crownedchaney-blog

[crownedchaney-blog]

location : the yellow room cafe 

timestamp : august

status : open

She wears a mask. The woman crowned queen wears a mask covered in her own lipstick smile, red war paint. To blend in, to feel as though the streets of Paris were not to betray her with every click her heels made down cobblestone streets. Annabella Chaney had wanted nothing but power, and with an iron fist she’d gained it. Yet, upon rising to the top, she’d known betrayal all too well. Round every corner there was a secret, ‘round every corner there was an enemy. Yet, she’d walked with purpose, slid into her usual seat at the petite cafe that remained around the corner of the Theatre. Papers neatly pressed in front of her, delicate digits tapping pen against stack before gaze catches sight of movement. A mind rattled with chaos, where everyone she’d ever known remained suspect and she’d learned to count accomplices with one hand, Annabella had mastered the art of the facade of a delicately stern businesswoman. She’d circled galas and drank champagne with Paris’ finest only to rule as Hades herself. Brow perks with interest, hues following before she speaks, the once bustling streets no match for sultry tone. “ –––– Sit.” Lips adorned crimson curl into a smile, as warm as the fires she’d lit to the houses of those who’d wronged her.  There was no saying no to Annabella, no dismissing her wishes nor denying her what she’d wanted. If she’d asked you to stand, you stood. If she’d wanted you to die at the mercy of her hounds, you did so with your dignity still in tact. So when vocals ring through the air once more, a sickeningly saccharine disguise melting into the summers air, she cannot help but feel as though she’s already won. “Please, I don’t bite.”

[crownedchaney-blog]

DAAE , christine

Annabella and Madalene have each filled individual spaces in her life where a MOTHER should be. Holes of different sizes and shapes, with neither woman quite fitting any of them perfectly. But they were the only mothers Christine had ever known, and now, seeing Annabella and greeting her with a fondness which suddenly felt akin to riding a bicycle ― something never truly unlearned, never quite FORGOTTEN ― she feels a pang of guilt in her chest at letting the relationship fall to the wayside over the past decade. Annabella had never hurt her, after all. Only her sons, but the actions of two grown men were hardly their mother’s fault.

When she hears the older woman speak her name, Christine smiles weakly, sliding closer to Annabella in the midst of the CHAOS around them. Chocolate hues follow the bustle of the police action, cool night breeze picking up loose pieces of her hair and tossing them across her shoulders and face. Her tongue darts out between her lips, about to comment that Raoul had told her what happened, when Annabella mentions her sons herself. Corners of her lips quirk up into a smile despite herself, and one hand raises to cover her mouth under the guise of brushing her hair away from her face.

“I think it would be a favor to Philippe to stay away,” she begins, avoiding Annabella’s gaze, “But I saw Raoul the night everything happened. He ESCAPED the hospital, I think, and stayed over at my place for that night and all of the next day.” She pauses a moment, swallowing hard, absorbing what she’s just told Raoul’s mother and the woman who’s been like a mother to her for most of her life. Eyes widen at the realization, and she continues, voice picking up in tone and speed this time, trying to change the subject quickly. “But YEAH.” Christine clears her throat. “He told me what happened, it sounded absolutely awful. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.” It sounds slightly disingenuous, but the sentiment really does come from the bottom of her heart.

What is a kingdom without a queen? A myth.  She’d been torn down and rebuilt as many times as the ancient cities that stood before her. A woman of her stature could never truly diminish, could never really parish . They’d sought to make her feel small, to make a mockery of a woman who’d worn a crown decorated by their molten gold figures. Yet, each time, Annabella had come prepared. Each time, she’d retaliated with a swift fist forged from iron itself. Perhaps, she’d once wondered, this was not the world to raise children in. Yet, the days of wondering were long gone. Her sons too deeply involved in the chaos that surrounded them, and she but the orchestrator behind it all. Pulling the strings, she’d become Paris’ very own puppeteer in the process. What did they expect? A girl who knew nothing but bloodstained hands and the stench of a rotted corpse, she was the devil incarnate and she’d make it known –– even if she’d have to paint the town with crimson red before the night was over. 

Something softens, as it always had, when her steady gaze falls upon Christine. Lips of blush pink and cheeks tinted with just enough, anyone would be a fool not to see that the girl beside her was nothing less than an angel. A remembrance of a blissful childhood innocence that Annabella sought to protect, and failed to do so, washes over her. The sweet sting of years gone by does little to dull the pain. “Philippe does little to help his own cause ,  that I’ve always been certain of.” A pause, cherry red lips press together as arms fold against her chest. “You children have known one another far too long, and it’s now more than ever that you’ll find comfort in that.” She’d be damned if she didn’t get a strong hold around Christine, however manipulative she sought out to be. She needed them, as she’d prove to them that they needed her. Survival was a tough feat, and with the events passed, it would prove to be an impossible one as well. Nodding in passive agreement, the woman cannot help but feign at hiding her emotions. Furrowed brows contort her features as she listens to the whereabouts of Raoul. “My son would be lucky to have you looking out for him, and you the same.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Bitterness seeps into her words as gaze narrows. Had she dealt with worse? The rise and fall of a kingdom, the death of the patriarch, the abandonment of the only person who’d loved her. Love. A problematic word, a childish notion. “You must remember, men who attempt to take out women in power, are nothing but cowardly skeletons of who they think they’d ought to be.” It’s her own musings now that echo throughout the dimmed evening. “Do you believe yourself to be intimidating, Christine?” 

