1707, Breckenridge Academy, Avionne

As dusk came, the pale blues of the skies turned into a rich symphony of purples and reds. It was a glorious sight, but only for a brief moment, as not long after, darkness came and swallowed it whole.

The Grand Tutor, Lord Archibald Breckenridge had commissioned several workers to repair the old eastern wing, which walls had started to crumble following the devastating typhoon that hit Avionne last year.

The plan was to completely break down the old walls and build new ones in their place. Within days, the old walls were shattered down, and concrete casts had been set up.

The workers had planned to pour the concrete into those casts the next morning, and that night, they all returned home for a good night's rest.

Darkness loomed over the prestigious Breckenridge Academy, and as the moon rose that night, three figures dressed in white were seen leaving the girl's dormitory.

They were Marguerite le Prince and Eufemia Dubois, and the third girl was the new student, Jacquetta Palin.

Jacquetta's wrists were bound together using makeshift ropes made out of ripped up bedsheets, and her soft brown eyes were wide with fear and dripping with tears. Her lips trembled as she was slowly led to the construction site, wanting to scream out for help, but it would undoubtedly ire her bullies.

She could feel the rough edges of the rope tear into her skin, drawing out blood. Underneath her bare feet were sharp and jagged rocks, and on the way to the construction site, Jacquetta felt as if she were walking on a bed of glass.

            "Please let me go," she whimpered weakly, though she did not hold any hope in her heart that they would let her leave.

Marguerite paused in her steps and turned around to look at Jacquetta, her gaze freezing cold and void of sympathy.

             "And let you tell everyone about what has happened? I think not," Eufemia hissed, shoving Jacquetta roughly on the back.

The sudden force caused her to fall down on her knees, and the sharp rocks on the ground sliced right into her flesh.

              "Oh, poor Jacquetta," she heard Eufemia taunt. "If only you weren't so annoying, then I would have no reason to beat you."

Jacquetta swallowed the pain and humiliation that they had ever so kindly given to her, and forced herself to lift up her head.

              "If it is money that you want, then I can give it to you. Just name the amount, and I will ask my father to send it over," she proposed, hoping that the money will be able to resolve the bitter grievances in Marguerite's heart.

However, she did not know that money was precisely the thorn that constantly pierced Marguerite's heart and pride. Or rather, the lack of it.

Rage swirled within Marguerite's chest, and without a second thought, she pushed Jacquetta down to the ground. The latter fell down like a pile of bricks, laying despondently as Marguerite scrambled on top of her, her hands fiercely pulling on Jacquetta's auburn hair.

              "Stop! It hurts! Marguerite please stop!" Jacquetta begged, but it only seemed to fuel Marguerite's rage even further.

             "A filthy commoner like you does not deserve to say my name! You are worth less than dirt, Jacquetta Palin! You are worth nothing!" Marguerite spat as her nails began to dig into the flesh of Jacquetta's face.

Jacquetta screeched in pain, and in the flurry of the moment, she managed to break free from her bound and dodged Marguerite's hands, accidentally hitting her face in the process.

           Marguerite paused her movement and glared at Jacquetta in shock and disbelief. She had never fought back before. And she was not supposed to fight back. Her lips quivered with unshed anger as she lifted her hand up high and smacked Jacquetta in the face. And quite hard too.

              "How dare you touch me?! You filthy little commoner! You dirty slut !" she shouted, and with each insult that came out of her mouth, she brought her hand down on Jacquetta's face.

She hit Jacquetta hard, but not once did the latter fight back. She was quiet and unresponsive, just like Marguerite liked her to be.

Then, she faintly heard Eufemia calling out for her, as if she was very far far away.

                  "Marguerite..."

                  "Marguerite..."

                  "Marguerite !"

She turned around in annoyance, wanting to reprimand Eufemia for disturbing her, but then she felt an odd heaviness in her hand.

                   "Marguerite, what have you done ?" Eufemia's voice rang, snapping her from her reverie. She lowered her gaze, and there, tightly grasped by her right hand was a bloodstained brick.

