sixth: scarlett

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dedicated to itsmezenashaw for the beautiful graphic <3 



A monotonic female voice woke me up the next morning.

I stayed still for a while. My brain hazy. My eyelids fluttered open to the bright light in the exquisitely furnished room. It took me a while to understand the words that the robotic voice chanted.

"Good morning, Rosalie," it spoke in a staccato. "Your lucky number today is nine."

Cursing under my breath, I lifted my head off the pillow and saw a phone ringing on the bedside table. I slid off the soft mattress and gazed at it, rubbing my eyes to clear my vision.

"Ugh sorry. Just turn it off."

Rosalie's annoyed voice called, muffled by the pillow as she buried her face into it. I reached for the phone and saw that it was a notification from an application of some kind. Tiny, strange symbols floated at the top of the screen. Golden letters below it read, 'Your Lucky Number Today is-'

Below that, a bright white number flashed on and off on the black screen. Nine. The spoken words continued from the speakers.

I dragged the alarm towards the little 'x', noticing that it was seven am. I started pulling on my discarded clothes and asked, "You're into numerology?"

She didn't answer right away and I wondered if she had gone back to sleep. I marvelled for a few moments at the way the gentle gold of the sun was kissing her bare shoulders and equally golden hair. Making it look as though it was shimmering.

"Yes. I know it's a little odd or superstitious or whatever." She glanced to look at me, her eyes shining. "But I like to squeeze as much optimism out of the universe as I can."

I took a deep breath, "I'm not going to fault you on that."

"By the way," she continued, her voice muffled again as she buried her face in the pillow. "You can help yourself to the kitchen or the bathroom or anything."

"Thanks. Would you like some breakfast?"

She was quiet before answering softly, "I don't think I'll be waking up anytime soon."

I smirked. "Alright."

I made my way to the flamboyant washroom and had to wolf whistle softly. It seemed to be as big as my apartment. A huge bathtub had been carved into the floor with a massive number of settings on a panel in the tiles behind. There was also a huge bath enclosure, which made no sense to me. A full-length mirror and a big shelf which held what looked like every item Atkinson Association had ever come up with.

I walked over to the large sink and washed my face. I did a double-take when I saw the dark red marks on my neck. Rosalie Atkinson seemed to have something in common with a vacuum cleaner.

I walked back out and saw that she had fallen asleep. Now that I gazed around the room, it was slowly getting to me exactly how rich she was. There were large, floor-length windows on the opposite side of the room. Golden sunlight cascaded onto the floor, mesmerizing me with its simple beauty. A tiger hide carpet (faux, I hoped) decorated the floor in front of the luxurious couch set. It was a sophisticated white. Classic Rosalie Atkinson.

A home theatre size television was fixed on the wall in front of it. There was a huge door on one of the walls which I presumed led to the closet. There were a few busts of people whom I recognized as famous fashion moguls. The only thing I couldn't understand was why someone would want headless sculptures staring at them while they slept. Each to their own I supposed.

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