The Ripple Effect - A Journey of Sin, Part Four

Parts One and Three can be read at The Devil's Advocate.
As promised, here is Part Four! ~

Part Four

I stood in front of her beautiful carriage, refusing to enter. She turned to me, waiting, but there was no way I was stepping into her gilded prison.
She frowned. "Well, come along now," she said, gesturing impatiently to the carriage. I didn't move.
Her face softened. "I understand this must be hard for you. But please, I'm here to help."
I couldn’t believe her. Her kind eyes and honeyed words could be laced with poison, just waiting for me to fall into her trap. But then again, I was hungry, so very hungry… I couldn’t recall the last time I had eaten; my stomach was completely empty. She heard the grumbling and turned to her coachman, who held out an entire loaf of the nicest-looking bread I had ever seen.
I lunged forward and ripped the bread from her hands, stuffing it into my ravenous mouth. The moment I swallowed that delicious, soft, and wonderfully sugary bread, I knew that I had just sold my soul for a mere loaf of bread.
When the food was gone, I hung my head shamefully, unable to meet her eye. She ushered me into the carriage, and I knew that if I had any hope of surviving in this cruel world, I would have to submit to the whims of this hypocrite, if only to obtain some more of that delicious, life-giving bread to fill my empty stomach.
Once inside the carriage, she began chattering away, asking me dozens upon dozens of questions. “Well now, poppet, what would your name be? And what misfortune has brought such a shy little girl to this place of horrors? Oh, and isn’t that Mr. Williams just horrid?" I remained silent throughout, eyes downcast. Eventually, I felt myself sink into a deep sleep.

I awoke just as dusk was falling. The carriage had stopped, and for a minute, I wondered where I was. Peeking out the window into the night sky, I gasped at the sight of a huge country cottage before me. I had never seen such extensive gardens anywhere before.
At my awe-struck face, the woman just laughed. “Welcome to our humble abode,” she said ironically.
My eyes widened. How could anyone own so much land while there were families like my own struggling to pay the taxes that were collected each year?
I stepped slowly out of the carriage. The woman followed, aided down by the coachman. She bustled forward, and I followed meekly. My stomach was still somewhat empty, and as we approached the cottage, the delicious smells of mushroom soup wafted to my nose.
Once we entered into the cottage, she called forth a footman and told him, "Take the poor girl to the kitchen and give her some food. Still in shock, I believe, the dear soul. Hasn't said a word to me yet."
As I followed the footman towards the source of that sensational aroma, I scarcely noticed the paintings on the walls or the intricate designs on the marble floors. However, as we passed through the great room on our way to the kitchen, some exquisite portraits of the entire family, surrounded by the leafy patterns on their gilded frames, caught my eye. I paused for a moment to take in the features of my new masters.
The first was a man with a perfectly trimmed moustache, looking sternly down at me. He had a large brow and bushy eyebrows, and beneath those, piercing blue eyes. Underneath the portrait, inscribed in flowery, golden ink, was his name: Count Richard Emilio Peter Rothschild.
Beside him, I saw the lady who had brought me here, with the familiar garland of gleaming pearls around her neck. The deceptively-kind brown eyes gazed down warmly at all who passed through this giant room. Her name, written in that same flowery script, was Countess Maria Helena Rothschild.
Next to her portrait, there was a picture of a young boy not much older than myself. His green eyes and high cheekbones were quite different than the characteristics of what I presumed were his parents. But most shocking of all was the contrast between his pale skin and his jet black hair. It seemed almost unnatural, the likes of which I had never seen. I glanced down at his name. Lucifer Emilio Phillip Rothschild. I cocked my head to one side. What a peculiar name, Lucifer.
As I hurried after the footman, who had stopped to wait for me and was growing impatient, I glanced one last time at the portraits. What would my new life be like?

Hope you enjoyed that. Part Five will be up tomorrow, Wednesday, May 25, at The Devil's Advocate. ~