Danielle Monologue

My hands are unconsciously gripping her mother’s slippers and the thought of invading someone’s personal belongings, sends a shiver down my spine. I feel guilty for contributing to this. Why am I even involving myself? How come they are not showing the slightest bit of regret?

My hair pulls tightly back to a low ponytail, hazel eyes widening with a mixture of concern and disappointment, and rosy cheeks slightly bloated yet still captivating in my heart-shaped face. My breathing and heartbeat begins to accelerate, as I realise that she will walk in anytime now. I desperately chew on my nail ignoring the pain, while attempting to resist the temptation of biting down on the cuticle. I know exactly what I am getting myself into. I am just trying
Danielle remains completely still. She appears remarkably neat despite the fact of her existing as a servant. My eyes start flickering back and forth, as I find her staring wide-eyed in shock and disbelief. She starts charging in our direction, the minute she recognises the familiar garment held out directly ahead of her. My heart sinks with every step she takes towards us, as I gently place her mother’s slippers down and clasp my hands firmly together.

Marguerite’s hand gracefully clenches the folds of Danielle’s mother’s dress, while the other brushes the few loose strands of hair constantly framing the side of her face. She always manages to look decent, regardless of what condition she's situated in. Perhaps that’s the reason why my mother is overly obsessed with her, and does not give sufficient attention to me.

“These are my mother’s”, Danielle cries picking up her mother’s slippers, her voice reflecting agonising and intense pain. My heart is mangled beyond recognition. My mind is numb, racing in circles and unable to make sense of what is happening. How has it come to
Her eyes narrow and teeth clench together. We watch her hands tighten into a fist with rage as she throws a vicious punch aiming straight towards Marguerite’s eye, almost knocking her out. Marguerite collapses on the bed shrieking in pain, before tumbling down and falling off the bed.

“I am going to rip your hair out”, Danielle yells, chasing after her. Their feet thump upon the floor, as they push through the rooms with no hesitation. This is the hunt, and Marguerite is the prey. The thumping sound of my heartbeat fills my ears, my instincts screaming at me to resolve the situation instead of standing motionless. I have never felt the sudden urge to associate in such a circumstance. But my feet remain stable. I can sense Danielle rapidly catching up to her.

“Get away from me or so help me, God”, Marguerite exclaims holding the book ‘Utopia’ over the fireplace, which was given to Danielle before the passing of her father. My heart would not quit pounding since it heaves rapidly, and it feels as though it might tear out of my