Chapters An Artist's Masterpiece Book 4 Chapter 3
The next day was much like the last, except two automaids attended the needs her husband prescribed, as she was led through the grounds. One of these Humphrey had recently purchased for Anne, as his other automatic servants were busy keeping the estate of Thornfield Hall prim and proper. So it was that Emily was just completing her short garden tour when she heard the quiet whir and rumble of Humphrey’s autocarriage far off near the front gate. If her rose had not been aflutter from the decorous walk, surely it was now.
Emily minced on her heels as fast as she could around to the front entry and carport, her maids in leisurely tow. As she made it to the front steps, the carriage found its way up the slight hill to deposit its passengers, and within a few minutes, there stood Humphrey with Anne in his arm, staring blankly, silently. As far as Emily could tell from her peripheral vision, her sister’s face was recognizable, but altered towards Humphrey’s vision of twisted beauty enough that they could be twins, nevermind sisters. Her head was adorned with similar golden locks, and above the hem of her traveling coat and her open bosom, right above her clavicle, lay a small pink-white rose, unlike Emily’s deep red.
She didn’t know what to do, and so was almost thankful when her automaid forced her to proceed inside, leading the way into her home like a good hostess does. Guided inside to the drawing room by their merciless maids, Humphrey followed behind for the view. “Dearest, aren’t you going to say ‘Hello’?”
She could not believe it. After everything he had done, he still jested. It overwhelmed her, and submitting to her instructions on courtesy, Emily took small, graceful steps towards her doll sister. Their eyes did not meet. They did not speak in warm tones of reunion. When she reached Anne, she faintly heard the ragged breaths of someone still in shock. What could she do? What was left? What had she needed most when she had returned from her final, imprisoning doll conversion surgery?
Touch.
Without a consideration for the spectator in the room she walked closer to Anne, and pressed her body forward, not enough to unbalance the poor newcomer but enough for their restrictive busts to press together quite lewdly. Emily did not care, and it surely showed on neither of their faces. And through her one form of intimacy, of embrace, she matched her sister’s stormy chest with her own, and she heard and felt her sister’s breathing slow.
“Truly touching.” her husband mocked. “Maids, bring the girls to my room and prepare them: I need to get acquainted with Anne, and Emily I want you there of course.”