The Criswell's Curse

A sharp, blinding light hit my eyes, forcing them to shut. Only when my eyesight returned was I able to embrace the sickening truth behind wealth: the ballroom, filled with nobles, had women recording information behind their wicked smiles while men sharpened their daggers, hoping to steal the treasures of another.

“Lord Mace Wharton and Lady Ophelia Criswell.” Once the skinny man holding a thick scroll said our names, the room grew silent. Their eyes were staring at us - no, at me.

Women hid their expressions behind gorgeously handcrafted fans, attempting to be unreadable while their husband’s minds created ways to take me into their embrace, to make me flourish with their touch. A unique individual, the only man whose infatuated heart remained locked away, took this opportunity to slither into the balcony.

Mace led me down the stairs, allowing the present nobles to regain their senses. Gossip traveled through the room, surrounding me like a warm coat in the middle of Frosting.

“Wasn’t she sickly?” A noble lady asked the three other females standing next to her, hoping to get some sort of answer.

“How could the Duke have hidden such beauty for so long? If only I’d known, I would’ve...” A man with age to be my father commented to his peers, who silently agreed to his words.

Alvin was indeed a wicked fellow. Since my birth, he had spread the news of my rebellion, of how I was a bratty child, impossible to deal with. Once that wasn’t enough to scare away the suitors after his fortune, the story took a turn for the worse, portraying me as the sickly child - too ill and frail to be allowed outside the mansion.

This story became worse, as these things often do. Some believed my illness was contagious; others thought it was hereditary but, no matter how many opinions flew, no consensus could be attained. However, now, everyone could see me, finally being able to take their own conclusions without the influence of another’s misguided truth.

Ignoring the remarks of the people surrounding me, Mace’s icy glare harbored a different story. He appeared rather... annoyed.

Spotting a ghost in the center of the room, contrasting with the bright, warm lights falling onto the dance floor, my pace hastened. “My dear sister... I missed you so much!”

Without a care in the world, I took her into my embrace. Her nails carved into the waistline of my dress, as she contained the desire to rip it off with a single swing. She pushed me away gracefully, her cheeks blending in with our red colored wardrobes. Seeing the frustration on her face made a sense of euphoria fly through my body yet, somehow, my soul was able to contain such sporadic happiness.

All the eyes were on us, the sisters who had accidentally worn the same dress to the same ball. Wasn’t that such an interesting coincidence?

Amanda couldn’t criticize my own taste in dresses, as she originally had planned since we were but a perfect match and, even if insulting my audacity passed through her mind, such wouldn’t come to be. Rumors about my stay at the Wharton’s estate already circulated alongside an emphasis on the beautiful dresses the Duke had so carefully offered me, courtesy of my maids, of course. Certainly, she didn’t have it in her to attempt a direct offense on Edgar. And, besides, this was my first ball. How could I have known which dress to choose from?

“Sister, you look pale. Are you alright?” I questioned while gently taking a couple of hair strands from her face; however, she abruptly slapped my hand away. The room gasped, surprised.

As if they were moths drawn to a flame, several maidens headed towards me, worried expressions on their faces, gazes falling into my wounded hand. “Are you alright?”

Pretending to be in a complete state of disbelief, my head shook slightly.

“How could you do such a thing!?” One of the young ladies said, enraged at the situation. Her posture was graceful, fearless enough not to cower from the daughter of a Duke – surely, she was the daughter of a Marquess.

“Ophelia... indeed, it has been a while...” Between her serrated teeth, some slithering whispers rung. If it weren’t for the intense pressure surrounding us, observing our actions, she would’ve run away with her tail between her legs, attempting to regain her footing somewhere out of sight.

As I was about to reply, another threat popped up out of the blue, ruining my good mood. “Lady Ophelia, you look absolutely stunning.”

“Lord Bradley, it has been a while. I take you’ve been well?” A polite smile covered the annoyance behind my words. The other young ladies gathered around, hoping to have some interaction with the biggest, juiciest fish in the pond.

