юююююююююююююююююююююю Perfection. If there was one thing Kristelle Merrick couldn't have, it was that. There was always that one flaw, that one last flyaway, that one thread. Sometimes the flaw was internal, too. A nagging feeling that something was missing in her life. Like part of her was gone, leaving a large gaping hole in her side. But Kristelle covered up that sensation with shallow thoughts, just like she obscured her natural cocoa hair with a platinum blonde dye that shone in any light. Kristelle stared at the polished mirror into her azure blue eyes, sparkling like diamonds. She applied another coat to her exquisite ruby lips, parting them in a dazzling smile, then blinking her thick lashes. "Yes, I think I am ready," she murmured, patting her elegant bun one last time. Paris and Charles Merrick looked up to see their daughter daintily descending down the marble staircase, its railing adorned with tasteful jewels. "Mother, father, I'm ready," Kristelle's silky voice flowed out like a delicate river. "Tell the slaves to wash up before they go in my bedchamber. I don't want that scum near my jewelry!" Her auburn-haired adoptive parents, each as stunning as the stars themselves, gracefully rose from the massive leather couch and glided across the enormous room. "Yes, it's okay, my darling," they chorused, evidently having much practice calming their daughter's complaints. "Now, remember to avoid the peasants, my dear." Paris placed her gloved hand on top of Kristelle's tanned one. "They're filthy!" The three clambered into the sleek limo through the door the chauffeur had opened for them. Soon, they were headed into the bustling streets of London. юююююююююююююююююююююю Char's turn!
юююююююююююююююююююююю Freedom. Slosh...slosh...the only thing that ran through Brooke's mind was the continuos sound of the mop on the cold, hard floor. There would never be an escape for Brooke Tafie, a slave for her whole life so far...and to come. There was nothing to live for except for cleaning and to make the lives of the merricks easier, as if they were already easy enough. Especially they're only daughter, Krystelle, the adopted snob. All she had to do was shop! No chores, schoolwork, nothing!!! Just being fake. Wearing pounds of makeup...straightening her naturally curly hair...and much more no one could even know about!! As soon as Brooke's "master" Krystelle walked out the door, Brooke dashed into Krystelle's room. While Krystelle was on a shopping spree, Brooke was on a cleaning spree. Between dusting, sweeping, and mopping, it was never enough, so she had to work at the speed of light and clean again, again, and again. As Brooke had to run around the room, she accidentally hit one of Krystelle's many designer bags. Thousands of dollars worth of makeup spilled out. Crap...Brooke's heart stopped. Many eye shadows cracked, lip sticks ruined, eyeliners split into two, mascaras spilt, what could she do!? And worst of all, Krystelle's precious platinum blonde hair dye -? Who would've known she died her hair...- was spilled all over the floor and carpet! The only thing she had to do was clean the most she's ever done, and she was intent on doing that...until the door clicked open. "MOM! I'm just getting my bag! I forgot it! What is wrong with you!? Ugh I don't even care! Just shut up!!!" Krystelle slammed the door. Brooke stared up at Krystelle and tried not to laugh at her horrified face. But what was about to happen may be the scariest moment of Brooke's life. юююююююююююююююююююююю Sammi your turn!!!!
Ohmyword. I swear, when I saw the title, Mulan started playing in my head. It's amazing! As per usual.
юююююююююююююююююююююю Kristelle flounced up the stairs to her room-the size of one floor of a normal sized house-and turned the knob. Her happiness vanished instantly when she opened the door. One of the slaves was standing in the enormous room, surrounded by a pile of her stuff. Kristelle stared, appalled at the slave, as the contents of her hair dye trickled out. Then she collapsed to the ground and started sobbing. "It's not fair!" She wailed. "Why does life hate me? Why are all the slaves clumsy and ugly?" The girl stood in shock, staring at her. "Clean it up." Kristelle's voice became like ice, cold and hard. Her eyes narrowed. "CLEAN IT UP!" She screeched. "NOW, YOU *****!" The brunette hastily turned around. Kristelle ran into her bathroom, staring into the mirror that covered her twenty-five foot wall. Her makeup was smeared, and her face was red and blotchy from crying. Kristelle scrubbed her face clean of the makeup then ran back into her room. "You," she ordered. "Whatever your name is. Go clean off before you fix my room." She smirked. "Wouldn't want you to look ugly. Oh wait, you always are." "It's Brooke," the slave muttered. Her face, covered in grime, obscured all her features. Her skins were crisscrossed with scars. Kristelle glanced at her face in the mirror, waiting. Without all the makeup, she looked plain. Not unique at all. The whoosh of water running abruptly shut off, and Brooke stepped out. "Finally," Kristelle snapped. "You took forev-" she stopped when her pale blue eyes met Brooke's. The exact same shade. "This… this can't be!" She gasped. "No. It's not possible." Brooke stared back, her face mirroring the shock of Kristelle's. They both backed up. Kristelle's eyes bugged out. Her lips formed a perfect O. "You stole my face." юююююююююююююююююююююю