Beautiful
Summary: 'Because of course, beauty was the key. Beauty was thing that got you whatever you wanted. Who cared for kindness, talent, even money to some extent, when beauty was available?'. A little piece about Fleur Delacour. NOT a songfic to Christina Aggy's 'Beautiful'.
Disclaimer: Do you really have to ask? I own nothing but the words.
A/N Just a short piece about Fleur that I decided to write. There's not that much out there about her, but I read a really good Fleur one which is in my favourites, and so I decided to try my hand at it. (* = translation)
*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*
Her shirt was made of silk, the sky-blue cloth soft against her skin as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. A beautiful young woman of nineteen looked back, imitating her every move as she put a hand to her hair, tilted her head, fluttered her eyelashes.
She was beautiful, and she knew it.
Indeed, it had been said to her enough times for it to penetrate her brain, and mostly by some handsome young man hoping to win her affections; even if it did have something to do with the Veela enchantment.
But that wasn't all of it of course – the long blond hair and blue eyes helped too.
She smiled daintily at the reflection, showing perfect white teeth beneath a perfect red mouth as the image in the mirror did the same. Yes, she was satisfied with it, from the smooth wave of blond tresses to the silver ring decorating a slender finger, and from the smooth, pale abdomen to the designer shoes adorning perfect feet.
Everything was as it should be – beautiful.
Because of course, beauty was the key. Beauty was thing that got you whatever you wanted. Who cared for kindness, talent, even money to some extent, when beauty was available?
It was beauty that was the most useful tool a person could possess. With beauty you got admiration, awe, high regard, lust…everything a girl could dream of. But of course beauty was most dangerous when coupled with brains.
And she knew that.
How could she not, when men fell at her feet and she could manipulate them into whatever she wanted? They would do anything for her; she could tell them to jump off of a cliff and they would.
Not that she would do that of course. That would just be stupid.
A small squeak alerted her to the fact that her door was being opened, and she swung round, watching as a man in a hotel uniform brought a tray into her room. He was a gibbering mess, his legs shaking slightly as he set the dish down on the coffee table.
"I…ici M'selle," he said, bowing slightly and backing out of the room. "Ton r…repas."
*("H…here M'selle," he said, bowing slightly and backing out of the room. "Your m…meal")*
"Ah, merci" she replied, smiling gracefully. It caused the man to become even more of a nervous wreck, and he backed straight into the door, reddening before actually managing to disappear through it.
'Mon dieu' she thought mockingly as she grasped her fork and dug into her Mediterranean salad, accidentally dripping a bit salad cream on her chin. 'C'est sot vraiment – mais ça m'est bien égal, peu m'importe'
*('Dear me' she thought mockingly as she grasped her fork and dug into her Mediterranean salad, accidentally dripping a bit salad cream on her chin. 'It's silly really – but I don't care')*
Of course, men literally falling over themselves in her presence was something she was used to; and she liked it too. I gave her a feeling of power being able to just…enchant somebody with a single smile, a flick of her hair, a batting of her eyelashes.
But now, she was all alone. Alone in a lovely, large hotel room in Paris, with books, a television, les magazines…everything she needed really.
Because she didn't need other people.
Of course she didn't.
She looked out of the window at the lights of Paris, her fork half-way to her mouth and salad cream dripping on her chin as she frowned and thought about it; and she still managed to look beautiful.
*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*