𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗺 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘆

CHAPTER 1 : The Invite

LOWER YOUR HEAD. Never meet their eyes. Walk with grace. Don't make your footsteps heavy. Speak softly. Speak only with their permission. Never try to blend in. Listen only to your heart.

Those were the rules Helena Bree Hawthorne's parents established in the Hawthorne household before she could even speak, or walk. She grew up memorising these words in her head, repeating them over and over again until her body couldn't do anything but to listen and follow. Protesting was out of the question, and rebellion would result into something heavier than her father's harsh scolding.

All her life, she had never made a decision of her own. Her childhood was fairly well, but a memory of her doing whatever she wanted to do as a child does not exist. She was guarded by her parents, their hawk-like eyes glued to her every movement. When she was young, she thought it was suffocating and it irritated her to bits.

But when she discovered London, she finally understood why. The rules, the strictness, and the limitations-they all did it to protect her.

Picking up her hairbrush laying on top of her mahogany desk, Helena eyed her reflection in the mirror, showing signs of her newly awakened figure: the drowsy, golden eyes, the frizz in her hair sticking out, and the blank expression on her face. She lifted up the hairbrush and began styling her brown hair into her usual low bun.

The sun had just risen, but the city was already loud and voices of all ranges can be heard from her open window. At first, she was greatly bothered by it, but spending years in the wretched streets helped her ears get used to it.

When they moved out of Manchester to reside in London for a better opportunity of sustaining the Hawthorne family clinic business, their situation became even more unbearable. Counts and marquesses would offer them looks of disdain, or not look their way at all. The higher ups would refuse to talk with her father or take him as their doctor. She felt as if her family's social rank got lower and became heavily frowned upon on.

And by the time she turned sixteen, Helena learned that the people of London will only accept you in their eyes if your pockets are loaded with grand, if you're an aristocrat, or if you're somewhat connected with the government.

Thus, the rules were even more repeated by her parents. It didn't help that her ever so demanding grandmother also added her own requests to the mix.

Ripening into a young lady in the bustling streets of England's capital shaped her into what she is today. No longer was she the optimistic, curious little girl back when she was in Manchester. Her innocence and every bit of her dreams were taken away from her in such an unexpected manner, that she didn't even got the chance to react anymore.

Tightening the emerald green, silk ribbon she used to tie her hair, Helena proceeded to wear a crisp and ironed cotton white blouse with bell sleeves, and attached a green ribbon brooch pin that was previously owned by her mother between the collar of the blouse, its shade similar to her hair tie. She slipped on her pleated skirt that reached her ankles, some white gloves to cover her hands, and then wore her black boots for shoes.

Looking back at the mirror, she remembered her grandmother's words: she was indeed plain and simple looking, to the point that no man would desire to take her hand in marriage. Not that she wanted to marry. It was never in her plans to settle down and bear children of her own.

Instead, it was her older sister's responsibility-Annelise Kate Hawthorne was the perfect woman to become a mother. She's graceful, kinder, gentle and much more beautiful.

Clenching her fists, she shook off her final thoughts before grabbing her round, black rimmed glasses and her teal shawl, exiting her bedroom and walking towards her sister's. Since the house was quiet, she guessed that her family was still asleep on their beds.