Peacock Perfect

The dress was perfect. The blues and greens merged perfectly on the tail feathers she had sewn together, being the great seamstress that she was. And when she entered the ballroom, everyone discarded her presence. She took this as a compliment, a message that they hadn't noticed the feathers. She wouldn't reveal them yet, she'd have to wait. She made small talk with the people around her to pass the time, but failed to strike up a meaningful conversation with anyone. Finally an old friend approached her. His name was Jonathan Smith.
"Hello, Jonathan," she said, giving a taut smile.
"Hello," he said. "How've you been, Louise?"
"Alright. You?" She asked.
"I'm well." He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. "What brings you to Marielle's ball? I thought you two went separate ways."
She sighed, smiling tiredly. "Well, let's just say I have some unfinished business to take care of tonight."
"Ah," he replied in understanding. "Well, I'll see you later?"
"Sure," she agreed. He smiled before turning and walking away with a short nod.
As Jonathan disappeared into the crowd, Louise searched for someone else in the throng of people. They danced and laughed as her eyes skittered frantically across their faces, never satisfied with what she saw. Eventually her emerald orbs lit up in recognition as she scouted out the face of a bright young lady seated at the head of a table. The light danced off her bronze hair and there was a twinkle in her blue eyes as she bared her pearly white teeth in a wide grin. Louise clenched her teeth, her hands balling into fists about the string she held. After a moment a hand on her shoulder compelled her to force a pained smile as she turned.
"Yes?"
"Ah, Louise, I've been looking for you dear," her father said warmly as a smile stretched across his face.
"What do you want, Father?" She asked coldly.
"I was just wondering how your mother's been, darling." Henry Morrison was an extravagant man, flourishing his own words with a slight British accent.
"She's fine," Louise snapped.
"Easy, darling," her father soothed. "And your sister?"
"Don't talk to me like I'm one of your petty racehorses!" She glared at him. "And Roxine's fine."
"I'll be going now," Henry said, patting her shoulder hesitantly before hurrying away into the crowd.
Louise glared after him, finally turning back to the young lady. Her name was none other than Marielle Attwell, daughter of Jackson and Yvonne Attwell. Marielle was well known as a socialite and an aristocrat, but her parents originally had other plans for her. Yvonne sent her off to public school for ninth grade in hopes that the power her daughter held wouldn't go to her head, but it was too late. Marielle had already inflicted irreparable damage on several people; one of those people being Louise.
"Marielle!" Louise suddenly shouted. Everything went silent and Marielle turned her head slowly.
"What do you want, Louise?" She spat.
Louise pulled the string, her feathers flaring up as gasps emanated throughout the room.
"I just wanted you to know who planted the bomb," she said, smirking.
Marielle's jaw dropped, and everything slowed down in a mad dash for the door.
Only two people died that night. Marielle Attwell, trapped under a beam from the explosion with a gun in hand.
And Louise Morrison, a bullet placed between her eyes.

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Jonathan had been hurt in the fire that ensued after the explosion. He had rushed towards Louise, but was caught in the flow of people. Being one of the last people to escape the building, Jonathan was burned. His scars stretched across his hands and left cheek, making it difficult to write and smile, or show any emotion at all for that matter.
He pondered death a lot in the days after Louise's death. After being released from the hospital he attended her funeral, and put flowers on her grave.
Jonathan knew it was wrong, but he blamed Marielle for taking Louise away from him. That if she hadn't been such a grenade when they were school children Louise would still be here, unharmed and maybe even happy.
But alas, Louise was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. And so he thought that maybe he would join her, since he could not bring her back. After three days of thinking about it, Jonathan decided.
He would shoot himself.

A/N:
So here's another short story, I'm sorry if it's really depressing. But think about it this way if that bothers you: I killed one less character in this story than I did in Sinking Like A Stone.