The Criswell's Curse

“Feeling down, My Lord?” I approached a man whose mind was in another reality, filled with worries and concerns, taking in the cold night breeze from the balcony of Catherine’s mansion. Startled, he promptly looked at me with his warm hazelnut eyes, completely swollen from some runaway tears.

“Apologies, I didn’t see you there, My Lady.” Awkwardly, his cheeks flushed as he tried to find a solution for an inexistent trouble. “I’m Layton Verne, you are?”

“I’m Ophelia Criswell. It is lovely to meet you, My Lord.” I replied to his forced, messy presentation while pulling the hem of my dress and leaning my body slightly forward.

A strange silence flew through us. Layton was still the same as always: a weak man whose only courage relied on running away with his tail between his legs in almost every situation. Unconsciously, an innocent chuckle escaped, forcing him to take the reins on the conversation.

“Di-Did you come to get some air?” Even his speech was the same, filled with doubt and fear, stuttering like a rocky road and a caravan, trembling with every horse pull. Surely, if my standing was lower than his, he’d already run off somewhere, hoping to stay out of sight until the end of the ball – something he excelled at.

His fingers were playing with his curly ginger hair as his attention shifted from place to place, never focusing on the person in front of him. The more I observed him, the stronger my anger burned. Layton was a kind man, but his cowardice became my utmost misery. Even now, my soul was unable to condone him for his choices, knowing exactly what environment he’d grown in, however it still burned with a fierce rage. How could he leave me alone like that?

Noticing my warm smile, his eyes grew wide. Understanding he wished to crawl away, I walked towards him, filled with fake cordiality. “I don’t know what might weigh down your heart, but talking about it may help.”

His long, bushy bangs couldn’t hide the sparkling in his eyes. Layton was a man who knew no kindness. His brothers mistreated him, his mother ignored him, and his father looked down on his weak achievements, comparing him to the lowest, frailest of the bunch - a woman. It was only when he met that girl, the merchant’s daughter, that his heart busted open with a new, unknown emotion: love.

Taken aback by my words, he became even more restless. His right foot tapped on the floor repeatedly, as if he was creating, unconsciously, a brand-new melody.

“You must’ve heard the rumors, right? About me being cursed?” Forcefully, I let out a sigh and noticed the pitiful expression on his face. Slithering into his overwhelmingly naïve and kind heart was no longer an unachievable dream. “What a silly question... everyone has.”

Needing to push him slightly further, I continued. “My point is, I am hated by everyone; I have no friends. If you wish to confide in someone, there is no better bet than me.”

He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to settle on a decision after seeing the pained smile on my lips, after all, we may have been born with different genres, in different houses, with different parents but, deep down, our pasts were more aligned than most stars in the sky.

After some minutes of silence, he politely smiled, and I knew this battle was lost. “Thank you, Lady Ophelia.” He gave his final greeting and headed back to the ballroom once again, escaping right through my fingers.

I may have lost here, but the actual war was yet to come. His heart still needed to be opened by good words and nurturing actions but in his conscious intense feelings - doubt, pity and a pinch of relatability – lingered, all perfect to acquire the trust of another. Sooner or later, he was bound to fall within my grasp.

“This is... ecstatic.” My hands grabbed the cold handrail, sending a shiver down my spine as my mind tried to control the wave of laughter threatening to leave my body.

Things were going perfectly, just like the written plan in the deepest drawer of my thoughts. The only thing necessary now was to display the perfect part of a naïve, young girl and some puppy tears for his heart to open itself, like a lotus flower in full bloom, ready to be picked.

Hearing hurried footsteps coming my way, my back straightened, and composure settled, as if I was nothing but a calm pond harboring beautiful life.

“Ophelia.”

At that moment, my head turned, just to see Amanda with her two dogs, Patricia Hillgarden and Holly Statton, daughter of two Earls, vassals[1]of our house. Gracefully, my fingers stole a glass of champagne that rested on a small table, right beside the fence surrounding the balcony, certainly forgotten by one of the servants.

