I don't own Dishonored.
"The child would play in the garden of roses, with her mother's slim hand in hers. The hateful words spoken about the woman were ignored in this garden, as no one can get in, and no one can hurt them. But now the child is a woman, who is unlike her mother. She still plays in the garden, but the roses turned into illusions."
Illusions
The plague is gone. The city of Dunwall has entered a golden age in its dark history, and the Empress is titled 'Emily the Wise', her faithful Lord Protector by her side like he was with Jessamine. It is a marvellous time to be alive. So why does Julia's world threaten to crumple at her feet?
The party; with all the confetti and happy chatters, made no effort to calm her frying nerves. A glass rests in her slim hand while she swirls it, watching the dark liquid slosh from side to side of the crystal glass. The sweet aroma of the imported wine rises into her nostrils. Her lips are just an inch away from the edge, but that is where they stayed. Drinking would make her thoughts unclear, and she wouldn't want that.
The two aristocrats with her are busily gossiping away, oblivious to the young woman's worried face. They either do not know or do not care. She thought –hoped- it was the former, and took a small sip of wine to ease herself. She shouldn't care what these inbred mutts thought of her. She is worth more than any of them ever hoped to be, or at least that is what her Aunt Waverly told her.
"You are the heir to the Boyle fortune," she would tell the young child. "You are more precious than these back-stabbing rats."
At the time, the child did not know what Waverly meant by that, but she does now. She keeps her secrets locked away during times of celebration, wearing a mask of happiness and obliviousness, but she knows that making allies is dangerous. Especially if you make the wrong ones. Her mother made the mistake of becoming the Lord Regent's mistress, funding his empire with her mass wealth. Julia's aunts did not like the idea, and were not afraid to voice their concerns. Esma did not listen; she paid the price for it...
The voice of one of her companions breaks her spell of silence. "What do you think Lady Boyle?"
"Hmm?" She blinks, tearing her gaze away from the wine. "Did you say something?"
The man doesn't seem offended by the fact that Julia wasn't listening, he never –and probably never will- find any faults with the woman. In his eyes, she was the light that brought everyone down to one knee. Poor thing she thought, he is completely infatuated with her and it makes her laugh inside. She could play men's heartstrings like the harp Aunt Lydia taught her how to play as a child, and she uses that skill without much remorse, like Aunt Waverly taught her.
The other man scowls at her words. "You could at least pay attention!" He spits, his thick eyebrows knitting together in frustration. "Did you lose your manners or something?"
"Sebastian!" The younger man scolds. "Do not talk to Lady Boyle like that, and in her own home no less!"
Sebastian just snorts and leaves the two alone, seeking more polite company to indulge himself in. Julia watches as he leaves, her pale face showing nothing but boredom, and takes another small sip. She doesn't like Sebastian and he doesn't like her, so the two try to keep away from each other as much as possible, though it is not that hard in the large manor.
The other man –Daniel- just shakes his head disappointedly, locks of brown hair falling in front of his blue eyes. "I'm sorry," He apologizes, leaving the woman alone to go after his friend. Julia just watches again, her mind wandering back to the thoughts of before, and of her mother and Lord Regent.
She only met the man a few times; but they were more than enough for her to like him. He believed in order, in keeping the fabrics of this cursed city secured tightly in his grasp, and he forwarded his belief onto the young girl. A moment at play is a moment wasted. He would tell her, showing her books and monitoring her progress in lessons. He would scold her as if he was her father, but he also awarded good behaviour, everything had a purpose in his eyes. However, he wasn't there for her mother when the masked man came, murdering the woman in cold blood and leaving the poor girl emotionally scarred.
She cried for her mother that night, and every night during her childhood.
Julia let out a small cough and rubbed her delicate neck, the feeling of her blood pulsing through her veins reminding her that she still lives, and put her at ease. She was not healthy as a child or as an adult. No, no. Her birth was not all the other children's –excruciating, unnatural, bloodied- and she was thought to be dead within days, but she survived and she thrived. Yes, but her mother was told that no more children would come.