“Of course, My Lady. I must say, you look exceedingly beautiful today.” He bowed before grabbing my hand and kissing its back gently. Unconsciously, my attention fell on Amanda, who was about to give me a piece of her mind, but swallowed down her words, terrified. Bradley’s icy glare was on her. “Would you give me the honor of this dance?”

“I’m afraid her first dance will be with me, My Lord.” Mace’s courteous smile made Bradley’s gaze shift to him. He had been ignoring his presence completely, as if he was nothing more than a shadow following its owner, just like the squeaks and conversation attempts from all the maidens around me.

The music began to play and without giving him any opportunity to reply, my dear brother-in-law swept me to the dance floor. Gracefully, I followed his movements. However, Mace’s eyes laid on the blonde hawk, grinning from ear to ear as if he’d already won, even having lost a battle.

After a handful of minutes, the first song ended. We bowed down, and before my figure was able to sneak away, Bradley approached. My attention fell on Mace but, much to my dismay, several Earls, whose wide grins held everything except good-will, had captured him, forcing him to enter polite conversations he wished to avoid.

“Lady Ophelia, may I have this dance?” Even though reluctance passed through my nerves, a refusal to his request would only cause suspicion to rise on my intentions, allowing the snakes slithering around to speak more than they should.

Bradley proudly escorted me to the dance floor, as if he was displaying his most precious jewel to all the gawking men around. My emotions were brewing, waiting for the perfect moment to pop out of his little locked box. I hated being around this man, and if fate was kinder, it would allow me to erase his existence from my life entirely.

That might not be a bad idea. I faintly chuckled at the thought, but once the music restarted, my expression grew stern, refraining from displaying any type of emotion. He wouldn’t get any pleasure from me.

Grabbing the hem of my vivid red dress, some of the fluttering hand-drawn roses moved as if being swept by the wind, greeting my partner with all the fair grace my etiquette knew. He responded to my gesture moments before capturing my right hand adorned with golden rings and expensive rubies and pulled my waist.

His movements were aggressive, appearing like he was asserting some sort of male dominance over his territory. This pitiful manhood display gave me the opportunity to step on him several times, however, he remained quiet, with a charming smile stamped on his picture-perfect face.

Suddenly, right at the climax of the music, he gripped me, pulling me upwards. The weight of gravity seemed meaningless as I floated through the ballroom. The maidens gasped, imagining they were in my shoes, being swept away by his desirable touch.

Finally, the longest dance of my life ended, and we both bowed, but, of course, that man was far from done with our little interaction.

“Thank you, My Lady. It was a very pleasant dance.” Bradley smiled with all his grace. But, with every word that came out of his mouth, my patience became thinner. “Would you join me for a walk in the garden?”

“Lord Bradley, you are indeed an angel, just like the rumors say.” I stated in a very sarcastic tone.

He tilted his head slightly, pretending to be confused. “I didn’t know there were such rumors.”

“How humble.” My hand sneaked the dark red fan attached to my waist, adorned by some honey-colored patterns. The object then covered my face, hiding the disgust in my expression. “You are the Angel of Ashen, are you not?”

“That’s...” As he attempted to speak, my fingers closed the fan in front of him with a rather loud thud. The extremely thin strand of patience left in me had finally shredded into nothing.

Slowly, my figure approached his, standing right by his side as our eyes connected with an intensity I’d never experienced before.

“Did you know? When angels lose their wings, they become unable to fly... I heard it is quite a painful fall.” My voice was low and my lips carried a grin displaying an extremely wicked side of me.

Without giving him a moment to embrace my words, my body immediately walked several steps ahead. “Ah... I’m so tired... please forgive me, My Lord, you must find another partner for the next dance...”

My voice was obnoxiously strong, forcing the maidens on the sidelines to swarm around him. And thus, as my feet placed a well-deserved distance between us, an abnormal number of eyes became set on me, observing me from afar. However, there was one, filled anger and resentment, that surpassed all the others – Bradley’s, as he watched me steal that crown right from his grasp. The moment our eyes collided at last, he was pitifully trying to refuse the surrounding maidens without harming his perfected angelical image.