Marguerite abruptly let go of the brick as if it seared her skin. No wonder why Jacquetta was so silent.

There, lying still on the ground was the dead body of Jacquetta Palin, though no one could recognize her anymore at this point. Her features were smashed and mutilated beyond recognition, and there was only a gaping hole where her mouth had once been.

                 "Oh, what have you done to her Marguerite ?" Eufemia cried out, her voice trembling in fear as she stared at the unrecognisable corpse on the ground.

                  "What have I done ?" Marguerite retorted with a scoff. "So you wish to say that you are innocent? Free of all sin ?"

                   "No, that is not what I meant-"

                   "Do not forget that you were the one that helped me drag her down here. If anyone were to discover her body, it will not be only me that would be punished. You too will be implicated, Mimi. You are my accomplice."

Eufemia shivered at the thought of the cold, dark prison. Her gaze shifted towards the concrete casts, yet to be filled.

                     "Marguerite... I think I know what we can do."

The next morning, the construction workers arrived to finish off what they had left behind. Oddly, there were large rocks stuffed into the concrete cast, when they clearly were not there before.

                    "What should we do, sir ?" a worker asked his superior.

The older man shook his head and brushed him off. "Let it be. Just pour the concrete in there and get it over with. We are on a tight schedule."

As the concrete was being poured into the cast, no one saw the bits of white fabric poking out from beneath the rocks, nor the strong smell of blood and rotting flesh.

When the news of Jacquetta Palin's disappearance was made public, no one thought to search the construction site.

That was the first time Marguerite took a life, and it would not be the last.

1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City

             "...the story goes like this. Apparently, back when she was pregnant with me, my mother asked my father to open up a boutique for her.
       You see, my mother really liked designing dressed and gowns, and she had a keen eye for good fabric and textiles too," Catarina told the ladies as they gathered around the table, teacups and crumpets in hand.

             "My father said yes, and he asked what she wanted to name the boutique. Well, my mother was quite indecisive, and she spent quite some time mulling over an appropriate name. Then one day, she finally got an idea and sat at the table to write it down.

Here's where it gets fun. She had only managed to write 'The B' before her water broke and she went into labour."

Cosmina let out a chuckle. "Look at you, already troubling your mother! And you weren't even born yet!"

              "I'm not done yet," Catarina giggled. "So, she went ahead and gave birth to me, and she had not thought about that slip of paper for quite a while. Well, my father happened to find that slip of paper one day, and he went on to order shop signs and logos to be designed with the name 'The B'.

He intended it to be a surprise, but needless to say, my mother was not very happy."

            "Your father didn't question why she allegedly chose to name the boutique 'The B' ?" Eleanora asked meekly.

            "My mother was quite the eccentric, so he thought it was just one of her weird ideas. But the boutique really took off, and it's still open to this day. Look at the dress that the Queen is wearing. That is one of my mother's designs."

Cosmina let out a gasp of awe. "How marvellous it is. It's difficult to believe that it was designed over fifteen years ago. Truly a timeless piece."

             "Do you have any designs of your own, Catarina ?" Jessamine suddenly asked.

Catarina lowered her head and sheepishly nodded. "Well, I do, but I don't think that they should be shown to the public. Rafael says that they are ghastly."

Eleanora opened her mouth to say something, but before she could say anything, a pale-faced maid burst into the queen's sitting room.

              "I ask for the Queen's audience !" she pleaded to the ladies-in-waiting that tried to push her out of the room. "I ask for the Queen's audience  !"

Upon hearing the commotion, the Queen set down her teacup and waved her hand, motioning her ladies to let the maid pass through.

The maid let out a sigh of relief as she quickly ran and knelt before the Queen.

        "Your Majesty, my name is Holly, the servant of Prince John's consort, Princess Eufemia.
        Your Majesty, I was sent out to town to perform some errands, leaving Princess Eufemia in the care of her other servant, Mary. But when I returned from town, I found both Princess Eufemia and Mary dead, their mouths foaming over!"

As the room exploded with panic and shock, Marguerite sat calmly on the chaise, daintily sipping on her tea, as if this matter had nothing to do with her.