Blonde

Totally Screwed

Blonde.

Her hair flowed like a river of gold, curls catching in the sunlight like an auburn flame. It was so mesmerizingly, unmistakably, unfathomably blonde. Flying in all directions, patterned by the emerald shimmer of her eyes and the decorating splatter of crimson red - blood. There was no doubt left in her mind. Miranda stared at the monitor screen, holding her breath in weighted anticipation.

"I cannot believe this," was all she could muster.

"Neither could I when I 1st saw the video, Madame." Her butler, Betram, straightened his posture as the video finished playing, becoming upright. "But there is no mistaking that hair or those eyes. Their colour is of a type possessed by the purest of Vermillions."

Miranda was in silence, staring at the lush green expanse that lay below her balcony. Her hands gripped white on the marble balcony bannister, blond locks spilling with effortless grace down her shoulders.

"What is her name?" she asked.

"Evelyn, Madame. Evelyn Nicole Grace." Bertram proclaimed.

She waited a moment. Waited another.

"She is our only hope. We need to know everything we can about her. And perhaps most importantly, we need to get in contact with her mother." The last word came out as barely a whisper, a note of grave intensity that blended into the drawl of the warm eastern winds and the buzz of birds through the ocean-blue sky.

"You haven't spoken to your daughter in years, Your Grace" Bertram's use of her formal title filled Miranda with a sense of dread. "Is that really a wise idea?"

"She gave up her title a long time ago, Bertram. Her duty to Octavia, her lineage, her blood. And for that I cannot forgive her. But this video is testament that she is leading Evelyn, leading my granddaughter down a path of rebellion and away from her destiny. And that is something that I can never allow to happen again. Leave us."

Bertram bowed, and his presence suddenly disappeared. Miranda sighed, letting the burning sensation in her eyes take over. Tears ran, free and plenty, running from her evergreen eyes and spilling down her cheeks. She gazed at the setting sun, a melted hue of fading oranges, yellow and reds that sunk slowly into the evening.

Her granddaughter was alive. Her daughter was alive. There was hope.

"Thank you." she whispered, hoping something in the sky could hear her.

She was screwed. Totally, absolutely, utterly, unfathomably, unimaginably screwed. The scene replayed over and over in Evelyn's mind as she walked up to the front porch. The house was drowned in darkness, signalling to her that everyone was asleep.

Thank God, she thought, getting low and sticking to the house's perimeter, careful not to be visible from the window. She heard a twig crack underneath her foot, and a bird cawked, surprised, from a tree. Its shriek brought her mind back to 2 hours ago -

-- the smell of grime and blood, the yell of a man in pain, the satisfaction of complete dominance, the carnal pleasure of letting go of her inhibitions -

and just as quickly she was back to reality, below her bedroom window. It ran parallel to a water pipe that she'd been climbing up & down from ever since she was 10. She hoisted up its length and stepped onto her window ledge. Her window had locked her out more times than she can count, so an old shoe was left underneath the sill to hold it in place. 2 seconds later, she was in. She held her breath.