Penelope Featherington Book Appearance Novels & Stories

The morning mountain fog was thin and translucent, allowing the bright sunlight to glint off the foreign royal seals stamped onto the vehicle’s bulletproof glass. Penelope stood at the head of the main formal receiving room, her posture flawlessly straight. She wore a sharp, tailor-made charcoal suit with a white silk blouse, her long silver hair falling past her shoulder blades in loose, glossy waves. Her deep indigo eyes were calm, but her expression carried the absolute, unyielding weight of a sovereign ruler checking the parameters of her boundary line.

However, Penelope was considered Lionel's great-aunt in terms of seniority in the family, She continued, "Oh, is this a lamp? Why does it have a circle of feathers around it? Did you pluck them from a goose? I must say, it looks quite novel! Where's the switch? Let me turn it on and have a look… Huh? It's just an ordinary lamp! I thought that it's shine even brighter with the feathers!" Lionel had already started sweating. "No… the feathers are just for decoration. They don't serve any real purpose…"

Aelia pulled her close, letting the warmth of the child’s small body press against her as she absentmindedly ran her fingers through her curls. Penelope reminded her too much of herself. The same auburn hair. The same quiet loneliness. Aelia held her tighter. Outside, the sky darkened and it looked like a reflection of her heart

Assuming it was Joaquin, I continued stirring the food in the pan. "Are you hungry?" I called out, but there was no response. Weird… he isn’t like that. “Joaquin?” I called again, still stirring, but the silence continued. Frowning, I turned around to check on him, and my blood ran cold. Standing there was a woman. Her eyes were bloodshot, her hair disheveled, and her clothes looked torn, though she was wearing what seemed to be an office uniform. She was barefoot, and her overall appearance was disturbing.

Her chestnut hair, which had been long and curly years ago, was now a pixie cut, giving her a more sharp and professional look. Penelope's smile faltered when she noticed the way he was staring at her wordlessly. Why was he looking at her so intensely? She mused, unsure whether to approach his desk or just stand there. Deciding that perhaps he was staring because he didn't know who she was or maybe he was expecting her to say something, she cleared her throat, "My name is Penelope Will, and I'm from Clarkesworld Magazine," she explained as

I didn’t need a shaman to tell me who it was. I inhaled deeply, grabbing my phones and keys then walked out of the room and downstairs. I opened the door to see Penelope standing out there, surprisingly she had a brown dress on. I raised my eyebrow as soon as I saw the color. Nothing goes how I want it to. At the end of the day, even clothes are against me. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail, lips coated in a red lipstick. Her smile widened on seeing me. “We are matching. I love it.” She exclaimed excitedly, her red lips pulled into a large smile.

I took it as good news. Had no choice. "It's so exciting, isn't it?" I looked up, actually speechless as Penelope Anders turned and reached out to gently touch the back of my hand. Her silver hair was tinted faintly blue, brown eyes watery behind her round glasses as her lace glove scratched over my skin.

She pushed the envelope across the table and I opened it. It was one photograph taken recently and printed, I could tell from the quality, from the light, from the way it was framed like something candid rather than posed. It was a picture of Penelope standing in a small sunlit room I didn't recognise. Her hair loose, wearing a simple pale green top I had never seen on her before. She looked different from any version of her I had known. She looked relaxed. Her whole face opened in a way it hadn't when I had her.

I started walking again, not waiting to see if she followed. She did. We were just a few steps from the back entrance when I heard a voice that made my spine tighten. “Baby, I've been searching everywhere for you.” I turned just in time to see Penelope step out onto the patio, her phone in one hand, a drink in the other. She looked drunk, her dress was slightly ripped by the side, and her hair messy, but I also noticed the marks on her exposed thighs. She must have been having a little bit too much fun with some stranger, but I don't really care.

The way the staff treats me like royalty once felt empowering. Penelope twirls in front of a mirror, the silk dress she’s wearing hugging her figure like a second skin. She beams, her joy infectious. “This is the life, Caroline. You, here, surrounded by all this luxury—this is who you are. Why are you hiding it from Knoxx?”