#wickedverse

“Welcome to our home.” Ursula grinned, opening her hands to gesture to the estate. 

“It’s beautiful,” You whispered with awe. And it really was. Even though they didn’t spend much time here, it was well-maintained. You realized that the Danforth’s country estate, which wasn’t even their secondary home- more like fourth or fifth- was better than your family’s primary estate. It made an odd sensation settle beneath your ribs; made you feel infinitesimal. “Thank you for inviting me.” Ursula looked at you and giggled. She rested a hand on your shoulder.

“If simply looking at the house is enough for you to enjoy your time, the rest of the festivities are going to melt your mind. This is nothing. Give it a few days.” She told you, squeezing her hand slightly. “Okay, I’ll show you to your room.” As she walked away, you grabbed your suitcase from the trunk. Ursula hadn’t needed to pack anything. Her wardrobes were well-stocked at all of the Danforth properties. While you had been putting outfits in your own bag, Ursula had judged you while sitting atop your mattress with a glass of wine in her hand. She gave a disappointed noise when she saw your selection of clothes, promising that some of her mother’s old clothes still remained in storage. Or you could go out shopping with her. You chose the latter. 

The inside of the villa surprised you. It was a lot brighter than you were expecting. You had never been to the main Danforth house, but based on the whole…leader of a satanic cult…thing, you assumed that their aesthetics would be dark and dismal. And perhaps it was, but their country estate was not. The floors were white marble with rich cream and red persian rugs running along the high-traffic areas. The walls were wood-panneled but the furniture was light. Ursula didn’t give you much time to familiarize yourself before she was walking up the central grand staircase. You hurried behind her, carrying your suitcase. Ursula heard you pick it up and spun around to look at you with thinly veiled disgust.

“What?”

“Why are you carrying it?” Ursula asked in horror. “We have staff for that.” She shivered and shook her head. With a snap of her fingers, she pointed at the ground. “Leave it there. Sebastian will get it for you once he parks the car.” A little flustered, you abandoned your bag and followed Ursula as she resumed her ascent. Your family was wealthy and high-ranking, but your father had instilled in you the value of being able to do things for yourself. You knew the Danforths were skilled in many areas; Ursula could hit a headshot from 300 yards. Perhaps they allowed themselves to relinquish the stress of doing other things. You didn’t blame them. If you were in charge of the world, you wouldn’t exactly want to wait in line at the pharmacy. When you reached the second floor’s landing, the air changed. The halls were narrower compared to the more open-planned bottom floor. The air conditioning worked hard, but there was still that signature summer heat that settled in the air. The hallway was lined with a sage green runner rug and empty decorative jars spotted your vision. Golden-framed images of people you would never meet hung on the wall. Never dusty, but still forgotten by their descendants. Your room was four doors down from the landing and when Ursula opened the door to the room, you frowned. 

“What the fuck?” She hissed, sharing your frustration. The room was nice, but completely unmade. The furniture was draped in strips of white cloth and no sheets concealed the puffy white mattress cover. Ursula muttered under her breath, spinning on her heel and pushing past you. “Stupid…God can he do anything?” She stomped further down the hall. You dutifully trailed behind. She paused in front of two double oak doors at the end of the hall. She threw them open, a large thump echoing through the empty corridor. The man behind them jumped in surprise. The room was an office. There was a large desk in the center of the space, with bookshelf walls and a small sitting area in the corner. The room was darker than the others, decorated in warm reds and browns. 

It took you a moment to realize who the man sitting at the desk was. And when you did, the revelation punched the air from your lungs. It was Titus. Ursula’s brother who had been your chaperone during your shopping spree in Providence. You were a little surprised, and then felt immediately foolish for it. It was his house, why wouldn’t he spend the summer here with his sister? From what Ursula had told you, there wasn’t much they didn’t do together. Titus was sitting in his plush leather chair, a spoonful of chocolate mousse half-way in his mouth when his sister stormed in. There was a book propped on his knee and he moved a golden coin between his fingers. He looked genuinely startled, but when he realized who had interrupted him, he rolled his eyes. 

