The World At Your Feet, Baby
Disclaimer: I don't own GossipGirl.
A/N: Oh, that feels nice. All of my Serena hating is out of my system now.
I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own
I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemies eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt, and pillars of sand
I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can not explain
Once you know there was never, never an honest word
That was when I ruled the world
(Ohhh)
Beckons arrive from the (ex) queen herself, crooked finger promising hotel rooms, money for nose candy and immunity for horses from drug deals so that your leather ensemble are all they have to worry about. From the confines of your jail cell in Switzerland, you dial the carefully printed number.
"Good, you called."
"In another sense, you did too."
"My driver will pick you up from JFK."
"No, he won't. I'm balled and chained to your little hellhole."
There's a pause on the other end as the other girl reminisces of plots, now-former best friends, drunken serenades and-
-sleeping butterflies.
That should be forgotten. But this is called a love-hate relationship and she likes to compare it to a LCM equation. One side increases and the other does too.
Math's such a pain in the ass.
"You there, princess?"
Head snaps back into reality and what needs to be done will be done because Queen B sounds better than Queen S ever has, ever will.
"I hope you know your television shows. A re-enactment of Prison Break is heading your way."
The dial tone sounds, and you smirk to the cracked mirror across the wall.
Mirror, mirror on the wall. Snow White misses her stepmother.
There's no point in admitting that there are no television privileges here.
Two days later, Blair Waldorf shows up, with rimmed of black liner, fictional drug addictions and literally shining from head to toe glittering leather.
"And I thought PETA hated me.
"Don't toss and turn at night, you're still number 1 on their hate list."
Smirks are exchanged and so are bundles of cash, and two hours later, they're setting step onto American soil.
You take a deep breath in, inhaling the air free from European dandyism and full of glorified betrayal and glamorous destruction. You flash white teeth at your companion.
Princess, this is going to be a reign to remember."
Heads nod at the decision that heads will roll.
"Partners, then?"
The other holds out a pale white hand. You eye it skeptically before placing your hand with black painted nails in it.
It's no surprise that Waldorf's hand is freezing cold.
"A business deal. We're not turning this into a Care Bear relationship."
"Done."
They nickname it the Reign of Terror.
(It has a nice ring to it, that's all.)
It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in.
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People could not believe what I'd become
Revolutionaries Wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?
I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can not explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world
(Ohhhhh Ohhh Ohhh)
Hear Jerusalem bells are ringings
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can not explain
I know Saint Peter will call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
Oooooh Oooooh Oooooh
Secrets are revealed to the public like a gourmet chef unveiling his dishes one by one. Each one is a delicacy with a secret recipe.
Each one is a blow to Serena van der Woodsen, minute at first, starting with the appetizers to the main course, a tape that would still haunt even with closure. The Upper East Side world of appearance, closure doesn't matter.
Desert is reserved for Blair Waldorf and Georgina Sparks.
Queen S becomes paranoid, once a chosen leader, becomes a full on hated dictator, no sympathy or adoration reserved for her as once for Queen B.
Blair predicts that in the time soon to come, Julius Caesar's story will repeat itself.
Pete comes back to haunt again as parts and parts of "the Tape" are leaked until its entirety is available for the World Wide Web.
Whispers of "Queen Slut" and "Murdering bitch" float around Serena's once haloed head, the golden girl's once iron grip loose, fingers shaking from shock and fear, muscles sore and taut from coiled tension.
It's not totally out of her grasp yet, Blair tells herself, all she needs is one more hard hit.
All she needs is to find one more hard hit.
"Almost there, princess."
"I don't want almost."
It comes to Ice Queen and the Black Bitch in the hands of the Devil.
"You just need a classic Serena slut spiral. I'll give you one."
"She's your sister. You couldn't do that."
"Blood is thicker than water doesn't apply to me."
The next question is a surprise to every dark head in the room.
"Why?" comes out of ruby colored lips.
"No reason."
"There's always a reason, Bass."
His eyes meet the marbled floor as if its stoniness could match Blair's.
"She's nothing compared to you." (I'm sorry, I love you, I'll help you.)
"Okay." (You're not forgiven, I love you too, I'll take your help.)
Your blue eyes follow the scene before you and you file it away (for future references).
A week later, the Devil tosses you a burning package straight from the depths of his fiery hell.
Blair sends off the bomb to the detonator moment before the final battle. She ascends the steps, making it metaphorical.
You lurk in the shadows where you like it, out of the stoplight because your hair doesn't shine as nice there and your eyes don't glow. You'll join your newest partner-in-crime when she wins the last hand so that if it fails (it won't, you're both too good at this), you'll completely dodge the bullet.
The chime of the courtyard's cell phones sound like victory bells almost and you watch the fallen blonde angel's face when it crumples as she recognizes her own writhing limbs around Carter Baizen, Dan Humphrey and unknowns, unmentionables, on the tiny screen.
The girls around her turn their axes towards her and it's all too clear. Guilty. Sentenced to death.
"Get off."
The Ice Queen spits out, eyes turned away as if her predecessor/successor isn't worthy of a glance.
(She's put up a nice fight for an amateur.)
The Once Goddess tumbles off her pedestal ungracefully while her rival sweeps up to the top, her train swirling behind her. Serena's eyes travel the crowd, searching for a sympathetic face. There are none, they're just too glad to be rid of her. Her eyes catch yours, desperate blue locking onto triumphant blue. Neither of you tear your gaze away, because she can't and you don't want to. You mouth,
"Because I can."
The fallen one turns around back to the steps just to see her best friend's coronation, the crown fitting better than it ever did on Serena's head.
The golden girl doesn't even have the dignity of a farewell, a withdrawal speech. She's shuffled out the state, her luggage tossed rudely behind her.
(Blair tells herself that Serena's rise hurt Blair the most so Blair's rise should hurt Serena most.)
You could call it W for Vendetta.
"I thought you loved her like family." You ask the newly re-crowned Ice Queen.
"Once upon a time."
Chuck turns to her and you notice that you're all standing in a triangle.
"This isn't a fairytale, Blair."
She nods slowly and deliberately because dreams of Prince Charmings and white castles are last season along with Serena's ankle boots.
"I know. We'll last much longer."
(Together, we'll rule the world.)
Lyrics: Viva La Vida by Coldplay
Please please review? Because I don't really know how I feel about this, it's just like a rant put into story form. Good rant or not?