the days of her running in her mother's rose garden, laughing, as she felt her brother's warm hand as he pulled her and the sound of her parent's voices behind them.
Simpler times.
She missed the convent even. The dim candle she had lit to read a book on her lap as everyone slept, cramped in the dormitory.
It helped her forget missing, sometimes. When the suitors would fall at her feet and fawn over her, Annabelle did sometimes have a spark of pride rise within her and she had to remind herself about the humility she was taught in the convent to keep her head in the real world.
Besides, the men didn't love her for her. They loved her because she was Belle, the literal figure of what the belle of a ball was.
Annabelle sighed as she set her hairbrush aside, her head aching from her rough actions moments earlier.
She got into her bed in her large room, and she stared at the ceiling, trying to get sleep come to her, yet all she could think about was the empty room and the empty feeling inside her heart.
A:N/ Hope you enjoyed!
I do have a tumblr: .com.