Outliers

The girl I see facing me in the mirror… I can’t understand. My reflection is unrecognizable. I stare at myself forever. My lips are scarlet and moist, and my nails are polished red too. My hair is buckled in spiraling curls and pinned up. My shoulders are cold and pale. My lids are lined with silver vivacities. My cheeks bones are plum and my jaw is highlighted. I don’t look the same. I nearly resemble the women downstairs in the foyer and in the ballroom. The close-fitting gown on my body shimmers with glory. I turn and notice the maids waiting for me. I want to laugh and ask them to reveal if this is some kind of twisted prank, a joke. But I’m speechless. The maids that used to beat me up are not here. But I still feel animosity, like their going to do something awful to me.
They don’t. They just stand there, waiting. They don’t tell me anything more than I have to find myself downstairs as soon as possible. The heels I’m in are ruthless. I finally move to lift the gown so that I can walk. The maids dart to help me. I say I’m fine and they all take a unison step back. I walk through the hall and reach the staircase to the grand foyer, full of gorgeous people talking gorgeously and sipping drinks. I seem to be standing in place for too long, because I start hearing hushes and whispers and feeling stares. My eyes swiftly search for the source of my aversion. Prance walks by in the center of the crown to the foot of the steps, just as this morning. Though this time, his hand is stretched out to me. He’s in a cashmere tuxedo, wearing a winged collar with lace detail and a black bowtie. I’m shaking like a cursed leaf. What is he doing? Why is he doing this? In front of all of these perfects… He has a reason. I can’t read his face, but I know he does. I try to suppress my frown. My legs take me down to his side. My free hand, hesitating, falls into his. It’s warm, soft, and gentle. His gaze never breaks away. He faintly smiles in a way that makes me wonder. He leads me.
“What are you doing?” I whisper to him.
“I made you come to dance with me,” he whispers in my ear.
We enter the ballroom, where the classic instruments are strumming lively and couples dance like stars. I’ve never danced before. I’ve never been anywhere close to this.
“But why?” I ask.
“Truthfully,” he answers, “I rather dance with you than with any of these pretentious people.”
He holds my waist and lift out hands up. I just want to rip away and dissolve out the windows.
I give a grimace, “You should then dance with a dead raccoon instead.”
He grins, suddenly. I’m uncertain how to feel.
“That was my second choice. But a dead raccoon is slightly more difficult to showcase,” he says with a smirk.
I watch his Adam’s apple move. Standing so close to him, I can’t help but notice his jawline… the way his nostrils flare while we spin. The way his mouth twitches every time is step on his feet. His thick brow lowers, as his opal eyes lower to look at me. His skin is frost and smooth. A few hair strands sweep down his forehead, when he lowers his head. My sweaty palm keeps slipping from his shoulder.
“You fired all the other maids…” I say, “Why haven’t you fired me?”
He sighs, “I said I wanted to dance, not talk.”
“All this… doesn’t explain how—” I try to start.
“Shh,” he shushes me.
I continue, “I’m suddenly being called a Lady around here…”
He then looks at me, letting me know that his smirk has never left his face.
“Is that not satisfactory enough for you?” he adds question to his expression.
“For me? What are you talking about?”
“If you keep complaining, I might go give it to that dead raccoon,” he says.
“Please,” I sink my head, not being able to look into his excavating eyes. “Just let me go back to where I came from. I don’t belong here.”
We spin amongst the other spinning pairs.
“I,” he says, biting his lip, “Can’t do that… just yet.”
Then, the music ends and the butler rings a short bell saying dinner is served. Finally, Prance lets go of me. I feel like I can breathe again. I choose not to follow him into the dining hall. I go the other way, trotting through the density of the crowd. Prance doesn’t stop me. I secretly thank him for it.

