| For the next several evenings, Faustine found her way to the lady's home without an escort. On the way, she came across many a young buck who offered to walk the demoiselle through the perilous woods. Ms. Belladonna, however, expressly forbad her to let anyone where she was going, or whom she was going to see. Faustine didn't mind though, she liked all of the attention she was getting, and she relished seeing Gothilocks fuming at her physical transformation and newfound popularity. In fact, she was even approached by Gothilocks, who feigned friendliness in an attempt to extract her beauty secret from her, but all she could get out of Faustine was a smug smile and her reply, "Why Belladona of course!" This somewhat cryptic answer left her rival so perplexed and annoyed; fuming that she could "strangle the glossy-eyed bitch". Where could she find this "belladonna", and what exactly was it? More importantly, what was its cost? Come Hell or high water, Gothilocks swore, she was going to find out, even if it was the last thing she did. But that's another story. Things were really going quite well for our little darkling. She was looking the best she'd ever looked. This gave her more confidence, which brought her more attention, and in turn detracted from the popularity of Gothilocks--and this made her very happy indeed. Although she was happy, after a spell, she started not to feel as well physically. In fact, she felt quite ill. She began to get headaches, and her mouth was always dry. She ran a fever, her throat burned and she had trouble swallowing. Even so, she continued to visit Ms. Belladonna as a daily routine, to get her primping and dosage of drops. She would drag herself to the little cottage in the deep of the woods, feverish and heart pounding as if it would pop, almost collapsing on the threshold to the woman's oversized closet of a home. Then the lady would take her protege by the hand, and with her support and steady step, would walk her over to the vanity and tell her in soothing tones how beautifully wan she looked as she combed her long coppery-colored tresses. "Why my dear, you look so lovely and pale. You are the physical dichotomy of life and death. You are the Gothic ideal of vivacious beauty and mortal corruption. You are my spiritual child!" {Faustine cringed a bit at this last statement because, "I mean, come on, what real Goths would ever call themselves one?"} "Yes, but Ms. Belladonna..." she began. "Please, Atropa." "Atropa...I have not been feeling well lately." "Are you not happy? Are you not satisfied with the results of our sessions together?" "Well, yes, I am...but..." "But what, my dear?" Come, do not worry your little head about such things. You have probably just caught a cold carousing about town with your many suitors. I trust you have some now--more so than before, I mean?" "Well yes, but..." "But nothing! I grow impatient wth your whining! Do you want to be beautiful, or not?" "Yes." "Do you want to be desirable, or not?" "Yes." "And do you want to outshine Gothilocks, or not?" "Yes!" "Then quit puling like a whelp, and sit still so that I may put these drops in your eyes!" Faustine, envisioning the face of her rival, contorted with jealousy and bewilderment, acquiesced. |