As soon as Her Royal Duchess Diamond Pernsnickety, the First, Last, and Only, entered the foyer just in time to see two or three imaginary friends hastily vacate the room, she immediately reacted in what seemed to be the proper way; by bursting out smiling from ear to ear.
Whenever such occurrences happened, and unsuspectingly it was on a daily basis, never once did it cross her mind that many of the residents fled her presence to escape the incessant whining of Foster's resident pest, the condescending remarks she liberally distributed, or simply because they couldn't stand the frightful sight of her. No, to Duchess, the answer lay only in her indescribable beauty.
As absurd as the false rationalization sounded, the prissy imaginary friend sincerely believed in the lie with every fiber of her being. As far as she was concerned, she was the imaginary equivalent to the goddess Aphrodite with her ravishing looks, instead of the hideous blend of anteater and Picasso painting she really was. Whenever she looked in the mirror, she saw nothing but a splendor she confidently assumed all others felt unworthy to be in the presence of.
While she strode across the foyer, Duchess's smirk nearly doubled in size as she gleefully dwelled on her perfection. What with her pedigree and royal status to go along with her magnificent gorgeousness, it was little wonder that barely anyone in the house dared to be within ten feet of-
"AUGH! OUT OF MY WAY!"
"YEEEEK!"
The unfathomably arrogant creature's daydreaming was brought to a crashing halt as soon as she realized she was about to trip over a four-year-old girl toddling across her path. Thoroughly surprised by the near-collision, Duchess cried out and hastily backed away a few paces, nearly toppling over in the process. The little redhead, meanwhile, after nearly being speared by a three-inch high heel, shrieked loudly in fright and instinctively scuttled behind her grandmother's marble bust to safety.
For a few tense moments, Duchess wobbled about ungainly; with arms flailing as she nearly lost her footing during her hasty retreat away from the little girl. At first, she was absolutely horrified that worst would come to worst, and she would tumble flat upon her precious face, damaging a priceless treasure. Fortunately though, after some clumsy wobbling she finally regained her firm footing. As soon as she realized she was all right, almost immediately Duchess glared daggers at the child and exploded angrily over the near-catastrophe that took place.
"You clumsy little oaf!" she snarled. "Are you blind, or just an idiot? Did you not see me? I could've gotten hurt! Apologize, right this instant!"
Despite the ferocity in the outraged imaginary friend's tone, Frances "Frankie" Foster clearly had no respect for royal titles, as made evident when she only scowled and squeaked defiantly, "No!"
Instantly Duchess's pale-yellow skin tone became aglow with a brilliant crimson as she went flush with torrid anger.
"Excuse me?" she hissed incredulously, as if the very idea of someone refusing her demands was infuriatingly preposterous.
"No!" Frankie was all too eager to repeat as she impudently stuck out her tongue, sending her foe's fury soaring.
Here they were, yet again. How a mere child could be so incessantly disrespectful to a living work of art such as her was beyond all of Duchess's comprehension, and persistently irked her to no end. Not even once had the little one showed a sincere ounce of reverence since they began living under the same roof, and thus unfortunately, encounters like the one she found herself in now were quite far from a rare occurrence. Never even for a second did it occur to Duchess that it was because Frankie spitefully viewed her as the repulsive bully she truly was; to her royal highness, someone needed to teach the child some manners, and now was as good a time as ever to try again and attempt to shriek some sense into the disrespectful squirt.
"You foul wretch!" Duchess jabbed a finger and cursed angrily. "How many times must we go through this? Do you not know royalty when you see it? Do you not know exquisite magnificence when it stands right before you? Have you no respect for absolute perfection?"
The little redhead just cocked her head in total incomprehension. Little did the imaginary friend realize, fancy words meant absolutely nothing to a four-year-old, and Frankie was no exception. Unsure of what to make of her enemy's gibberish, the little girl just made another face and taunted cheekily, "Queen Stinky-Butt!"