I smiled politely, making Amanda’s face to twist in anger. In bold and aggressive movements, my sister dashed towards me, however, as she was about to strike, my hand snatched her wrist, pushing the palm against the icy handrail. Almost immediately, she groaned from the impact.

This girl had always thought herself to be superior and untouchable, but such deceiving thoughts were her biggest weakness as everyone, including myself, knew. Quickly, I glanced towards the ballroom and, luckily for me, all the eyes focused on the dancefloor, probably because of Bradley’s powerful presence, attached with a new lady every few minutes.

“What are you doing!? Help me!” She yelled after understanding her own strength was far too weak to escape.

The two loyal dogs began approaching me, hoping to help their owner out of the mess she placed herself in.

“If you come any closer, I will break her wrist.” As if lightning had struck them, they stopped in their tracks, unsure of which route to take.

“She’s lying!” Noticing the reluctance of her peers, she continued to speak obnoxiously loudly. Understanding, they wouldn’t budge, her attention shifted towards me. Her eyes widened seeing the wicked grin resting on my lips. “You wouldn’t… would you… sister…?”

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Within the silence, I spilled the champagne on her hand, allowing it to slide down her wrist before landing on the floor. Then, my lips approached her ear and mumbled some of the sinful thoughts hidden away in my soul. “We wouldn’t want your wound to get infected now, would we, sister?”

“What do you mean?” Her voice failed as she finally began understanding the position she placed herself in. “Yo-You must be messing with me... we get it, Ophelia... please stop...”

Her tearful eyes made my stomach twist in utter disgust. My soul wanted to hurt her, to see her squirm in the peak of suffering, and yet, she dared to look at me pitifully, as if she had done nothing wrong. Someday, she’d be thrown out of her golden horse and be washed by the real, cruel world, and I prayed to be able to witness it all.

“I read something in a book once… do you know that if I pierce you right here, you are bound to die in less than a minute?” The bottom of the cup pressured against her exposed wrist, forcing her body to tremble. “Shall we see it’s veracity, dear sister?”

“You wouldn’t dare...!” Finally, her actual colors were showing. She was so ignorant it made me sick.

Extremely annoyed, my left hand broke the glass by forcing its essence into the handrail, producing a couple of minor cuts on my hand from the blast. With no hesitation, the handle of the glass touched her bare skin. “I wouldn’t move much if I were you... we wouldn’t want to miss the right vein now, would we?”

The moment some pressure was applied on the glass, she gasped in pain, unable to even yell from the panic settling in. Cold sweat dripped from her pores, as a small drop of blood flew through her wrist, falling straight onto the marble floor, dirtying it with its ink. “I am sorry... please sister... don’t...!”

Noticing how the music had ended inside the ballroom, I let go of her wrist and threw the glass farther into the woods surrounding the mansion. Amanda’s face was extremely pale, and, because of the powerful shock, her legs lost all the strength left, causing her to fall. Tears ran down her skin as she brought her trembling hands to her face, lying weakly on the coldness of the marble. What an unrefined sight it was.

“I will only say this once, sister.” I slapped my hands, removing any dirt that might have gotten into them, before glaring at her coldly. “You will leave me the fuck alone, or I might not miss the next time.”

Patricia and Holly ran towards her, but Amanda quickly shoved their hands away. Of course, she couldn’t live with herself right now. How could she? She had lost to me, her little sister, in the most humiliating way possible.

Realizing some remnants of blood penetrated the base of my hand, I took it to my mouth and licked it clean, consuming the sweet fluids in one go. Witnessing this, their complexions paled, not understanding how a refined noble lady could descend so low.

“Do remember me, sister. You know I am always eager to meet up with you!” With a smirk drawn on my lips, my figure disappeared into the ballroom once again.

[1] Vassal: A holder of land on condition of allegiance to another.