THE ARISTOCRATS #1

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The time Clementine Fernsby made four new friends.

CLEMENTINE FERNSBY stirred the tea in the porcelain tea cup, revelling in the smell of jasmine wafting from the hot liquid. The heavy silver spoon clinked daintily against the rim, and she winced at the excessively loud noise in the otherwise silent room.

3 clockwise stirs and one anti-clockwise, no sugar.

Sugar reduced the benefits of tea, according to her mother.

Holding it carefully with one hand, the other holding a saucer to balance the tea, she walked through the empty hallway with heeled, leather loafers. It was a part of the uniform, to wear black leather shoes. Heels were strictly forbidden, but with her mother being the principal, Clementine found that she could bend the rules and flaunt a modest two inch sole.

Her golden hair cascaded onto her shoulders, lit up by the warm sunlight streaming through the ceiling windows. Of course, she was no heathen, so she had opted to tie the upper half back with a white ribbon, woven with the finest of silk.

Her school was ancient, and Clementine liked to imagine that it was once a castle. It sure looked like it. Heavily resembling a cathedral, the school housed the wealthy children of London's elite, where the descendants of the Rothschilds family and the nouveau riche would come to form connections and lay their eggs in the baskets of the filthy rich.

Clementine's pale knuckle rapped on the mahogany door to her mothers office, patiently waiting for an invitation.

"You may enter." A soft and smooth accent, the words pronounced and clipped.

She turned the cold handle and walked in, her back ramrod straight and her elbows tucked in. Mrs. Fernsby sat at her desk, scrawling in cursive on a yellow piece of paper.

The office was beautiful, a time capsule locked away from the rest of the world. It was timeless, the walls covered with shelves overflowing with books, weeping candles scattered throughout the room, and various odd trinkets peeping out from objects. If she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, she could smell the fluttering of book pages.

"Hello mother." Clementine greeted, her voice melodic and lilting, like the song of the nightingale. "I've brought your tea."

Her mother looked up, her piercing blue eyes like lasers on Clementine's skin. Her blonde hair was scraped up into a tight bun, her mouth painted crimson. She was beautiful and striking at the same time, like lightning above a field of sunflowers. Everything about her was sharp, her tailored white suit, her protruding cheekbones and her thin eyebrows.

Sometimes Clementine was unsure of whether they were related or not. Her mother was sharp and pointy, and she was all smooth curves. The undefined line of where her jaw met her neck, the fullness of her cheeks, the softness of her hips. It was a constant pain in her mother's side.

Her mother analysed her with a cocked eyebrow. Such heavy judgement in so few words.

"You haven't been using the moisturiser I have you." Not a question. A statement.

Clementine flushed a rosy pink, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. They were slick with perspiration.

"No mother." She replied quietly. "I forgot to put it on this morning."

"I can tell. I can practically see the cracks of your dry skin from here." Her eyes narrowed like a snake about to strike its prey. "Off you go, don't let me catch you dallying around. You're a school captain, I should see you acting like one. Remember that you not only represent this school, you represent me."