The party was abuzz with commotion, just as I hoped it would be.

My loyal pack of socialite companions sit soundly amid the courtyard garden, coquettish giggles swimming through the balmy spring air. Their sweet, alluring perfumes and the aroma of wisteria flowers around create a heady haze of dreaminess.

All morning, I ordered the servants of Bloomsbury Hall to rapidly serve a delicious array of tea cakes lathered in honey and chocolate fudge, with various forest fruits as well. The ladies delightfully accepted the snacks, gluttonously digging in to their sugary goodness.

I observed them from afar in the sanctuary of my room above, silently drawing back my chamber curtains to watch as they ate. It was strange to watch them converse and laugh with no notion of anything else surrounding them. _Ah,_ I shake my head amusingly. _How idiotic we become in the presence of entertainment and pleasures. _

I wouldn’t forget the sole reason I’d held this small tea party in the first place, though.

These seemingly docile and harmless women had sins to atone for. Sins comitted against me. And only I could stand as the juror and ultimate decider for their fate.

I’d been sure to include the Holly berries within that assortment of food. Those were meant to weaken the women first. That would keep them blissfully unaware and temporarily sedated before the true concession arrived—_tea_.

Quickly, I slip into a flouncy, rose-colored frock lined with lace and silk. I powder cosmetics onto my delicate face, tugging my hair back into an elegant style layered in pearls, ribbon, and an array of faux flowers.

I make my entrance into the courtyard garden with my hands politely wound before me. My servants bow respectively before me, leaving me with my awaiting women as they scurry inside the manor.

“Miss Rosamund,” One of the ladies—Miss Flores—greets me with a red-lipped smile, setting her large helping of honey cake down.

“Thank you for the pleasant invite to your abode,” Another—Lady Lilith—nods towards the courtyard. “It is as breathtaking as ever.”

_Unlike you, _I think to myself, only to recollect my composure silently. This small quest for justice would require my utmost patience. “It is, isn’t it?”

Miss Tulip tugs out her silk fan in one fluid motion, immediately fanning her perspiring face. An expression of distress and the palatableness that she was being held at gunpoint were apparent on her delicate features. Rather quickly, she said, “Miss Rosamund—let us start with the tea now.”

“Ah,” I wave over to one of the servants, signaling for them to bring in the wisteria tea. “You seem a bit under the weather, Miss Tulip. Are you alright?”

“Of course I am,” Miss Tulip snaps in a snarky manner. There it is, I relish the silent satisfaction of slowly luring out her true, idiotic nature. It wouldn’t be long until I would do the same for the rest of the insignificant women here as well.

Miss Tulip blanches, immediately letting out a soft cough and pressing her fan to her glossy pink lips. “Excuse me,” She mutters, although the words hold no apology in them.

I watch attentively as the women awkwardly begin to drink the tea, silk-gloved fingers holding the teacups quiveringly. Their subtle follies are enough to clatter against the saucers.

_They’re afraid._ Animals that know they are backed into an inescapable corner.

“Do you ladies remember,” I smile soundly, grabbing a teaspoon to stir the sugar inside the tea. I need not be afraid of this concoction. For months, I built my tolerance against its poisonous qualities. The process was painful, but necessary. “That party we attended at Goldom? The banquet?”

They freeze in unison.

“Y-Yes,” Miss Flores takes another long sip of the tea—an attempt to drench out her tense demeanor. She tries for her signature red-lipped smile, although her mouth strains and quivers with the movement. “Yes, I remember that. It was quite a pleasant evening.”

“It was,” I agree, overly cheerful as I bite into a slice of lavender-lemon pie. Immediately, the atmosphere of the space turns frigid, despite the warm, midspring air. “But I also recall something else about that evening that was particularly…” I pause, taking a gulp of wisteria tea._ “…demoralizing.”_

__

The final effects of the tea were taking ahold of the women’s bodies in a viselike grip: the common slips of tongue. Nearly similar to alcohol intoxication.

“I…” One woman groans sluggishly, massaging her temples, the rest follow suite.

“From what I recall,” I add another spoonful of sugar to my tea. “You called me an incompetent heiress. A _whore_, to be exact. Each of these lovely ladies hastily agreed with you.”

The women begin to tumble out of their seats, one by one. Like puppets with their strings cut loose.

“What did you…” Lady Lilith grabs for the tablecloth, causing the silverware and china to spill across the ground below. They shatter, joining the blissful cacophony of the women’s cries of pain and agony from the tea’s poison taking effect.

Blood seeps out from their powdered nostrils and the corners of their lipstick-smeared mouths. Those filthy, insignificant mouths that uttered rumors and remarks about me.

“But it’s alright now,” I smile once more, rising from my seat as I flick my gaze over them. Each of their writhing, blood-stained bodies.

“Your sins shall be atoned for. By my hand.”