New Year, New Me

The street outside Annabelle’s is unusually empty. Maybe it’s because this is the day before New Year’s Eve, or maybe it’s because the cold is seeping through the bones of anyone out tonight. A lonesome figure waits outside the establishment, slightly trembling and rubbing her hands together to warm them up.
 
It is cold. So cold she could barely feel her toes.
 
Despite that, Philomena is not awfully concerned. She keeps glancing at her reflection in the glass display next door. The dress she’s wearing today is deep forest green, with golden embellishments and cute bows lining the sides of the skirt’s ruffles. It’s tailor made, just for her. She straightens it again and again, and then fixes her black fur cape and hat. Taking a step forward, she examines her face closely, trying to spot any imperfections. Today, she felt extra daring and wore dark red lipstick much to her mother’s disapproval.
 
That color is for filles de joie ma cherie, proper ladies prefer neutral tones.
 
Whatever, she didn’t care. In fact, lately, nothing her mother said could annoy her or make her unhappy. She considered herself to be the luckiest woman in the world. After all, it was the day before New Year’s Eve and she was about to see Lancelot.
 
But where is he?
 
They often met outside Annabelle’s. It was their opportunity to sneak out and fool around with each other. The excitement of their trysts made them both feel alive. Of course, they were betrothed, but meeting in private was disallowed until they were properly married. Something about being improper, but Priscilla didn’t care.
 
“It’s alright…We’ll be living together soon. An engaged couple should be allowed to have some private time.” He laughed and kissed her softly on the lips. She loved his laugh.
 
The memory made her giddy, and even more impatient. These days, her life felt like a constant countdown before the wedding. Three months and ten days left, she thought to herself. Gosh, he was late and he never misses their meetings. She started pacing back and forth, a feeble attempt to warm herself. The cold was starting to become unbearable and her dress, while pretty, did little to help combat it.
 
She turned around. A bright orange light was illuminating the windows of Annabelle’s. Shadowy figures were moving back and forth as the gentle hum of music escaped from the creaks. The club was especially lively before New Year’s Eve. She felt drawn to the cozy inviting atmosphere inside. Plus, she had been waiting for more than twenty minutes outside. Her brother, who arrived with her and went straight inside, was probably worried by now.
 
I’ll just wait for him inside. He probably had an emergency.
 
As the man in the entrance opened the door for her, a wave of warmth hit her body. Soon enough, attendants rushed to take her hat and cape. She took a deep breath.
 
It’s showtime now.
 
She gracefully walked the halls, almost prancing. She could feel the eyes of the patrons on her. This was her moment, in her beautiful dress, young, rich; she was a vision. The center of attention, the beauty of the ball. Particularly pleased with herself, she stopped next to the bar, almost beaming. She was about to order a drink, when she turned her head to check out the crowd of people in the main room.
 
People were still staring at her.
 
I should have bought this dress sooner, she thought.
 
Suddenly, a young man bumped into her. He mumbled a meek sorry, but he giggled while saying it. Almost…condescendingly. Like she was the butt of a joke she wasn’t aware of. As if he bumped on her on purpose.
 
On purpose?
 
She paid closer attention to her surroundings. The eyes of the guests were still on her. They were also pointing. And whispering. Why?
 
It felt like a cold bucket of water was dropped on her head. Did she make a mistake? Was the dress too much? Was her mother right about her lipstick? She scanned the room in a panic, looking for her brother, or any face that was familiar really.
 
On the opposite side of the room, near a soft red sofa, she spotted Morgana, surrounded by three noble girls who were laughing audibly. Finally…finally someone she could talk to. She took one step, then a second. She smiled at her with relief as she approached. Morgana noticed her. And as she did, her face morphed into a deep set frown.
 
She knew that face.
 