He looked different than he had two years prior. “He overcompensates,” Ursula had warned when you first met him. “He acts all big and scary because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.” And maybe part of that was true, but when you looked at him he only appeared as one thing. A Danforth. That silent and deadly kind of luxury that would make people avert their eyes if they saw him on the street. After he recovered himself, the sliver of the normal man beneath the name disappeared and the mask of his heritage slipped back into place. Unbothered and self-assured. He wore a black polo shirt and brown pants, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. When you had seen him last, it had been autumn and the idea of actually being able to see his arms made your stomach clench. Arms that had choked the last breath out of people. Arms that had turned skulls into mush. Arms that were making your mouth water. His biceps were being strangled by the sleeves of his shirt. Titus may be a pain in the ass, but you couldn’t deny he was attractive. His hair wasn’t as red as it had been, instead favoring a deep russet brown, and you swore you saw a tiny grey splotch in the stubble on his left cheek. He was a bit young for grey hairs, you thought, but you supposed the stress of everything piled on him could do that. He looked good. You wondered if he still wore the same cologne you got a wisp of when he held the door open for you a few years ago. You blinked slowly to clear your mind. You realized he was looking at you. A vague recognition rippled across his eyes. Like he knew who you were, but couldn’t exactly remember the last time you saw each other. 

Titus twitched his nose in annoyance and leaned back in his chair, cleaning the spoon of the mousse before crossing his hands over his abdomen. “Can I help you?” He rumbled, a single eyebrow raised. Nonchalant. Ursula wasn’t having it.

“I asked you to have the staff get the rooms ready!” She seethed, pointing a perfectly-manicured and very accusing finger at him.

“I did.” He said simply, shrugging and pulling his brows together. The corner of his mouth twitched and you knew then he was set on stoking her anger. “I can’t control the rate at which they get things done.” Ursula let out a furious growl and stepped closer to the desk. Her hands came up and her fingers hooked into claws.

“That is literally your job.” She spat between clenched teeth. “You are in charge of this estate. You are in charge of the staff.” Titus took a sharp inhale. 

“It’s your party.” 

“Oh, you little-” Ursula barely got the words out intelligibly, she was clenching her teeth so hard. Titus pursed his lips a little, trying to stifle an amused look. Which only made Ursula bristle more. Thankfully, the high-pitched beeping of her phone sliced through the tension. She huffed and tore the pink Motorola from her jeans pocket. She checked who was calling and sighed. “Okay, I have to take this. You,” she pointed a sharp finger at her brother “show her a room that’s actually made.” He opened his mouth to say something, but the glare Ursula gave him could have curdled milk. A look that had decades of pretensive weight behind it. Titus closed his mouth. “Thank you.” She answered the phone and walked out of the study before he could protest. A few moments passed in awkward silence. You raised your eyebrows at Titus and he just closed his eyes and shook his head. He grabbed the bowl on his desk and spooned the last chunk of mousse into his mouth.

The knock at your front door startled you. You looked at the time on the stove and your face twisted with confusion. Your roommates had only been gone an hour. Surely they weren’t done yet. Unless Kay tried to get up on the bar again and needed you to take them to the emergency room. You pushed yourself up from where you were sitting on the linoleum floor and walked to the door. You startled a little when you opened it and saw who had knocked. Standing there, in the summer sunset, was a woman who looked too put together for her to be anyone other than who you thought it was.

“Ursula?” You asked softly, a little incredulously. You hadn’t seen her in several years. Not since someone’s retirement party your junior year of high school. She still had the same blond hair and the same hardness in her lined eyes. Slightly older, of course, dressed in the most fashionable pair of tan leather pants and a silky white sleeveless shirt. A pair of Gucci sunglasses pushed stray hairs away from her face and allowed the streetlight’s glow to shine in her crystalline earrings. She flashed a smile, polite, not reaching her eyes.