As her indisputably least favorite nickname echoed in her ears, her temper nearly skyrocketed clear through the roof. Hissing like a snake and clenching her fists so tightly they turned marble white, she stormed forward towards her insolent opponent.
"You good-for-nothing brat, I'm through with playing games! Either apologize right this instant, or-"
She halted dead in mid-sentence as soon as she felt something peculiarly soft underfoot. As soon as Frankie's shrill yelp of dismay rang throughout the room, the puzzled imaginary friend glanced down and spotted the stuffed sheep the four-year-old had accidently dropped earlier during the chaos of their near crash.
"Lamby! Lamby!" Frankie called out to her beloved toy and reached out helplessly from behind her refuge. Once she spotted the horror stamped upon the child's expression, Duchess burst out grinning deviously as she picked up her brand-new bargaining chip.
"Well, well…what do we have here?" she teased as she waved the stuffed animal about.
"Give it back! Mine! Mine!" Frankie wailed, her distressed cries sounding like music to her foe's ears. "Mine!"
"Oh, really?" Duchess jeered. "Is that so?"
"Yeah-huh!" the child affirmed with a furious nod as she frantically scampered over. "Give Lamby back!"
For a few moments, Duchess seized upon the opportunity to provide herself with some amusement as she dangled the toy just right out of the child's grasp, giggling with fiendish delight at every futile leap the little girl made.
"Do you want this? Hmmm?" the imaginary friend cackled. "Is that it?"
"Give it back! Give it back!" Frankie almost shrieked as she attempted yet another fruitless grab.
"Okay…" Duchess agreed with a devilish smile as she continued the cruel game. "On several conditions; first, tell me that you're sorry for-"
Unfortunately, her hubris had long gotten the best of her. While she was nearly positive that a spectacular victory was in sight, in reality she was doing little more than putting herself in extreme danger. To separate the youngest Foster from her beloved toy sheep in fact was about as wise as stepping upon a landmine, which Duchess realized only when she felt the tiny jaws sink into her flesh.
"OWWWWWW!"
"Good gracious, what on earth is the meaning of all this ruckus?" Mr. Herriman demanded as he instinctively burst from his office the moment he heard the horrific clamor, with his creator hobbling along in tow.
"What happened?" Madame Foster cried, following along as fast as she could. "Is everything all right? What's wro-"
The second the old woman arrived upon the scene, she was struck speechless by the spectacular sight before her, as was her imaginary rabbit. As frozen as a pair of statues, Foster's founder and her equally dumbstruck creation couldn't help but gawk in amazement at the tremendously ridiculous spectacle they had come across.
Screeching at the top of her lungs like a wounded animal, Duchess danced about the foyer in an awkward, one-legged hop. Despite the imaginary friend's best efforts to shake her attacker loose, Frankie only bit deeper into her foe's leg, fanatically determined to rescue "Lamby" at all costs. With every smidgen more the child's baby teeth sunk, Duchess accordingly raised the volume of her frantic, banshee-like shrieks and continued to stumble around, with misshapen eyes nearly bugging from her skull in raw terror.
"Help! Help!" she wailed piteously. "Help me! Someone, please! Aaaauuuuggghhh! Before she bites off my entire leg! Help! Help!"
Despite her pleas, Mr. Herriman was simply too stunned by the scope of absurdity of he was viewing to try and take command of the situation, and merely stared wordlessly as a mere child successfully turned an opponent at least five times her size into a howling, panicked wreck.
At least he was in good company, but only until Madame Foster recognized the familiar toy sheep still clutched tightly in Duchess's grip. As soon as she realized what was going on, the quick-thinking old woman darted forward, raised her cane and deftly rapped the sniveling imaginary friend on the back of the hand.
"For goodness sake, drop it!" Madame Foster demanded frantically. It was the work of but a moment, and the stuffed lamb swiftly fell to the floor. Like magic, Frankie abruptly released her tenacious hold, and snatched up her favorite stuffed animal.
"Mean ol' witch!" the crimson-haired victor snarled as darted off and took refuge behind Mr. Herriman as her foe began to limp about over-dramatically.
