The Masquerade 

thoughtandmemory:

Don’t flatter yourself, he wanted to say as her cheek turned a true rosy shade of red at his attentions. You’re a woman and that is all that I have noticed. She could be anyone for that matter. He was not an animal, but she had caught him in a moment of weakness. Her hot gaze on him was even more delectable than anything else he had noticed. Still, the back of his mind called: she looks breakable like porcelain.

“Miss Fairchild,” Valentine started, his voice level, as he refused to let his gaze stray from hers. He held his chin up and looked at her critically. “I do believe I am an invited and honoured guest in your house and as such, I deserve respect. I wonder what your mother would say if I mentioned how wicked and intolerable you’ve been. I doubt she would like hearing so all that much.”

Jocelyn’s eyes slanted, her gaze murderous as those green orbs fixed angrily on Valentine. She glared, her expression stormy, digging her lace swathed nails into her palms. With a deep breath, she managed a smile, too sickly and sweet to be genuine. She curtsied for him stiffly, her eyes never leaving his face, and stood back up. In dismay, she noticed that she was barely taller than his shoulders. And she was in four inch heels.

“My apologies, Mr. Morgenster,” she simpered, “I’m not used to feigning politeness to those who don’t deserve it.”

(Source: paintbrushesandiratzes)

My name is Jocelyn Fairchild. I'm a fighter, painter, dreamer, schemer, daughter, friend, and a lover.

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