#c. devon

"do my eyes deceive me?" on the runway of a pert nose, tortoiseshell glasses are lowered. from behind them, bright eyes flash with surprise and affection. a mirrorball of emotion in the winter light. "am i truly looking at the absolute princess of park avenue, the countess of central park⸺ my favourite averescu?" a laugh of disbelief unrolls from cher, the sound of pure delight. if a flower could shout for the first touch of spring warmth, it would've sounded like that noise. the extensive lengths of her arms unfold, a showgirl wrapped in faux fur and the fragrance of iris and white musk: a scent expensive and unidentifiable, mystic. "dee ! i can't believe it."

The first smiles after another harsh stroke of a cruel fate, beamed around her while her lips remained in a monotone line on fine features. A pattern only broken when her daughter looked up at her with those eyes of crystalline azure hue, setting a striking similiarity to her very own. It was a precious moment of peaceful innocence, if only for the broken fragment of the gruesome days, all following the same pattern, when Amanda gazed up at her from the secured spot on the backseat of her car and the expression cracked and lips were thrown into the shape of a soft curve. Another brief second later, and the door slowly closed with a quiet thud. Steps were evenly paced, leading her toward the door of her car, on the driver’s side.