The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
Maybe Skip the Tea Next Time
by Melissa R. Mendelson
Every five years, Lady Camilla would throw a party. I waited for my invite for her last party, but it never came. She was very selective of the eight individuals that she chose. I didn’t expect to be invited to the party today, and I swore up and down that I would not go. She could pick someone else, but at nine p.m., I was knocking on her door.
“This is stupid,” I muttered under my breath. The door opened. I stepped inside, and the manor stole my breath away. Six guests barely acknowledged me, and a clock somewhere down the hall chimed loudly. Lady Camilla appeared at the top of the stairs, and we were all asked to step into the dining room.
“What is she doing,” I asked the woman next to me.
“Making tea,” the woman hissed back.
The dining room table held what looked like a child’s tea collection. Only the bronze pot containing the hot water caught my eye. Then, I noticed little green, plant-like balls with pink nearby. She placed one ball into each cup, and they disintegrated quickly.
“What are those things,” I asked the woman next to me.
“Oh, for the love of God. That’s how we will see our future.”
“You really believe that,” but the woman stepped away from me.
The servants picked up the teacups. They approached each of us, and the guests took the teacups. I hesitated before taking mine. I thought a rich person’s party would be outrageous and not a tea party.
“Drink,” Lady Camilla said, and everyone did. Everyone except for me. “Drink,” Lady Camilla directed at me, and I downed the tea, which amazingly tasted like strawberries.
I felt myself being thrown back. A man was yelling in my face. Every fiber of my body wanted him, but my heart hated him. I lost everything to him, and it still wasn’t enough. He needed more from me, but I had nothing left to give.
“You ruined me,” I screamed at him. “I have nothing because of you. I hate you,” but when he touched my arm, I quivered. “I hate you,” but my body begged more for his touch. “I hate you,” and he pressed his lips against mine. I couldn’t breathe, but I couldn’t let go. He pushed against me, and I welcomed it. I embraced the void icing up my skin, and I fell on the floor.
“You okay, Miss? I know that tea can be strong.”
“I’m okay.” I looked up to see a hand held out toward me. “Thank you.” I grabbed the hand, and electricity rushed through me.
“You sure you’re okay,” he asked, and I nearly melted against him. “You look pale.”
“I’m fine,” but I didn’t let go of his arm.
“How about we go outside and get some air?”
“I would like that.” I held onto him, never intending to let go, and every fiber of my body begged for him to draw closer. Like a moth to a flame, I was his.
Fiction © Copyright Melissa R. Mendelson
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
More from Melissa R. Mendelson:
Better Off Here
We always look to the greener pastures, thinking our lives would be so much better over there, but if we were over there, what if all we wanted was to go back? Instead, we found ourselves trapped with the darker side to our fears.