The Criswell's Curse

“Sister.” Ophelia approached Amanda, interrupting the conversation she was having with some other noble ladies, all hiding away their mocking grins with feathery fans. “I am so happy to see you in such high spirits!”

At that moment, the crimson-haired girl shot her sister a glance, sneering at the attitude she wore so pridefully well. The group of ladies quietly bobbed their heads and moved a few meters away, observing their surroundings like wolfs, circling their prey before attack. Tension lingered between the siblings and only a fool would want to partake in such a dangerous game, after all.

“Of course. It was only a mild cold.” Amanda politely smiled, attempting to keep her composure.

Alvin stood by their side, carefully placing a piece of pumpkin pie in his mouth. His dark eyes glared at Ophelia, who appeared to pay him no mind, yet watched his every move from the corner of her gaze.

“How are you enjoying the party?”

“I would have done it better. It is sorrowful, to say the least.” With no sense or tact, Amanda spurred out her inner thoughts. Realizing this, the Duke approached and placed his hand on her shoulder causing her figure to shudder. “I mean, it is your first time organizing such... event. I am sure the next one will be far greater.”

Alvin glanced at Devlin, who sipped on his tea just two tables ahead, a wide smile on his face as he chatted with one of the Baron’s. Yet that man’s gaze would often linger on them, observing the relationship between the two siblings far too closely. But he wasn’t the only one as all the attention fell on them – on the forceful love between two sisters.

“You have done well, my child.” The Duke tried to caress his daughter’s cheek, but she swiftly backed away, leaving his hand hanging on the air to the world to see. She was publicly humiliating him, ignoring him, as if the fact that he was her father was meaningless.

Facing her sister once again, Ophelia grabbed the hem of her skirt. “I understand... thank you for your honest advice, sister. I shall return shortly. Other guests await.”

The aromatic scent of lavender filled her nostrils, causing her to frown moment before she was able to turn around. Only one man wore such a powerful essence on his being and was able to pull it off: Bradley Trace.

“Lady Ophelia, you look... exceptional.” He bowed, grabbing the hand before him and kissing its back. As he did so, his burning emeralds glared at her, observing her, yearning for her.

And she knew it. She could see through his facade, through the lustful greed in his soul. “Thank you, Lord Bradley. That is truly very kind of you. Are you enjoying the party?”

“It is truly a wonderful event, but...” He charmingly smiled, stretching his figure once again, seconds before approaching her ear. “... it would be better if I could have a moment of your time.”

The words Ophelia told her before finally made sense. Amanda would never have Bradley’s heart, since it had always belonged to her little sister. The way her fiancée looked at her, that desire in his eyes, that gentleness in his touch. He’d never done so with her, not even when they were but children, dreaming far and wide.

But she wasn’t the only one to learn of such truth. Gossip had already formed, mingling into the pleasant breeze that flew along the wind – maidens traded wicked words as the elders mocked Amanda’s poor luck, and the men, simply pitied her demise, knowing no better of her deeds.

“She was always so full of herself...” One of the women said, hiding her bitter words behind a fan.

“Serves her right.” Another commented, laughing rather loudly afterwards.

Amanda wanted to dig the floor and insert her body inside, just to never return to such a shameful reality.

Was she truly that selfish? Were her desires so far-fetched? Was she truly so evil, she couldn’t have one little thing? The only thing her heart ever yearned for?

As the girl’s mind played tricks on itself, her hands grabbed a piece of the handmade vivid red tailored dress, crumbling it as her knuckles paled from the strength imbued into it. Her teeth found their way onto the plump cherry lips, biting them harshly enough to cause its color to grow far more realistic than it should.

Ophelia and her father simply observed the girl’s emotions sink into despair. The latter finding himself conflicted, still not understanding how his perfect pawn could shift his plans so drastically.

Should he perhaps, intervene? Or should he simply wait and watch everything unfold like he had originally planned?

“You flatter me, My Lord...” Ophelia turned her face, hands resting on her blushed cheeks.

Bradley looked at her, dumbfounded, not being able to understand this sudden change of behavior. She’d never reacted to his approaches like this; she’d never talked to him in such a tender tone, with such stereotypical words used by those who wished to attain his heart.

But no one in this pity party understood the true reasoning behind such display of affection, no one was smart enough to comprehend that they were all inside a theater, each with the perfect part to play. The innocent, naïve girl was but an act that was carefully practiced just to provoke Amanda, forcing her to do something she’d later regret.

The master of illusions can only control the minds of the fools. Ophelia thought to herself, noticing how loss for words her opponent had become.

“Would you be so kind as to take a stroll with me around the garden, My Lady?” Bradley smiled, stretching his hand, foolishly thinking he had finally snatched the maiden’s interest.

Ophelia’s hand slowly rose to meet up with the nobleman’s, yet time stopped for everyone but Amanda. No matter how she saw it, how she saw them, this was love – utter, foolish love. But how could such feeling come to be? She’d worked so hard to be the perfect woman, the perfect wife, the only woman in his eyes – and yet, it was her sister who’d manage to charm him.

It was always Ophelia.

Ophelia this.

Ophelia that.

The poor Ophelia. The pretty Ophelia. The cursed Ophelia.

Just for once, couldn’t it be Amanda? Just Amanda, the way she was, the way she’d always been?

But she knew such reality could never come to be, not while her beloved sister stood in the picture. If only she could disappear…

Amanda’s thoughts led her good reasoning astray, sinking her soul into a abyss of darkness, surrounded by the ghosts locked away in the nightmares that haunted her nights. If only Ophelia hadn’t been conceived – her mother would be alive, the maids would love only her, her father wouldn’t be upset and Bradley, her dear Bradley, would only be hers. How come it wasn’t possible to remove a single girl from her life, from her memory, from the Criswell’s lineage?

The moment their hands touched, her fiancé preparing to escort her own sister through the garden, Amanda’s sanity turned into shards after being pierced by an arrow of madness. All her reasoning embraced despair, burned with rage, fueled by hatred.