25 December, 1916
London, England

Alice sat at the dining room of her household. She looked a figure of grace and beauty-the exemplification of high class English society. Her long, ivory fingers where entwined around a champagne glass; hand-blown in Venice. Her elegant, silky blonde hair was tied up in a red velvet band; hand-woven in Arabia. Her lovely burgundy dress, of course, was crafted by twelve penny-paid industrialists. The lace embroidery, however, was Venetian as well. Her face, as fresh as the day she came from her mother's womb, was unblemished by any signs of age or work. Her mouth just laid in a perpetual smile, why shouldn't she be eternally happy? This was all hers! Or, rather, it was her father's. All she need to do was sit back and reap the rewards of her forefathers from ages before and remain the strong, picturesque perfect statue she always was.

Ah, yes.

Alice was truly more beautiful then a portrait, with all the riches in the world to show off and to protect her beauty. Her facade was perfect, her life, as we see here, was absolutely one of the elegance and grace she so proudly showed off. She was engaged to yet another prominent man, Edward, so she was naturally the focus of much envy of any of the other ladies of her social circle.

Enter Augustina.

There was something in her waif-like wandering about the silent property that was far more beautiful then all of the riches Alice could possibly adorn herself with. Her jet black hair was loosely held at her sides, and her blue frock was something much simpler. Yet, for all the mystery she held, one would might even say Augustina was far more beautiful then Alice.

Who was to say, though? It couldn't possibly be judged in this moment.

It didn't matter how different the two sisters choose to make themselves appear on any other day, because today was Christmas Day. Today the two girls would gather around a unsettlingly large pine tree, and open more presents then a maid servant could fancy seeing in a lifetime. It was a gluttony only one of the two sisters could possibly notice.

They tore through their loot, making out with several new dresses, lace, parasols, and various exotic presents from the foreign lands their relations were stationed in. Truly presents fitting of their high class luxuries.

The lady of the house, Mrs. Biltmore, the mother of Augustina and Alice, handed Augustina a final present, "I think you will really enjoy this, my dear. It's something both your father and I have always figured you'd adore."

Augustina tore open the paper of her final present, tossing it away, and then cupped her hand over her mouth as she saw what it was. "Oh, mother! Father! It couldn't be-,"

Mr. Biltmore smiled as he stood up beside his wife. "Yes, my sweet. It's your great-grandfather's field journal. It's all yours to finish where he left off."

Augustina smiled as her delicate fingers graced the pages of her new treasure.

Alice scoffed at the present. "Silly old tome. Look! The moths have already eaten into every page of it!"

Her mother merely laughed at her daughter's comment. "Oh, my poor, poor Alice. How humbling for you to not receive anything while your sister gets to savor. It isn't like we have something much more wonderful planned for you."

Alice perked up at this vague notion, "Wait... wha-what is it?"

Her mother smiled again. "Your betrothed, Edward, is coming home for Christmas! He's been permanently discharged from the front lines, my dear! No more having him sent away for Christmas. He'll be here-at your side-forever. You'll likely be married far sooner now."

The excitement drained from Alice's face as she heard the news. "Oh, yay. Edward..."

Her mother said nothing, almost in complete shock of her daughter's disregard for the supposed love of her life. It wasn't every day that a soldier in the trenches of France could come home to England.

The day carried on, and Alice and Augustina remained safe from the outside horrors. Alice tried not to be mad at her sister, but failed miserably, and Mrs. Biltmore attempted not to be in a state of absolute disgust of her daughter.

Finally, the time came for dinner, and just as Alice lifted her fork to her mouth, she gasped in horror as the door opened. It was Edward- no! It couldn't be! His face couldn't possibly have gotten burned like the others...

"Hello, my dear," he croaked out, coughing slightly after the words left his lips.

Alice could only sit there with her mouth completely agape. She was absolutely horrified at the sight. Mr. Biltmore said simply and earnestly to Edward, "What happened to you? I had no idea you were on-,"

"Gas. It was the gas," Edward sighed, coughing yet again. "I attempted to put on the mask, but there was only one for me and my friend, so I suppose I had no other choice but to give it to him. God, I was in awful shape for quite a while, it felt like there was an elephant on my chest every time I tried to take a breath, but now the blisters are starting to close up a little bit, so I guess every day is going to get a little bit better for me. I mean, some of the scarring won't go any, but I've seen far worse." He attempted to bring some levity to the situation with an innocent chuckle, and it worked for just about everyone but Alice.

It was quite true, actually. He still had two eyes, two arms, two legs. It appeared to be some second degree scarring blotching up his face slightly, but that might have even gotten better with time. The worst of it was what he had to feel in his chest, the burning in his lungs. Alice couldn't see that, though. All she could see was the damage. Her rich and beautiful betrothed was little more then damaged.

"That's incredibly noble of you," Mrs. Biltmore said with a smile, "Your friend is so lucky to have you as his loyal comrade." Her anger for her daughter at this second likely burned more then mustard gas ever could...

For the rest of the meal, Edward enthralled the family with tales of his and his comrades' bravery, carefully sugarcoating any more gruesome details. At the end of the meal, Alice excused herself for bed, still not being able to get over herself.

Edward was invited by Mr. and Mrs. Biltmore to simply board the night with the family. He was not dismayed at Alice's rejection of him, but merely revealing in the fact that the hand of justice would surely smite her soon enough.

December 26, 1916

Alice was awoken the following morning by her sister, and just as she turned over to greet her, Augustina gasped in horror, but quickly composed herself. "Your face is-your arms are covered in-," however, she could not bring it past herself to get the words out of her.

Alice looked down at her arms, and sure enough, they were covered in sores, and she felt an awful pressure in her chest. It felt just like she had been...

Mustard gas.

All of her symptoms looked exactly like she had been gassed. Alice could only cough, she simply couldn't get a word out. Her lungs burned like fire, and the pain everywhere was unbearable.

Augustina looked up from her sister, and tried to hold back her immense satisfaction, "Well, well, well. It appears maybe everyone might see just how beautiful that soul of yours really is." Just then, Ausgustina stood up to go to her mother and father and alert them of what had happened, but then, Edward grabbed a hold of her arm.

"What happened to her?" he muttered.

"I don't know," Augustina smirked, "But somehow, someway, she inhaled a hell of a lot of mustard gas. It's quite bad..."

"Careful, Aggie," he whispered, "Protect that soul of yours-I wouldn't want you waking up as if you had been gassed, too. One day, all the world we see who we really are, and I wouldn't want to feel sorry for you when that day comes...."

Augustina looked over Edward-despite what now seemed to be minor scarring, his brown eyes never had such a shine to them. She turned away from him, now carefully watching her every step.

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Reference for the story: Mustard gas was a sort of chemical warfare used by all sides during WWI. The effects basically entailed inhaling the gas, and it would burn the skin and respiratory tract at varying degrees, depending on how much a person was exposed to.

Idk where this story came from, TBH. I was just wanting to write something from the 1910/20's period, and perhaps something with the war backdrop, so I guess this is what I came up with. I think it's actually quite good, so I'm sort of proud of this.