Forum Thread

Mercy yawns as she looks up at Lysander, a small smile on her face.

"I've been getting enough sleep. These shoots just take a lot out of me." She says, stretching slightly. "Oh, did you hear the news from the director? We have a new model joining us, and the director is treating us to a dinner." She sits up more as she keeps telling the news.

"Let me guess, another double booking for the Prince of Illusions? You work too much." She says with a hint of worry. "At this rate you'll burn yourself thin. You're due for a good nap. I can try to cover for you next time." She yawns again as she leans on Lysander, nodding off again. "Worry about yourself for once, dummy." She mutters sleepily, a small pout on her face.

---

✧₊⁺ ESTELLA BLAKE ⁺₊✧
Twenty Three [23] | Female | She/Her | Acedia
────────────────────

Only minutes away from returning to the House of Illusions, the engine of a metallic black Panamera Turbo purrs as Estella finds herself sitting at a red light.

A sports car was likely not going to be someone's first guess if they were to try to imagine the kind of car she owned. She would admit that it had been an impulsive purchase - upon hitting the peak of her rebellious era at the age of eighteen - after falling in love with its sleek design. Besides, what could have possibly been cooler than rocking up to university in an almost $200k car, proudly bought with her own money? It was a symbol of her freedom and independence, also a clear indication of her wealth. Five years later, so many things in her life had since changed, but the car was not one of them. With the assistance of regular maintenance, it remained faithful to her, reliably getting her wherever she needed to be without hassle.

Sighing, she leans back into the leather seat, her fingers impatiently dancing across the smooth rim of the steering wheel as she waits for the light to turn green.

Estella's mind drifts off into a world of its own as she observes the city dwellers passing by, going about their days. She doesn't register the changeover between the songs playing in the background until she suddenly hears her girlfriend's saccharine voice sound from the speakers and something wet rolls down her cheeks. A quick glance up at the mirror in her sun visor shows the tears collecting at her waterline and her mascara beginning to run down her face in dark inky streaks. Her hand instinctively moves to wipe away the stain; however, the green light in the distance prompts her to stop in her tracks as the cars in front start to move forward.

Muttering curses to herself, she steps on the accelerator, finally free to complete the last stretch of her short journey. Entering the House of Illusions' private parking lot, Estella is forever grateful for her decision to tint her car's windows and for the fact that security at the gate never asks her for her ID. The last thing she needed was for everyone to see the pitiful state that a simple song had gotten her into. After pulling into a space, she cuts off the engine and spends a moment sitting in silence with her head resting upon the steering wheel.

Once composed, she sits back up, blinking away a minor spell of dizziness. Her eyes then returned to the overhead mirror to inspect the damage that had been done. She grimaces at the sight. With a sharp exhale, Estella begins to rub away at the stains on her skin with her thumb. Although her make-up remained smeared around her eyes, the redness that spread across her cheeks seemed more justifiable than the blackened streaks that had previously been there. It would do for now.

Estella reaches for her phone and purse from the passenger seat, where they are often discarded when she travels alone. A faint smile forms on her lips as the notifications of the replies in the group chat pop up on her home screen. She'd revisit them properly when she wasn't in such a rush to freshen up. The car door opens and Estella pivots in her seat, gracefully swinging her legs out first, her heels making contact with the tarmac with a soft 'click'. The rest of her body follows and then - with a little more force than she'd intended - Estella closes the door behind her. Not without forgetting to lock her car, Estella makes her way towards the building, the sway in her modelesque walk being so deeply ingrained that even after ten years into retirement Estella still unconsciously practices it in her day-to-day life.

Very rarely does Estella use the main entrance, however. One too many times had she been jumped by the press lurking outside during her first few months into the job, hounding her for an inside scoop or a glimpse of the models. Fortunately, the bouncers at the door tended to be rather attentive and swift in dispersing such cases and had managed to (quite literally) drag Estella inside before she fell into a full panic attack. Since then, Estella had never been seen walking through those doors alone.

With an effortless swipe, she uses her keycard to unlock an alternative entrance intended to be used by staff only. Estella breathes a sigh of relief to be greeted by an eerily quiet corridor. Or, so it seemed, as the sound of heels against the marble-tiled floor grew closer. Suddenly, a woman's head pokes out from one of the rooms, greeting her with a friendly smile.

"Director, welcome back- oh!" she pouts as her eyebrows knit together in concern, "Is everything okay..? Did something happen at the shoot?"

Estella's heart misses a beat at the mention of the shoot, "No! Ah - sorry - I mean, it's nothing, I promise. The shoot went great, actually. While I'd love to stay and chat about it, I have so much to do."

Judging by the cynical expression on the woman's face, Estella offered her a brief apology before hastily continuing on her way. How long would it be before she tattled and the "rumors" made their way back to her? If she had to bet, the prying emails were probably already being typed out. But even when it came to her own staff, Estella was careful about what was openly discussed and what was kept confidential. Today's spiral of events would most definitely be considered the latter. After all, it wasn't just the press that enjoyed hearing the latest gossip: information, which could have detrimental consequences for the company if conveyed by the wrong tongue.

She is quick to throw herself into one of the elevators, presenting her keycard once more as the doors close behind her. Unlike the models and the rest of the staff, Estella's private quarters were situated on the entire top floor of the House of Illusions, overlooking the lively streets of New York City. The space was particularly breathtaking in the evenings as the open space bathed in the warm, golden hues of the sunset. However, despite its grandeur, it was not for everyone to see. Gaining access to this coveted space required special authorization: something that only Estella herself could grant, and rarely gave.

Upon reaching her floor, the elevator doors slide open and Estella is welcomed by the minimalistic style of the main living area, brightly lit by the sunlight dispersing through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The place had been this vacant since her father left and she moved in, having never found the time to redecorate; however, she had found herself becoming quite fond of the emptiness, and the lack of unnecessary clutter meant nothing to stress over. Her apartment was always spotless if one could ignore the ever-growing collection of empty high-end liquor bottles - which Estella keeps neatly displayed behind tall glass cabinets. If anyone asks, she'll swear she doesn't have an issue, claiming the bottles are "too expensive to just throw away".

With purposeful strides, Estella makes her way to her bedroom, tossing her purse onto her bed as she slips into the chair in front of her vanity. For reasons that she preferred not to disclose to others, Estella never allowed her employed makeup artists or stylists to dress her, insisting that she do it all herself. She ruffles her blonde waves, leaning forward to closer inspect the dark brown roots coming in. Perhaps - if her schedule allowed it - she'd book herself in for a root touch-up. In the meantime, it could wait. Estella reaches over, grabs the packet of makeup removal wipes, and proceeds to gently wipe away the traces of her vulnerability before anyone else could catch a glimpse.

[ 1315 words ]

────────────────────

"Silk moths can’t fly. It’s been bred out of them for five thousand years.
Most aren’t meant to live long enough to break the chrysalis; flight’s an unnecessary trait.”