"Ooooh! Oooooh!" Duchess only began to moan piteously as she tenderly nursed her wound. "Oh, it hurts! It hurts! I think the little monster bit right to the bone! Oooooh!"
"Hold on, dear, just let me have a look at it!" Madame Foster offered kindly as she started to observe the extent of the damage. "Well, it looks like she did a number on your stockings, but it doesn't look like she broke the skin-"
"Get away from me!" Duchess hissed venomously and limped back a few paces, much to the old woman's mystification.
"If you'd just have me look at it, I could probably have you fixed up in just-" Madame Foster attempted to reason, but to no avail.
"You really think I'd let you touch me after that miserable excuse for your own flesh and blood attacked me?" interrupted the incredulous snarl. "I'd rather live in a reeking garbage dump for a week with the rats!"
The moment Duchess had mouthed off to his creator, Mr. Herriman finally snapped out of his stupor, and in an instant the loyal figment was at the old woman's side in a silvery-gray flash.
"Miss Duchess, please!" he admonished with a stern glower. "I understand you're upset, but that gives you absolutely no right to-"
"Did you not see what just happened?" Duchess nearly screamed indignantly, unable to believe that she was the one being scolded. "Are you really so blind? That wretched monster assaulted me! What, are you raising her to be an absolute savage? That little fiend bit me! Bit me! For absolutely no reason, except for the fact that she should probably be tied up outside like the wild beast she is!"
As Frankie promptly returned the favor with a fierce growl, Mr. Herriman, instinctively turned to the child, and appeared to be just on the verge of reprimanding her when he abruptly paused as something crossed his mind.
"For no reason?" he asked, his tone thick with incredulity. "Wait…so why were you holding Miss Frances's toy-"
"Gwoss meanie took Lamby!" Frankie burst out protesting in a shrill squeak. "Almost stepped on me and called me nasty names! A-and then, and then she-"
"She what?" Madame Foster exclaimed, her expression contorting with surprise. "Duchess, is she telling the truth?'"
"Miserable liar!" Duchess howled until she was scarlet in the face at the four-year-old. "I simply tried teaching her how to grant me the respect I deserve, but the wild brat doesn't know the first thing about-"
"Queen Stinky-Butt! Queen Stinky-Butt! Queen Stinky-Butt!" Frankie started to chant furiously.
"See? See? Look at her!" Duchess stomped her foot and pointed accusingly at her red-haired foe. "No respect! She's nothing but a foul little swine that should be kept in a cage or on a leash! If either of you half an idea about what justice is, then you will show that brute what happens to those who dare try to-"
"Duchess…" a very unconvinced Madame Foster only cut in as she signaled for her grandchild to calm down. "You didn't answer us; why did you take-"
"Excuse me?" Duchess roared, completely outraged someone dared to question her warped version of the truth. "Are you honestly telling me that you may actually think her attack was justified? That the whelp was right in trying to mar my magnificent figure with her fangs?"
"Miss Duchess, please! Miss Frances didn't even puncture your skin-OOF!"
Mr. Herriman had just barely voiced his objection when Duchess stormed by, taking care to spitefully shove the rabbit aside as she made a beeline for the staircase.
"ENOUGH!" she bellowed while ascending with an over-exaggerated hobble. "You must be mad to think I will stand here and take this nonsense! I'm going upstairs to my chambers, and I will not leave until you understand what that irreverent monstrosity you call a child tried to do to me, and what needs to be done! I demand action! I demand you punish her swiftly and show her not mercy for her crime! Is that understood?"
Not even waiting for a reply, Duchess limped out of sight to go tend to her minor bite wound and her badly mangled pride, leaving Mr. Herriman and Madame Foster looking at each other in bemused silence until in near synchronization they turned and laid eyes upon the little girl standing behind them.