I itch my way out of the luxurious dress. My whole body itches. My nails dig in my skin, scratching the surface turning it red. I bite down on the insides of my cheeks, trying to shake off the feeling. All over, my skin burns and I can’t sooth it. There’s a sudden knock on the bedroom door. I tense up and feel aggressive.
“My lady? We’ve prepared your bath,” a young maids voice tunes.
I sigh heavily and relax again. I approach the door and open it. I glare at the girl.
“For the last time, I’m not your lady,” I exhale.
She takes a few blinks, “Would you rather I call you something else, my lady.”
“N-no, don’t call me anything,” I say, very confused. “I’m not the lady of this house. I’m just a maid.”
“You used to be… a maid, my lady?” she asks, more confused than me.
I groan, “I’m still a maid now—Forget it. Just—I’m not the lady of this house.”
“But the Young Prince says that you are,” she states.
Why on Earth would he say that? Why me? He even hates me for being an Outlier. Is he trying to torture me? I frown at the thought.
“Who told you to run me a bath? I ask.
“Well the Young Prince, of course, my… lady. Would you like me to call your chambermaid?”
“No, it’s fine,” I say. I pause and look back to the innocent maid. “Can you call the, um, prince, please?”
“Yes, my lady,” she quickly bows and goes.
I close the door slowly, listening to the click. My hand stays still on the knob. I stare at my wristlet. I begin to remember who my enemy is. I can’t afford to live this life, to played around with like a little toy by the Cygnus. While the people back home are starving and dying, I’m here dancing in lavishness, arguing with maids. My initial anger rises again in my system. They almost had me. I can’t stay here. Living in the city seemed like a blessing, but its slow and agonizing torture… But I can’t deny that for a split second, for a fleeting moment, for a quick spark… I liked the feeling. I know deep down I can’t deny it.
The door knocks again. The maid emerges.
“The Young Prince says he can’t come, but requests that you take your bath and sleep in your chambers.”
I scoff and shake my head.
“That prince is something else,” I murmur.
I’m forced to obey the maids and take a bath. The steaming water washes away my dismay. Rose petal float around my chest and candles compliment the spotlights on the tiles. Once I finish, the maids blow-dry my hair, massage my face, and redo my nails. Any time I protest to be pampered, they haul my down against my will, stressing that I must. I receive too many compliments. They don’t know that I’m an Outlier. They believe my imperfections are a new style set, saying things like my irises have such a metallic hue and wonder who I had them done. Also, that pale speckled skin is coming back into fashion.

I finally manage to escape the maids after they finish their duties. I’m in a silky satin nightgown that sweeps the floor, leaving little to the imagination. I walk over to the main floor and all the guests have left and the night is over. But in the basement’s game room, there are still a circle of smoking gentlemen gambling with cards and chips and money. I watch Prance flip some cards on the table. They exchange words and hoarse chuckles. I dive into the room, heading for Prance. I don’t understand what it is he wants with me or why he’s keeping me here when he clearly hates my existence. But I need to find out.
He catches me coming his way and lays his cards on the table, ending the game. The men around puff their electric cigars.
“You’re still up?” he asks, tired himself.
“Why are you suddenly treating me this way?” I ask, lowering my voice.
He cocks a brow up, “You should go to bed. I’m entertaining.”
He takes a shot of alcohol and licks his lips. He ignores me and continues shuffling cards.
“Is this your girl, Young Prince?” one chuckles, looking me over.
Prance stretches a smile, “A beauty, isn’t she?”
They speak of me as though I’m a car or something.
Another yellowed hair gentleman, drunken, gets up to his feet.
“I’m going to go get some more whiskey,” he slobbers away.
I address back to Prance, “Can things just go back to normal?”
He gives me a look that translates to ‘get lost’. I grimace right back.
I turn to Prance’s opponent and reveal, “He has two kings and two aces.”
Prance swears at me and the opponent bursts into drunken laughter, setting his cards to win. I turn away and walk out the game room. I head to the bedroom hall.
Suddenly, I’m dragged out of my tracks. I see the yellow haired gentleman pinning my arms to the wall. Instantly, I knee him and miss. I scream out, trying to escape his solid grasp. He laughs and strangles my throat with one hand and tears his way under my robe with the other. I hear him say things in my ear.
“I never liked the prince, you see,” he laughs wickedly, “But he always manage to take my money. So-o, don’t take this personal.”
My lungs cry and I can no longer breathe. I claw at his face. I start seeing black spots. I choke and the black spots grow bigger. He feels me up and can’t move. My chest is stuck and my head spins. My fingertips have a prickling sensation. I hear yelling and a loud thudding sound near me. My neck, paining, falls free and my body drops to the ground. I blackout before I can breathe again.