#abyssal dealer? abyssal death? addy? idk

[machinthemachine]

I'm entirely delusional, but I am free.

[ambitcxious-a]

* ABBEY LEE KERSHAW, FEMALE + SHE/HER  | you know ADELAIDE MONTSERRAT, right? they’re 27, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, TWO YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to EVE BY KAT CUNNING like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole FAWN-EYED, BOWED LEGS,  EXPENSIVE CHAMPAGNE thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is OCTOBER & 30TH, so they’re a SCORPIO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( lenny, 24, est+2, she/her )

tw: depression, eating / psychological disorders, animal abuse, drugs

ABOUT.

name: adelaide montserrat

nickname: addie

age: 27

pronouns: she/her

occupation: socialite, philanthropist, prodigy ballerina

gender: cis female

sexuality: bisexual

pinterest

The Montserrat established themselves in Barcelona, Spain, over millennia ago,  known as fierce leaders and ruthless business men, quick to make a name for themselves the trading and exporting business,  while the women in the bloodline were promptly pushed aside from books and history, hiding somewhere between a stove and their husband’s fists.  

Adelaide Montserrat was different, that’s what everybody thought - she was graceful, even as a child, she didn’t cry, even as a toddler, and she never ached for her mother’s arms, even as an infant. An early bloomer of exceptional talent, she could dance as soon as she could walk. And yet Adelaide was never one to develop long-lasting or intimate relationships with her peers --- people never seemed to be comfortable sitting with her for long.  Maybe it was because there was never a girl there to begin with, and intimacy betrayed the act:  there was no child,  only a pale, wide-eyed zombie, always hungry,  always empty. 

If you dared to pry beyond the red curtains, you’d not find the delicate creature strangers saw twirling on the stage, but the bottomless edge of an abyss, waiting to swallow you whole as it looked back with smiling teeth. Little Addie, once a girl with pink tutus and ballerina shoes, was never one to be meddled with - while she could easily captivate the hearts of her peers and teachers with red cheeks and a clever tongue, there was nothing warm or kind about the little girl whose parents held so close she nearly choked to death.

Adelaide was the product of a one night stand and poor lack of judgement, or so her mother liked to recount. Her father — whomever he was, was a married man with a lot to lose, and her mother might not have known much — but she knew alimony payments would beat whatever he was willing to offer her in order to get rid of Adelaide. So, she kept the baby, and even then --- she was unbearable.  Adelaide kicked, day and night, as soon as her legs could muster, like she couldn’t stand to be trapped in the womb a moment longer.

They were living largely, manors and pools and cocktails, while Addie grew up receiving the best education money could buy, alternating between hunting and horseback riding on weekends, and training classical instruments such as the cello and piano in her spare time. Being praised for her dedication and skill, for some time, she indulged the idea of becoming a professional pianist, if only to please her parents, but the idea was soon took a backseat in her mind when she discovered just how good she was at ballet.

Adelaide had always been more of a shiny trophy to flaunt at parties rather than daughter or grandchild to dot upon, so by the time she was 13 her family was quite happy to ship her to Paris, if it meant she would enroll in the prestigious Paris Opera Ballet School and make a name for herself. She’d still come home to visit on holidays, that was until her mother moved to New York in order to appease bachelor number three: CEO of Belmont Entertainment Industries (BEI), one of the largest record labels in the U.S, with a side of illegal activities they didn’t really care to discuss at dinner.

It didn’t take long for Addie to make an impression, she was dedicated — hungrier than the other girls, always willing to push a little further, go a little deeper, die a little more. All of the shouting, the groping, the self-hatred, she never broke. Had it been not for her ego and pride, she would’ve been flawless. You’d assume being the young and on the spotlight meant competing for attention - but she never competed. She never even considered it a competition. She won, plain and simple. You see, Adelaide didn’t lose, because she tailored the game to her whims and batted her heavy set of lashes to make it seem fair. And if she did lose - the game be damned; she’d destroy it and any evidence of her failure. She didn’t want to be daughter, or something for men to gawk at, or a pretty glittered thing for little girls to worship. She wanted to be something else. Anything other than this empty shell, dripping with self-loathing , cloaked in a veil of perfectionism. Something that wasn’t rammed into this golden mold before she even took her very first breath.