Julia is not able to stop blaming herself for that. Not that it matters now.
She sets down the glass and walks across the large ballroom, weaving past the dancers with fluent movements that could be mistaken for dance movements, and reaches the other side of the room. She pushes the double doors open and steps outside; the cold night wind blows and caresses her cheek, leaving a slight numb feeling as she braves the cold. She gracefully walks to the edge of the walkway, looking over the large expanse of land belonging to her name, and takes a deep breath of air. Her coughing sharply increases as she covers her mouth; her chest jerking with every cough and her eyes water.
A soft voice calls out as a hand grazes the heir's shoulder. "You shouldn't be outside Julia," It whispers. "You should be inside."
"I'm fine," She chokes, removing her hand from her mouth and took an unsteady breath. "Just another coughing fit Aunt Lydia."
The hand stroking her shoulder affectionately slowly moved away, joining the other hand across Lydia Boyle's small chest. She looks –no, stares- at the younger Boyle with an expression even Julia couldn't comprehend, nor would she try. If there is someone who she couldn't read like an open book, it is her aunts. She turns back to the land and watches. The grass is freshly cut and rustles in the breeze, similar to waves rolling across the ocean.
She lets out a sigh. "I will be well enough for tomorrow,"
"I know you want to visit the graves, but you have been-"
"I don't care," Julia interrupts. She turns her head slightly and smiles softly, knowing that Lydia only wants to keep her safe, and she loves her family for that. They were spiteful and cold with other aristocrats –or people below their social standard- but no matter what, they looked out for each other. They are all that each other have. Suddenly, a snap similar to a twig being stepped on could be heard from within the dense vegetation. The two women look over to the noise, but neither dared to move, in case the thing jumps from its hiding place.
Julia is the first to move. "Come on," she whispered, softly pulling Lydia back into the manor. "The party is nearly over."
The party did not end, but carried on into the night, much to Julia's annoyance. The aristocrats present took to drinking more wine. Now they were louder –more annoying- and Julia wished for nothing more than to kick everyone out and go to bed. She could not find Waverly though and Lydia was busy entertaining their guests.
So she takes to the library, standing next to the fire-place and staring up at the picture, painted by the Tyvian painter and philosophiser; Anton Sokolov. It was Esma, her face hidden away from the world's view and only her ears are the only part of her face that was shown, her blond hair tied up in a tight bun. Julia takes a sip of wine from the crystal glass and continues to stare, a faint smile on her face. Esma was always so beautiful. She remembers how Esma allowed her to brush her golden hair, using the expensive jewelled brush that she got her mother for her birthday. That brush is still in her drawers.
Suddenly, she feels a hand on her shoulder, masculine fingers digging into the silken shirt. She twitches and turns the upper-part of her body. Daniel is standing there, his hair somewhat more messy than usual, and his eyes looked darker.
"Is something wrong Daniel?" she asked. Dark grumbles erupt from his throat and his grip on her shoulder tightens, the only response he coaxes out of Julia is a sharp intake of breath.
"You don't love me do you?" he grumbles again. "Do you?"
Julia tries to move away, but the grip on her shoulder is just too strong. She looks at his scrunched up face again and nearly shrieks at the horror she sees. Staring straight at her was not the man she was just with, but a hooded one with a mask that she still sees in her nightmares. The mask is a grotesque version of a human skull, wires and other contraptions weaving in and out of the cold metal. Please. Please, not him.
She let out a breathless cry. "You're not real," she cried, her breathing going border-line hyperventilating. "You're not real!"
He says nothing. Just stares straight into her eyes with ones hidden behind glass covers. She places her hands on his chest and pushes as hard as she could muster, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes while she screams. "Get away! Get away and leave me alone!"
He refuses to move, standing there as if he is just a statue, still staring at Julia's terrified face. Her mind goes blank, and she tries the only thing that she could remember to do. She opened her mouth and let out an ear-splitting scream.
Review and tell me whether you liked it or it needs improving.