The More Family

There were two things in life that Grizelda More detested more than anything else, one possibly more than the other though they more or less were the same. It all had with being a More to do, or so she at least told herself as she flashed a plastic, faint smile at her reflection in the mirror, bettering the grey shadows under her eyes and the red on her cheeks.

She could hear the laughter from downstairs, her grandmother assuring the young man she had dragged there this evening that Grizelda was the loveliest creature on the earth while asking everyone if they wanted another cup of tea.

Grizelda knew that no matter how much makeup she put on, or how many theatrical coughs she produced during the dinner, her grandmother would not be fooled. When lady Dorothea More was set on something not even the end of the world would make her change her mind. But she also knew that she was a good actress and could fool everyone else, and therein lay all the difference as she coughing, snivelling and moaning slightly made her way downstairs to smile weakly at the assembled party of gentlemen, complaining only a little over her sore throat and feeling a bit dizzy.

She made it all the way through dessert, smiling ever so faintly at the young man sitting next to her, keeping a napkin clutched in one hand to dab her lips with every now and then after a session of coughing. He was ever so worried, helping her up the stairs as the table was cleared and she announced she had to go to bed despite her grandmothers angry glares, glares that were transformed into one of her infamous talks once she had bid all of her guests goodnight.

It was always the same procedure, lady Dot carefully closing the bedroom door behind her, sitting down on the end of Grizelda’s bed, taking her hands in hers, looking as sad as only an old woman with a heart filled with sorrows could look. There would be some quite talking, never shouting, never any harsh words, about her son and what love had gotten him into.

“It is not that I don’t love you”, her grandmother would say, smiling at her, ruffling her hair with a wrinkled hand in an attempt to come off as the kind of loving woman who would bake buns with her grandchildren and play with them in the sandbox which lady Dorothea had never done. “But true love is not practical. Just look at what it got your poor father Sebastien - let him rest in peace - into.”

“Me”, Grizelda would always point out and her grandmother would chuckle, flashing yellowing teeth that would have been pointy and sharp had she not been a human.

“You, yes”, Dorothea would agree. “But it also drove him insane, watching your mother and her lovers. And ultimately love took his life. I don’t want to see that happen again. Can you blame an old woman for caring about her granddaughter?”

Of course she couldn’t, Grizelda thought as the door closed silently behind the old, scheming lady. And of course she could not say anything else when she looked into those old, clever eyes than that she understood and was sorry for everything. And somehow, she realized as she pressed her face into her soft pillows, trying not to cry with frustration, she meant it. It was a slow but effective brainwash she was being subjected to and she badly needed to escape, perhaps into the arms of Logan Morecomb if he wanted her which she had started to doubt lately.

The More Family
Story by Figaro_Black
Sims created by Fuzzyjim
House designed and built by Evilredduckie