It was quiet when she got home, the sound of closing doors echoing off marble pillars and floors. Her shoes were removed from her feet, slid elegantly into the closet as to not track dirt on her parent's white floors. They always hated that. She never understood why it mattered, as they were not the one's who had to clean it up in the end. Her socked feet were silent against the floors and stairs, making her way up to the upper rooms. Where her and her parent's rooms were found, along with the computer room and the sunning room, and where she was headed now; her drawing room. Oh how she loved this room. It was her's alone, away from all the parties with meaningless, faceless people that her parents sucked up to, then spoke bitter behind their backs. It was all political bullshit, and she seemed to be an easy pawn to play in the middle of it all.
The doors opened up into her art room, windows covering two of the walls, letting in the fading sunlight and painting the room in a beautiful golden hue. A small, rare smile touched her lips, stepping further into the light. To her easel, set in the centre of the room. Her eyes roamed over her unfinished work, a soft sadness in her eyes. A family, close and happy, warm. Everything she wanted. Slim fingers wrapped around her brush, lifting it up to dip into colour, before meeting the white of her canvas. Filling in peach skin on the family faces, dusted with red as their smiles spread their cheeks wide. They looked so beautiful together, arms wrapped around each other in a tight and loving embrace. Her smile twitched. Oh how she wanted to be that little girl, smiling and laughing and wrapped in so much love. Hot tears stung at her eyes, biting into her lip to stop herself from breaking down completely.
Setting her paints down, the young girl slipped from her drawing room. She wanted to talk with someone. Not just anyone, she wanted to talk with her mother. Just check up on her, ask her when she was coming home. A phone was needed for that, something that she didn't have in her favourite room. She wouldn't need to go far, however, a phone having been set up just outside in the hallway. Lifting up the receiver, her nimble fingers pressed the code of buttons that would connect her. It rang once. Again. And again. On the fifth ring she had given up hope that anyone would answer, about to hang up, when a voice finally came through. "Hello, Lucy Maylind's desk. How may I help you?" The receiver was back up by her ear in a flash, smiling lightly. "H-Hello. I'm looking for my mo- um.. Mrs. Vulin." There was a short pause as fingers clacked against a keyboard. "One moment, please."
She waited quietly as the call was put through, ringing only once before being picked up. "Yes?! No no no, George that isn't happening until tomorrow! Work on this!" Her smile turned into a small frown. "Mom?""Sweety? Is that you?" She wasn't able to get an answer out, as her mother cut her off. "Sweety, mommy's a little busy right now. Can this wait?" Her fingers tightened around the receiver. No, no this could not wait. "I.. I just want to know when you're coming home...""What is this!? I asked for this yesterday! It doesn't do me any good today!" She had to pull the receiver away from her ear, the yelling had become so loud. "Mom? Is everything okay?" "Yes sweetie, everything's fine. Mommy's just a bit bu- Yes, thank you, you can leave it on the desk. Sweetie I have to go. Kiss kiss~" The line went silent, leaving the girl alone again.
Slowly, the phone was returned to it's bed, the young girl dragging her feet as she slowly went back to her drawing room. Her mother had sounded so busy. Likely, she wouldn't be home tonight. She didn't bother closing the doors again, walking up to her newly finished painting. The happy family didn't give her a sense of longing or happiness any longer. All it did was make her angry. Her hand reached out, taking hold of a tube of red paint. Mixing it with water, she began to flick it over her picture. Streams of red rolled over the faces of the family, turning the picture from a simple scene of love to one with a much darker feel. It was still missing one thing though... She squirted a bit of red paint onto her hand, squishing it until it covered her fingers and palm. It was pressed against the canvas, leaving a bright red hand print in the corner. There, that was...better.
