I'm fabulous.

I'm really fucking fabulous.

I flash a smile at any random boy, you should see the result, the human race is so laughable, he can faint, blush red, cry. Because I'm me I'm beauty itself. I'm hot I'm Fleur and there's no-one better. My eyes are blue, wide and shocking ice blue under thick long blond lashes, my hair is spun gold, glittering and fantastic. I'm beautiful, so what if I know it? No-one can resist my charm, I'm like a tiger posing as a house pet.

Radiant and pleasing to the eyes, my smile surpasses the brightness of the sun, how can you resist my charms? I'm half Veela, the natural spirits of pure beauty, half human, a creature of lust and hot blooded passion. Who can resist me? Not you. You are mine. You couldn't take your eyes off me. Your eyes, I could feel them raking down my body, lingering and looking, I could see your eyes cloud over with lust from across the room, I see you try and wipe your sweaty palms on your suit pants, you ask yourself what's wrong with you, usually so cool calm and collected, Mr suave and sophisticated. You're sweating because you heart is racing at the mere sight of me, why does my presence in the room cause your heart to try to escape from your chest.

You tell yourself its nerves or excitement or the thrill of the chase or just a connection. You lie to yourself, because secretly you're scared, you're terrified that if things go right you won't be able to control yourself, won't be able to satisfy me fully. But you don't like to lose your cover so you comfort yourself with your selfish lies, you waste my time with what you think is a charming chat up line. Yawn. I'm Fleur, the flower of France. I don't need morons like you chasing after me, but I humor you, I blush and giggle, I bat my eyelashes and flirt outrageously. You can't believe, me the undeniably gorgeous Delacour heiress, you stammer and blush like a schoolgirl, your head swells as you think how attractive you must be, how even when you bumble your charm can thaw the heart of the beautiful ice maiden. Fool. Stupid presumptuous fool.

I lure you away from the party all innocence and charm. Do you want a tour? Of course you do, anything to get away from the crowds with me. Anything to get me alone. Every time my hand brush's yours you shiver, you tell yourself its anticipation but its not. Its so not, its from the cold. My hand is cold, my whole body is cold, my lips, my breasts, heart, all ice and snow. You cannot help but wish for me to touch you again, you wish more each time. You need me. Need. Addiction. But you follow me regardless, a puppy dog on a leash.

Mine
You are mine.
I own you now.

The further we get to the party the faster your heart beats, the more your palms sweat, you think that maybe for a second you saw more than charm and laughter in my eyes, it must have been a trick of the light... surely? But no, the noise from the party is far away, you probably don't realise it but every now and then your eyes dart to the side, looking for some invisible way to escape. From what? From me. But you feel compelled to stay with me so you ignore your instincts, your primeval sense of danger is shoved to the back of your mind. How can you ignore this beauty? Even if your mind is screaming at you to run away. You can't put a finger on what it is about me, you've met Veelas before that had less influence on you, but you follow, helpless. Under my control. Under my thumb. We come to the entrance hall to the Delacour estate. The party is barely audible. You notice for the first time that around the room there are statues of handsome men, you jest and stand on one of the empty plinths, strike up a pose. I ask you to stay there for a second and lean up to kiss you. You're frozen in surprise, shock, fear, but what an adrenaline rush! Your heart is thumping slower, you fool that you are, believe that you are finally calming down. Until the terrible wet thumping from your chest shudders to a halt, you want to shout, to scream as pain lances through every inch of your body. Your face is pale you feel your skin is losing all heat, you're cold so cold, but you can't move. You realise the colour over your eyes stopping you from seeing is the exact same shade of white marble that the other statues are.

You are cold, you are stone, you are mine forever. Do you realise that this is the most you will ever be able to have of me? don't be sad in death, this way you're mine forever, part of my life, part of my home. So what if you're not the only one, your last hour of breath was spent with me, now I get to see you every day for the rest of my life. You owe that to me. Its my right, I can have anything I want. I should have everyone. I should have you. You are not special, no different to most of society. But for an hour you had my attention, so you have to pay. You owe me. The world owes me.

Rigour mortis.
Petrification.
I am the Flower of France.
The Ice Queen.
The only girl colder than death.
Modern day Medusa.

My name is Fleur Delacour.
And I'm a bitch.