[crownedchaney-blog]

‘ you have the control and… they like you. ’

tumultuous as ever , they would call her a queen and a rising star. annabella had, in retrospect, cared for christine, as if she herself had been flesh and blood. perhaps it was foolish of her. perhaps it was because whenever the woman’s gaze managed to hit that of the young starlet, she’d found herself seeing everything she’d wished she could’ve been once upon a time. it had been a proven fact, that annabella was hardly ever foolish. christine’s voice breaks the brevity of silence that had seemingly swept over them, if only to cause the slightest of smiles to grace her lips. cherry red, tonight they’d been painted like warpaint, much like many nights before. yet, there was something different within the streets of paris tonight, as if a darkness looming over slimed streets and effervescent residents. you have control. it resonates with her well, the thought of having paris’ underground rested gently against the palm of her hand. “ ––– they respect me.” her response comes quick, gaze scanning across the crowd. “ there’s a difference, christine. “ name escapes her with a delicate nature. for as rigid as she may be, annabella could hardly bring herself to scorn the girl in front of her. a beautiful example of tragedy, a woman who wore a facade and wore it well. a gentle hand reaches forward, running a smooth digit across her forehead as she places loosened strands behind the girls ear. a gesture, savoured if anything, for her two children. “ so, tell me mon amour, which is it for you ? “ 

[crownedchaney-blog]

(   *   &.   –   SHARP  OBJECTS  SENTENCE  STARTERS .

‘  all of history was written by men, so… of course they’re gonna make themselves look good.  ’

‘  as i recall, you couldn’t even get it up.  ’

‘  bless your heart. bless your heart very much.  ’

‘  can i sleep over with you?  ’

‘  does it ever get better, with your family?  ’

‘  fine, you can sleep in my bed, come on. you can sleep with me.  ’

‘  hardly matters. you’re ruined. all out of spite.  ’

‘  i believe she’s outstayed her welcome.  ’

‘  i don’t mean to sound cruel, but i don’t think part of your heart can ever work if you don’t have kids.  ’

‘  i forget sometimes how parents aren’t always good for their kids.  ’

‘  i have to get home for heaven’s sake!  ’

‘  i miss her sometimes, even though i didn’t know her.  ’

‘  i never loved you. i hope that is of some comfort to you.  ’

‘  i think we should just sleep separate tonight then we’ll hang out tomorrow, okay?  ’

‘  i won’t grow up, not me.  ’

‘  if i can, you can.  ’

‘  if somebody says ‘bless your heart’, what they really mean is ‘fuck you’.  ’

‘  it’s hotter than a whore in church today.  ’

‘  i’m a bit tired, i think i should just sleep in my bed tonight.  ’

‘  i’m glad you’re back.  ’

‘  i’m incorrigible too. only she doesn’t know it.  ’

‘  i’m just a little frustrated ‘cause the girl i’m seeing won’t call me back.  ’

‘  i’m not decent. no, i’m not.  ’

‘  i’m trash, from old money.  ’

‘  i’ve just never been very good at the adult thing, i guess.  ’

‘  just forget about it, alright? i have.  ’

‘  let’s dig deep here… favorite color, favorite ice cream, favorite season? think you can handle it?  ’

‘  life is pressure. grow up.  ’

‘  my demons are not remotely tackled. they’re just mildly concussed.  ’

‘  nothing’s ever your fault, is it?  ’

‘  please stay.  ’

‘  please stay. if i can, you can.  ’

‘  she’s delicate. a rare rose. but not without thorns.  ’

‘  so, uh, are you guys dating now?  ’

‘  that day has haunted me.  ’

‘  well, i’m an unconventional girl, that’s what you like about me.  ’

‘  well, looks like we both got fucked.  ’

‘  we’re alike. i knew we would be.  ’

‘  what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger… unless it kills you.  ’

‘  what if, after you die, part of you goes to heaven, part of you stays here, just to see how things turn out?  ’

‘  whenever i’m here, i just– i feel like a bad person.  ’

‘  you could take advantage of me maybe, when i’m drunk.  ’

‘  you gonna hit me? be dangerous.  ’

‘  you have the control and… they like you.  ’

‘  you turned out so wonderful, smart, beautiful, successful, and brave.  ’

‘  you were born with it, that cold nature.  ’

‘  your friend sounds like an after school special.  ’

‘  you’re a sick fuck.  ’

‘  you’re like my sister.  ’

‘  you’re like my soulmate.  ’

[crownedchaney-blog]

ELLE, 2014