Frankie quickly wilted under their gazes with a frightened whimper, no longer the defiant soul she was only a minute before. Although she believed her cause had been just, that didn't change the fact that she knew very well she had probably just violated several house rules at once. Convinced that there was no way possible she would escape a harsh rebuking, especially from her grandmother's authoritarian of an imaginary rabbit, instinctively she shut her eyes tightly as she waited for the inevitable barrage of scolding.
Thus, needless to say, the child was totally flummoxed as soon as the unmistakable sound of laughter filled her ears. Bewildered, the little girl cautiously opened her eyes to find both Madame Foster and her creation laughing uproariously and creating a tremendous racket in their obvious glee.
As the dumbstruck four-year-old just gawked silently, Mr. Herriman struggled to wipe the tears from his eyes as he murmured apologetically with a humongous grin, "I…I-I know I shouldn't be laughing about this…but…b-but…"
Despite his best efforts, the normally taciturn imaginary friend was simply unable to control himself after the ridiculousness he had just witnessed, and burst out roaring anew with fresh peals of laughter. As he quivered from furry feet to floppy ears with mirth, Madame Foster giggled incessantly like a giddy schoolchild and made no attempt whatsoever to excuse herself.
"Heeheehee! The whiny pest couldn't even stand up to the child at all! Hahahahaha! Couldn't hold her own for second against a four-year-old!"
"Goodness!" Mr. Herriman chortled as he nursed aching sides. "Oh, and her expression while she was racing about like a nitwit?"
"Priceless! Priceless! Heeheeheehee!" The old woman tittered as she proudly patted her hopelessly befuddled grandchild.
"Oh, and now…n-now she probably won't leave her room for a week!" the imaginary rabbit chuckled. "All because she..oh goodness, never in all my years…"
"However will we go on without her? Hahahahaha!"
The pair continued on laughing like maniacs at what was undeniable the funniest spectacle they had witnessed in years, hooting and snorting with incredible delight for a good five minutes until Frankie interrupted their merriment with the soft query, "…Am…a-am I in twouble?" she whimpered.
After taking a couple quick deep breaths to try and gather enough composure to answer, Madame Foster paused, shot her imaginary friend a sly look, and immediately stifled the crafty grin that attempted to sneak across her face.
"Trouble?" the old woman repeated before wagging a finger and frowning in mock anger. "You better believe it that you're in trouble, Frances Bridget Foster!"
At the sound of her full name, the child instinctively winced and hugged her beloved stuff lamb tighter, convinced there'd be hell to pay. "I…I'm s-"
"Sorry?" her grandmother continued her playful ruse and tried to sound stern. "Sorry won't do it this time! How dare you stand up for yourself like that?"
"…Huh?" Frankie whined, far too puzzled to notice the devious snicker Madame Foster could only partially suppress.
"Playing dumb won't get you out of your punishment, missy! I'm going to march you straight into the kitchen and serve you some cookies. And I don't mean the store-bought kind for the likes of you, I mean some of those I baked just this afternoon! And believe me, you're not going anywhere until you finish every single one! Is that clear?"
Even though Frankie still didn't have so much as a single clue about what was going on, the second her grandmother uttered the magic c-word, the child gladly shoved all her mystification in an instant and burst out beaming happily.
"Okay!" the little one merrily accepted her sentence with an ecstatic giggle as Madame Foster took her by the hand and led her off.
Meanwhile, the entire time, Mr. Herriman hadn't uttered one word throughout the old woman's amateur performance, nor even protest when Frankie was granted a reward. As much as he didn't want to openly admit it, he had thoroughly enjoyed the resident pest's comeuppance far too much to counter his creator one bit. As much as he craved order and civility above most things, he loved justice as much, and thus to him there were fewer things more satisfying in life than watching a bully receive their just desserts.
While the trio exited the room, the imaginary rabbit couldn't help but playfully inquire as he tried to hide a sly grin, "Shall I inform Miss Duchess later about the specifics of how severely we made Miss Frances pay for her misdeed?"
Madame Foster sniggered deviously. "What Queen Stinky-Butt doesn't know won't hurt her."
The End