- As usual, the day began with death. It was unsurprising, and completely predictable; Margaret was getting tired of it, really. Hadn't her brother learned anything since he took the coveted throne? Soon, he wasn't going to have any subjects to rule over, and she did not want to be around when that happened. His temper was disgraceful, so similar to a child's tantrum. How had anyone fallen for his high-and-mighty tricks? But it was Marcus's way, and his charisma, charm, and good looks were enough to make even a married man swoon. As soon as she heard of one of his fits, she took a walk around the manor. It was beautiful, after all, and it may surprise some, but Margaret appreciated beauty above all. It took a certain accident to stumble on that kind of grace, and she longed for it. She was, after all, the famous Miss Perfectionist. She wanted the perfection that came with the pink petal of a rose, or the straight stem of a daisy. There wasn't much of a garden, though Margaret had silently and fiercely desired one so badly that she was still surprised that no one had seen her wish burning on her lips and chest, but these days, nobody paid attention to anyone but themselves.
She merely roamed along the wall, running her fingers along the stone, lost in her thoughts. She was still clad in her nightgown; ever since Vivian married Marcus, the whole 'royal' family had been subject to dressing formally, even if they were going to sleep. If Margaret was in charge, she would let people go to sleep in a bra and shorts, like she was accustomed to doing. But she wasn't in charge, and she never would be... being the baby of the Bennett family had taught her that. Not that she was bitter, she had accepted her fate long ago. But still; with the adviser, Vivian, and every other conniving little rascal out there trying to tell Marcus the right thing to do, nobody seemed to ask her opinion. She was just another damned woman, another damned aristocrat. A woman who could make men fall in love with her, but what good would that do for her? It was such a useless power; she didn't need love, nor did she want it.
Useless. Just like she was becoming. Oh, dammit, wouldn't Marcus just consider giving her a real job?
Well, at least there was some sort of ball today. Some glorified party to show off their power, wealth, and Marcus's good looks. Margaret scoffed silently and began to laugh. She just wanted to laugh. It had been a long time since she had laughed. She looked crazy, but she didn't care. She laughed, and she laughed, and she laughed. "Fuck the world!" she whisper-shouted to the clouds, "I'm going to get drunk at the ball tonight and let someone fuck me! Fuck the world!"
But of course, she was lying. None of that would happen; none of what she ever said in solitude ever did. It was just nice to think that one day, it could happen. Still a little exhilarated, Margaret walked back into the manor and headed towards her own chamber, wondering how a Socialite was supposed to be a Socialite when there was absolutely nobody interesting to socialize with.