Anne’s dream

At approximately 1 pm, they arrived in England after a very long and tiring flight. Abigail wasn't as drunk as before but still swayed side to side occasionally. Thankfully for her, it was hardly noticeable. They waited for several minutes until their scheduled carriage came to take them to Windsor. Abigail was amazed, the carriage had been painted with a perfect royal purple. The sides had Spanish flags pinned onto it; she was grateful for this shown respect. "This country clearly has respect for its allies" Abigail spoke rather politically. A man, dressed in a blue bowler hat and a smartly dressed shirt, climbed out of the carriage and greeted them both. His hair was quite short and he frowned at the pair of them, not the pleasant reaction expected from a man faced with foreign royalty. He turned to the old, cranky driver "Je deteste Espanol Membre d'une Famille royale"His accent was very strong, the french almost undetectable. What he didn't realise is that Abigail is a fast learner, who spent several months in France on a political basis. "Ton Avis est discutable" her lips turned into a malicious smile. Then she added, "I can speak french too, now take your absurd views elsewhere!"Abigail yelled at the man. He backed down at once, intimidated greatly by her Belligerence tone. "The carriage is ready "he said in a much more formal manner than before, avoiding contact with the stern Duchess. Like a gentleman, he held open the door for them to enter. For a moment, Abigail caught a glimpse of his hand swaying on the top of the door, like he wanted to slam it before she could settle down. " What did he say?"Anne asked her, confused with the arisen conflict between the pair of complete strangers. "He told the driver that he hates Spanish royalty, believed I'm too Spanish to be able to speak french" she explained. Abigail is bilingual and can speak 4 languages, those are: French, Italian, English and Russian. Her English is brilliant for one raised in a complete Spanish society, not many back where she lives speak good English at all. "I wonder why"Anne responded, curiosity overshadowing her sympathy towards the distraught Abigail.

Every few seconds, Abigail's eyes would flicker to the man sitting at the front and she would scowl with great notice, while she muttered words of negativity. "Oh you seem greatly bothered by that, I'm sure that you value your country" Abigails tone was bitter and very sarcastic. Anne scowled her way "Of course I care about Spain, but a horrid man is the least of my worries". After hearing her last words, Abigail asked Anne what she was inferring. It took a while, but Anne finally opened up about her troubles. Abigail hadn't expected such absurdity. "My mother believes that in order to be successful in life, I'm must be married by the time I'm 30" she complained, her disapproval showing. She added, "apparently an arranged marriage with Bartimo frolling is appropriate". Abigail was stunned "The younger one?" Anne nodded her head but was cautious to avoid eye contact, the thought very embarrassing. Both Anne and Abigail had grown up with Bartimo's oldest brother, Richard. Bartimo was 5 years younger than him and oftenly seen as the baby of the family. Though that evidently isn't quite true anymore, him being 21 years of age, a number quite insufficient to Anne.

"I can't ever see him agreeing to that" Bartimo has been brought up in an extremely wealthy family, descending from entrepreneurs. "They want him to marry a woman to make his housewife" Abigail stifled a laugh at her expense. "Bartimo isn't much of a charmer, no wonder he hasn't had much luck" none of her words seemed to be helping Anne settle her dismay. Abigail added, " perhaps there might be a worthy enough gentleman in England". Anne's eyes widened with alarm, the green drowning her Misty grey eyes. "I hate it when your eyes do that, it's quite disturbing" coughed Abigail, moving her eyes away from the green reflection. "I won't be finding anyone in England" She spoke sharply, steadying her firm tone. " I know about your aspirations to be part of the CIA" She said suddenly, still not daring to look into her evergreen eyes. "How do you know" Anne spoke in a low tone, looking down firmly at her crinkled skirt. "I'm your best friend, I was bound to find out eventually" Abigail remained subtle, though Anne had an aching suspicion. "Suzette spoke to you I presume?" Abigail bowed her head into a slow nod, feeling as though it couldn't be hidden anymore. Abigail sighed, looking to the lavish flooring "in this world, you can't set your goals too high". She felt remorseful, not intending to upset Anne in any such way. She has been one of the only friends to exist in her life, the only one to offer her comfort and trust. But she had to be realistic, fearing that Anne could be left heartbroken when her goals are shattered due to the brutality of expectations. "You're right, but I have to try" Anne fiddled with her long-wretched fingers, laying them down on her pencil skirt.

The rest of the way to Windsor Castle came with short silences and occasional glances at the spectacular hilltops in all of England. These intrigued Abigail the most, particularly because she's astonished that England is, in fact, more than just places of business and agriculture. She imagined that the sights would be ghastly and distasteful, with commoners prowling the streets with powered guns. For some unexplainable reason, Abigail has never ventured out into England, despite it being a political place of interest.

Arriving at Windsor castle, Abigail looked out at the castle before her. The abhorrent french man stood before her, brandishing the fakest smile, as he held open the door. She gracefully took his hand, pinching it ruthlessly at every moment she got. The few seconds of torture made her elated, as she watched his face scrunch up in the attempt to not Yelp. Her grip was tough and painful, as her nails dug into the palm of his hand. She let go, her spider hands unravelling its unbreakable grip.

He looked relieved to see the behind of her red, short dress. At once, without being of assistance to Anne, he jumped into the front seat of the car. Abigail could see him blaring words in french at the driver, but she wasn't close enough to hear. Up the grand steps she went, with her hair flicking from side to side. Anne came beside her eventually, slumping her feet up the stone steps with little energy. She had instantly regretted her choice to wear heels.

A guard greeted the duchess in an appropriate, pleasant manner.

He pushed open the doors to reveal a large hall. Her eyes glistened; her reflection staring back at her from the polished stairs. As she took a step into the hall, she was drawn to the open ballroom. It was roaring with laughter and talk, one distinct laugh she had remembered from 14 years ago. That laugh had been the one that had laughed at her jokes, the person it belonged to also used to play a huge part in her daily life. When the reminiscing passed, She joined Anne in the ballroom where she made her grand entrance. Suddenly, all eyes were on her, including the dashing Opal eyes of Duchess Ariana. She stopped laughing and looked up at her, brandishing the same smile she had given her when they were kids. But, her eyes were a darker brown and didn't have the same happiness reflecting from them.