This one was very interesting to write. It's just barely femmeslashy, and as compared to some of these others fics, a bit on the long side, although it's still not very long at all. Please read and review, and feel free to request more pairings!

Story Six

Title: The Girl in the Picture

Rating: K

Summary: Emily wishes she could meet the beautiful girl in Gemma Doyle's photograph.

The girl in the picture stares at me with beautiful dark eyes. If only I knew their true color. Her obsidian ringlets fall gracefully down her back. What color are they in real life? Are they truly black, or perhaps a dark chestnut color, or maybe even deep burgundy?

The other girls in the picture are ugly compared to her. I don't even notice them—not even Miss Doyle. She's so lucky to go to school with her and be friends with her, I think to myself. I'm supposed to be dusting Miss Doyle's room, but I've become distracted and have spent the past few minutes gazing at this picture. I do it every time I come up here. Looking into the beautiful girl's eyes always makes me feel happy.

I always pretend that I know the girl. I pretend that she has come home with Gemma from school for a visit. Gemma's other two friends from the picture—Miss Worthington and the deceitful Miss Bradshaw—have not come, but her other friend, who she never has spoken of, has just arrived. I imagine that she is staying in the guest room and that I have been sent up there to help her unpack.

"Hello," the beautiful girl says in an alluring voice. Her name is something beautiful…something like flowers. It's not Rose, though, like Miss Doyle's middle name…nor is it something simple like Lily. Her name is much more exotic and interesting and strange and wonderful—Gardenia, perhaps, or maybe even Wisteria. She hates the name, but her friends call her Ria, which sounds quite lovely, I do believe.

I respond to Ria. "Hello," I say, but my voice is quiet. I mean to be obedient and pack away her clothing for her as she mills around the room, placing the photograph of her school chums here and her jewelry box there and her music box right on the bureau.

I turn around when I am done my work and Ria smiles. "Has Gemma told you my name?" she asks. Gemma has told me her name, of course, but I pretend that she hasn't and tell her just that. "It's Wisteria Morgan, but please call me Ria. All of my closest friends do, and really, you seem like such a sweet girl…"

She takes a few steps forward and kisses me softly on the cheek before murmuring her thanks for aiding her in unpacking. I blush and once she's pulled away murmur, "Miss Morgan, I don't—."

"Please, call me Ria!" she says with a laugh—the most beautiful, charming laugh ever. It reminds me of bells or birdsong. I can still smell her from when she leaned in to kiss me. She smelled just like flowers—or no, vanilla. I quite like the smell of vanilla.

I let out a sigh and say, "Welcome, Ria. I hope that we do become close friends."

"Oh, I do too!" Ria embraces me, and once more I smell vanilla. She murmurs into my ear, "I really don't like Gemma that much, but my family treats me horribly and…"

She confides in me—tells me one sob story or another. I comfort her and end up telling her of my own woes. Nearly an hour passes before Miss Doyle bursts into the room without knocking to see Ria and I embracing like sisters or friends or lovers, depending on what mood I am in or what I've imagined Ria to be like that day. We pull apart and Gemma murmurs, "I wondered what was taking you so long…"

I am forced away from my daydream at the best part—where Ria and I usually proclaim our feelings for one another, whether they are feelings of friendship or of love. Ria is about to tell Gemma that she never liked her but is glad that she came because she met me, Emily, her best friend in the whole world. But this part of the daydream is not completed. I blink and realize that I've been stroking the beautiful girl's face. I then turn around to see who is standing behind me, clearing their throat in such a fashion as to pull my back to the real world.

"Oh!" I exclaim. "Miss Doyle! I'm sorry, I got a bit distracted…I only have to dust your vanity and I'll be off…"

I do so and then attempt to exit the room, but Gemma stands in my way. "Were you looking at my picture?" she asks me, as if it is a crime to look at an exposed photograph.

"Yes," I admit. "I was." I don't dare to look Miss Doyle in the eye. I'm too embarrassed. However, I do manage to murmur, "I was just wondering who that one girl is."

It doesn't take any questioning for Gemma to know who 'that one girl' is. "Her name was Pippa Cross," Gemma says, her voice cold. Pippa. Pippa is even more lovely and exotic than Ria. Still, I can't help but notice the tone in Gemma's voice. Does she not like Pippa? But why? And why would any sane person have a picture of someone they dislike displayed in their bedroom?

It doesn't hit me until Gemma has moved out of my way. I am in the hallway now, and she is about to shut the door when I turn around to face her and spit out, "Was?"

Miss Doyle cocks her head to the side, a quizzical expression on her face. "Oh," she whispers, her eyes downcast, "didn't you know? Pippa died late last fall."

And with that, I curtsy, turn around, and head towards my quarters. I have a half hour before my service shall be needed again, most likely. A half hour to sit and wonder why I shall never spend an hour confiding in Pippa Cross, the most beautiful girl I never knew.