Fueled by her own insecurities and desire to obtain perfection, paired with the crowd of rich kids that were offered to her as friends growing up, it didn’t take for things to escalate; by the age of only fourteen, drugs, alcohol and kicking each other in the stomach while crouching over the toilet was considered as an act of solidarity. All that deep-rooted self-hatred had to spill someway, somehow, and what are friends for if not offer you relief from the agony of routine?  

It was easier to strap on those old ballerina shoes and put on a show until her toes were bleeding, than to try and show them what was behind the curtains. People don’t want to know what’s behind the curtain — they think they do, until they see it. To live in blissful ignorance is a gift, one she was denied. And all jewelry in the world, all praise, all money and countless designer bags she accumulated over the years could never fill up that gaping hole, that detachment she felt towards the outside world and inability to connect with things and people - even those supposedly closest to her.

With age, Addie learned how to put on a show, be it at home or on a stage; that’s the magic of a ballerina, to empty yourself of that hatred, all that pain, all that ugliness and fill yourself with stories other than your own -  while whatever had been good and soft rots inside you .

And while she made a name for herself, starring role in all the big plays, working with the best and only the best, the tabloids would instiguate: who is Adelaide Montserrat? The reincarnation of the Virgin Mary to some, the dutiful daughter to others, is she a saving angel or a spoiled heir?  She used to laugh, like it was a game - like the answer wasn’t there at all . Maybe what she truly was, was a game of smoking mirrors - a fragmented image, bouncing from broken piece to broken piece, scattered into so many tiny, pretty pieces, that when she looks into a it, the reflection that stares back is unrecognizable.

Adelaide was never their perfect little doll, tied to strings, sitting still waiting to be manuevered . For some time she had watched, prowling quietly in the shadows, observing, learning. She found distraction and excitement in the shadows, drugs, married men, booze, pills - and when those didn’t cut it, she dug a little deeper.

So the child prodigy suddenly moves back to the home, with a ring on her finger and a skeleton on her closet,  all to   shield   from the rising scandal and nonsensical, if you were to ask, accusations of pushing a fellow ballerina down a flight of stairs. Alas, the show must go on, and Adelaide had no plans to stay out of the spotlight for long, or take the fault for somebody else’s imbalance. With some reluctance, she agreed to lay low, but just for how long she’d able to tolerate it, that was anyone’s guess.

Parents often say kids will “grow out of it”; their fits of rage, their apathy towards other children, their unwillingness to share, their manipulative, spoiled ways of obtaining the things they want- but Addie never did. Somewhere inside there’s still that little girl who’d rather break her toys in half than to share it with other kids. Who’d bump into other little girls at school to watch them fall, and tell the nurse they tripped. The little girl who’ll sit in an empty throne, all alone, built with the bones of the people she once claimed to love.

here’s some wc ideas i thought might be cool, but ofc feel free to come brainstorm!!

husband  - it was a marriage of opportunity rather than love, at least for adelaide - a way to deflect attention, however how he feels is completely up to you. she’s manipulative and charming, but can also be extremely cruel if even mildly contradicted

bookclub ( 0/5 ) - just women she hangs out with while trying to fit in and “have ties with the community”. she usually sucks at bonding and sharing, so this could make for some interesting dynamics

lover - adelaide switches it up every couple months, but maybe she has a soft spot for them? maybe they’re also in a relationship? maybe it’s all fucked up and adelaide likes to be nasty, what the fuck else is new

ex - lover - fed up with adelaide? me too. join the club. 

childhood friend - i feel like she might’ve permanently scarred this person for life by ( animal abuse tw ) killing a bird in front of them or something. adelaide was truly a fucking... terror as a child, and i doubt she was a good friend, bc she still isn’t

prodigy that she’s taken under her wings - maybe a young person who loves ballet that she decided to mentor out of the kindness of her heart? *coughs boredom coughs*

drug dealer - probably has a crush on them bc they indulge her bad habits ngl

idk man giv e me   s t u f f  !!!

also romantic connections are open to men and women pls. the only straight she is is a straight up bitch.