They must have been eight years old. Philomena was crying, almost wailing, as she held the emaciated kitten. The servants were trying hard to calm her down and grab the poor dead thing from her hands. Her mother would kill them if they knew she was cradling the corpse of an animal. Morgana stood on the sidelines, watching her. She wore the same expression back then as she did now.
 
It was pity.
 
Philomena froze in place. Before she could register this, a hand grabbed her by the arm and started dragging her away. It was her brother, Theophilus. In haste, he found a small private corner. He looked around, making sure that they were alone.
 
“Ouch…Theo, what the hell? What is going on?!” She said, while massaging her arm that he let go. She had never seen him look so frantic before.
 
“How long?” He asked, his expression grim.
 
“How long, what?!”
 
“Don’t play dumb with me. How long have you been sleeping with him?”
 
She felt her heart drop to a bottomless well. Oh no.
 
“I…that’s preposterous…I would never-”
 
He shushed her.
 
“Everyone here is talking about it. For god’s sake Philo, I almost broke a guy's nose earlier for saying it to my face. Have you any idea what you’ve done?” He grabbed her by the shoulders.
 
“You should have waited…you should have at least told me. Why didn’t you?!” He was shaking her now.
 
Tears welled up in her eyes, as the gravity of her situation dawned on her.
 
“Theo, they’re just stupid rumours…Please…I...”
 
“The engagement is ruined, Philo. Our fortune is ruined. Father…he-”
 
What?
 
He sighed deeply. “...Nevermind that. You need to get out of here. I’ve already called a carriage.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Don’t talk to anyone for the next few days. Just…stay home. Until this blows over.”
 
“Wh..What about you?” Tears running down her cheeks.
 
“I’ll join you later. Just.go.” He started walking towards the entrance, ushering her along.
 
“Theo, Lancelot won’t stand for this. He will correct these rumours. He’ll make things right, I know he will.” She uttered, between fits of sniffles and tears.
 
His deeply disturbed expression didn’t change, despite her reassurances. He got her on the carriage and couldn’t even muster a goodbye.
 
The ride home was quiet. Somehow, the cold now was even more difficult to endure than when she was outside earlier.
 
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Her cheek felt raw and it tingled. Her mother was shouting so much, that drops of spit were flying everywhere. Mother’s hand was still raised, threatening to hit her one more time. Next to them, Theo was practically inches away from his father’s face as they both screamed at each other. They looked like they were ready to exchange blows.
 
She couldn’t really make out what anyone was saying anymore, between the pandemonium and chaos. It was as if her brain shut down and was unable to process any more information. The gist of it was that they were indeed broke. The whole future of her family hinged on her engagement. Of course she didn’t know; nobody told her.
 
Lancelot will make things right. He will.
 
In her heart of hearts, that’s what she believed.
 
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Salutations Lord Featherstone,
 
It is with utmost displeasure that I must announce to you our decision to break the betrothal between Philomena and Lancelot. Unfortunately, the unsavoury rumours surrounding your daughter makes her a bad match for our son and heir. A shame so many years were invested in their engagement, but we can not have a reputation like that attached to our family.
 
As you understand, that also means that any talks about our future entrepreneurial relationship are moot. We shall go our separate ways from now on.
 
Signed,
Longhurst Family
 
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
The letter came a week later. Lancelot was re-engaged in three months and married in six.
 
Philomena didn’t take long to find out who was behind the rumours. There was only one other person who knew she had extramarital relationships and that was her childhood friend, Morgana. She spent days trying to reach her, to ask her the question that was keeping her awake every night. Why?
 
Morgana never accepted a meeting with her. Sadness turned to grief turned to anger. Eventually, they simply never spoke again.
 
Her brother joined the university to become a doctor, while her father decided to drink himself to death. Her mother temporarily took up the mantle of the family head and taught Philomena the true womanly ways, for an undesirable like her only had one path forward. She changed her name to Priscilla, in an effort to reinvent her image.
 
After her training ended, her mother gave her a present. In a golden box, engraved with her initials, lied a dark red lipstick.