A/N: I like Mrs. Rosencranz. She needs to appear in more fics.
Age hung heavily over the gloomy lounge. Mrs. Rosencranz nee DuBerry felt it keenly, both her own and that of the antiques lovingly collected here. She ran an elegant hand over the mahogany surface of a nearby occasional table. Her fingertips slid across the smooth veneer, finding the minute cracks that come with age regardless of generations of polish. She had all the polish of a lifetime of Society, yet she knew the cracks in her veneer were showing too, the façade crumbling. Soon, this would all be gone and she would be left with nothing but a name.
She lifted the glass of sherry to her lips and took a sip, savouring the taste and the warmth it ignited within her. She had never considered herself a materialist, although she was aware that some might think otherwise. She felt that she was not defined by her possessions; the accoutrements of wealth and taste that she gathered around herself were kept because of their beauty and their elegance rather than their monetary value. She had never judged a man by the clothes he wore or the car he drove. She simply required that he comport himself with dignity and honesty. And, of course, that he allow her to pursue her own interests in life. Dear Franz, it transpired, had rather less of the former qualities that she had realised. He had, at least, never interfered in her own business, scant comfort though that was now.
No, the antiques here were not her, but it was hard to think of them as not hers. Not hers at all once the account books had been opened and examined. They were friends, these pieces, and next week they would go under the hammer, one by one, and leave her forever. Dear departed friends, just like Franz.
A bitter smile curved her painted lips for an instant. At least these friends could not cost her in gambling debts. Continue reading