e l i t e s / T. Shelby / The Brat Pack

✧ d a r k n e s s ✧

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1913

Irene had never felt more suffocated in all her life. The fourteen-year-old has to get out of here, she thought, away from all these people, trying to make it to the top by kissing her arse. People on his father's ever so growing web of connection. Ranging from every aristocrat level, her father does not befriend people who will not give him something in return.

From dukes to earls, knights to senior members of the royal family, it is well known that her family and the royal household still has very close blood relation.

Today, her father, the Duke of Westminster, had thrown one of his closest colleagues' son's birthday bash. Irene felt like scoffing in her head, just hearing the absurdity of it. She does not mind the idea of lavish parties, hell, she craved for those, and she wasn't unfamiliar with the concept of spoiling someone close to you.

But that particular person who her dad was throwing the birthday party for was Oswald Mosley. He's the son of Lord Edmund Mosley, and today marks his 17th year of living in this world. Irene had never particularly liked that boy much, have always had a sense of suspicion toward the boy. She would ever feel his presence behind her, lurking in the shadows.

Bidding her sisters and friends goodbye is going to be hard, so she didn't. Irene's slender figure slips through the crowd easily, like a slippery snake with her ballerina legs carrying her so swiftly. Her hand, in the process, would gingerly search through every pocket to look for a pack of cigarettes. People won't notice, of course, judging by their already drunk-tumbling-around state. When Irene managed to find one, her lips turned up to a smirk as she slips away into the darkness.

Isabelle's eyes stayed sharp as she was talking to Imogen and some of her and Irene's best friends, Anamarie, Daphne, and Tabitha when she noticed out of the corner of her eye a figure she knows too well. Irene. That stubborn sister of hers is trying to run away; Isabelle rolled her eyes. Twirling the pearl necklace about her fingers, when she saw another figure following her sister.

A man's figure that she knows too well only because he's the guest of honour. Oswald Mosley is following her sister into the dark corridor.

The Grosvenor siblings know better than to trust that mink; he and the aura he carries around screams eerie to her. Something is not right; she could feel things like this. In her opinion, the Grosvenors have one of the strongest sibling bonds in all of Great Britain (even though the idea might seem a little too far fetched).

And now, she would make sure that her sister is alright, just like what her siblings would do if she were in any sort of trouble. Like her mama would always say, la familie avant tout , family comes first. Seems like she has no other choice than to follow them. But as soon as she was about to depart, her diamond-accessorised wrist had been pulled by a hand,

"Where do you think you're going?" the youngest of the family, Imogen, asked. Her emerald eyes glinting with suspicion. Isabelle tried to pry her sister's hands away but to no avail. Imogen just grabbed on like a chick would to a mother hen. Imogen is always like this. Doing and asking things at the wrong time and in the wrong place, always seeking extra attention (Isabelle's family is already an attention-bringing household, but it seems like Imogen is the most extra).

Isabelle tried to pry Imogen's hands once more while looking around, "I just want to check something. Run along to mama."

Imogen pulled even harder, "I want to come."

Glaring at her own wrist, Isabelle cried, "Careful now, this is Cartier!"

And that seems to steel the attention of the Grosvenor's closest confidantes. Lady Anamarie, Lady Tabitha, and Lady Daphne. All of them cut from the same circle as the Grosvenors, from essential people with a lot of money. From such a young age, all of them have been meticulously taught in an academy is Switzer-

Right, no time for a story. Isabelle turned her head, face turning red, "No time to explain, just follow me. I feel something douteux is about to happen."

And without further question, the four girls follow Lady Isabelle into the dark.

One of Irene's favourite places to go in the castle is this dark corridor. Well, she prefers it during the day when the sunlight comes through, all the trees would look so lush, and they would create this shadow of dancing trees on the wall. The sunlight clears everything up; you can even see the dust in the air.

But at night, this corridor has little to no light. The only source of light comes from the moon shining from above, looking serene as ever. And probably the scone lightings on the walls.

Irene loves smoking here, where the smoke from the cigarettes will evaporate faster here. She would come here with her siblings and mama to study French while having some tea. They would then chase each other to the garden, where it's filled with only the rarest and most beautiful kinds of flower. Her best of friends would also come, aristocrats only, of course. She can't bear the thought of being friends with anyone outside the aristocrat ring.

"Running away from the party, eh?"

Irene whipped her head; strands of her light brown hair fell from her updo, which was secured with a long hairpin. She immediately hid the cigarette behind her back, trying to salvage any remaining trust the birthday boy had in her. "O-Oswald, I wasn't smoking. I was just-"

"It's quite alright, Irene. I understand, even I like the occasional inhale and exhale." Irene nodded just so she wouldn't come across as rude. Oswald has now moved closer to her, standing side by side, shoulder by shoulder, looking out at the trees in front of them. "Oswald, I would appreciate it if you won't speak to my papa -"

It took her by surprise, a fast blur of movements and colours before her back was against the wall; she didn't even realise her throat made a grunting sound.

Before she registered what happened, Oswald's lips forced themselves onto hers. Forcing her into a kiss, his hand, his dirty hand, travelled its way under her dress. Her first kiss, stolen away by this... imbecile.

Reality came flooding, her hands - that she didn't even realised tightened so hard her nail tore the delicate flesh - loosened.

The events that unfold after that are more blurry; the next thing Irene knew when she opened her eyes, Oswald was half bent over with his hands on his left cheek, her right hand stinging and red.

Then, as if something was clouding his eyes, Oswald turned to Irene. With a look of absolute menace, as if there was a beast inside of him calm, and now the creature came out and clouded any of the remaining Oswald self.

He started to inch closer and closer. In pitch-black darkness like this, Irene couldn't see anything, so when her back hit the wall, she knew she was done. Her whole body, at this point, was trembling as she put her trembling hand in front of her. To make some space between her and the beastly Oswald. "O-Oswald, p-please..."

Then out came this low growl from Oswald, with face red as a tomato and eyes clouded; he said, "I just wanted to say that I love you, Irene..." His hands were brought to her neck; the trembling hand she put in front of her was no use. She clawed on his strangling hands with much strength. She feels like she's not on the ground anymore.

"I really..." Tighter

"Really..." Tighter

"Love you..."

The last thing Irene heard was the sound of commotion and ringing; she heard herself fight for every breath. Coughing, every breath hurts more than the previous. She saw shoes running toward her; as they grew closer, she thought she was saved.

When another sharp pain entered her body, her vision became only shadows; as she took one last breath, she was falling into a no-ending abyss.

Darkness has never been Irene's friend ever since.