“Hi.” She stepped past you into your apartment. Her heeled boots clicked on the mottled linoleum as she stepped around the half-empty boxes. You had interacted with her plenty of times at social events, but never outside of them. Having her, the woman who you were supposed to want to be, standing in your kitchen made your tongue feel heavy in your mouth. Your eyes darted over the room, catching on every flaw you came across. The water stain on the ceiling. The dirty pan in the sink. You saw Ursula taking in the surroundings. Panic made you shut the door slightly harder than necessary. Anything to get her focus away from the commonness of the space.

“Wh-um. What are you doing here?” You leaned against the door and crossed your arms over your chest. You hoped that the pressure would begin to soothe your rapid heartbeat. Ursula sighed and took her sunglasses from her head. She folded them neatly and held them in her hands.

“Just thought I’d stop by. Welcome you to the campus.” Unconvincing. A moment of silence passed between the two of you. You heard an engine rev down the street.

“My mother told you to check on me, didn’t she?”

“She’s worried.” Ursula confirmed after a breath, giving a small nod.

“I’m surprised that you actually showed up,” You said honestly. “I figured you’d have more important things to do.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because,” you shrugged, like it was obvious. And to you, it was. She was a Danforth. Making house calls for worried mothers. “You’re you.” Ursula had been in magazines. She had photographs with up and coming musicians from every genre. Hell, one time you had looked her up and found a fucking fanpage documenting her vacation spots and where to get knock-off versions of her outfits. She was…well, she was Ursula. And you were just some girl on the outer rim of her very tight social circle. Associated by proximity and not choice. To your surprise, Ursula looked genuinely confused.

“I’m extremely fond of your mother,” She explained. “I’d do anything she asked. We…She’s done a lot for me.” The soft edge of her voice made you think. And then it hit you. Oh. Right. Lady Danforth had died when the twins were only five. All you knew was that it was sudden and you weren’t supposed to ask about her in any capacity. You remembered that your mother would travel to the Danforth estate often. You vaguely recalled that they considered each other friends. After her death, you didn’t hear about her anymore but her visits continued. She’d visit for a few days every month for as long as you could remember. Always with a package for Ursula specifically, wrapped neatly and nondescript. Ursula must have caught the wheels turning in your head, because her shoulders stiffened a little and she cut the emotion from her voice. “And it’s a good thing I did,” She grimaced. “This place is horrible.” You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself from the door.

“It’s not that bad.” You protested weakly, running a finger along the kitchen counter. You were really trying to make the best of your situation. Would you pick out this place if you had a choice? Probably not. But it could be worse. A lot worse. Ursula scoffed.

“Honey,” she chastised, eyebrow quirking and head tilting to the side. She pointed her folded glasses to the stove. “You have lemon-print handtowels.” Your gaze followed the gesture. The two offending pieces of fabric hung lamely from the stove handle. Your lips pressed together into a line.

“What’s wrong with that?” You sighed. They were towels. And while you might have grown up with plush monogrammed ones, your roommates’ got the job done just fine.

“They’re kitschy.”

“They’re…rustic.” You supplied.

“That’s not better.” Ursula huffed. A sudden frustrated annoyance prickled under your skin. Your eyes snapped back to her.

“Yea, well, my parents aren’t exactly bankrolling my lifestyle at the moment.” You snapped. “Not sure if you’ve heard, but they’re pretty pissed at me.”

“Oh,” Ursula laughed sardonically. “I’ve heard. We all have.” You winced. You knew word of the incident had made its way around the cult. Of course it did. It wasn’t everyday someone claimed to have seen Mr. Le Baile after he exploded someone for their protection. Some were more receptive than others. All of them had looked at you differently at your mother’s annual summer party. But hearing her say it solidified how real the situation was. You groaned and sat on one of the kitchen table chairs. You pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes. You heard the chair next to you squeak across the floor. Ursula sat and rested her elbow on the table.

“I never…” You spoke softly. “I never imagined this is what my life would turn into.”

“For what it’s worth,” She inhaled. “I believe you.” You lifted your head slowly. You assessed her with narrow eyes.

“You do?”

“I’ve seen some weird shit,” She moved her hand closer to your elbow. Her fingers barely brushed over your skin. “Your story doesn’t even make the top ten.”

“I think you’re the only person that doesn’t think I’m crazy.”