“Samira, Pijon mwen.” Samira, My Dove. Her father approached her dressing quarters, hands fastened securely behind his back, His posture and mere presence screamed authority with every step he took inching towards her vanity mirror. His words were sweet, but Samira knew her father all too well, behind those supposed kind words was a speech full of expectation and pre-judgement. “Papa, li bon pou wè ou.” Father, it’s good to see you. “Yes, Today’s the day you will make your family proud.” Her father smiled brightly, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “You will meet the royal family and compete against the 30 other women standing for a chance to win the young prince’s heart.” Her father highlighted the number of women she’d be in competition with like it was a plaque on the wall, itching to get pulled down.
"I have high expectations for you Samira, You are the last of your sisters to get married. The last to bring more prosperity to the Baptiste lineage, and the last one to prove your worth in this family. She nearly rolled her eyes, Oh please. The “last” one to prove her worth as if she hadn’t been breaking her back for this family since the tender age of 8. “Yes, Papa.” Samira noted, her reaction almost robotic over the years of sly words and under meaning tones her father snared her with, She questioned if he just mistreated her for looking the most like her mother out of her siblings. Snapping a diamond-encrusted earring into her empty ear she stood, Revealing a black off-the-shoulder dress with beautiful gold increments, bracelets and necklaces draped off her collarbone.
“Wonderful!” Her father piqued up, if he did anything positive for her, it would be that he kept her in the latest of Sonage fashion. Even the items that hadn’t been released would be in her hand long before the public even heard about it. “You will surely swoop the prince off of his feet.” Her father chuckled, “Maids!” He swiftly clapped his hands as a few maids ran into the quarters, Putting on last minute touches, Spritzing hairspray on her curls and fixing the smudge on her lipstick. In a weird sense she was happy to be free from her Father’s outrageous demands for awhile, She’d been preparing so much that she’d hardly had the time to even ponder the situation for what it was. Winning this competition was more than just a task for her, It was a duty if she didn’t win she’d disappoint her family and bring shame to their name. She was already 19, Closing in to 20 without even as much as an engagement ring did not sit well with her Father.
“Ready the car, I expect everyone to see to it that Samira has perfected her harp lessons, Then have her brush up on her manners.” Her father barked out orders to the maids as Samira sighed, “Papa, Must I do all of these unnecessary tasks before I arrive?” Samira argued, “Unnecessary!?” Her father spun on his heel to face his daughter, “You must be a behaved wife, A mother my grandchildren can count on. Correct?” Her father stated sternly. “But Papa.” She stammered, “Enough.” Her father raised his hand to silence Samira, She folded her arms and brushed past him, hurrying to the car. “Hopefully I get the opportunity to run off like my mother did, maybe then I wouldn’t have to live up to his expectations for a day.” Samira huffed. Plopping down on-to the soft cushion the vehicle provided. “Here’s to new challenges, new trials, and new headaches.” Samira murmured under her breath.
After a decent ride, They arrived at the palace, Samira thought her home was big. But no, oh no. The palace was huge bold in decoration, bright in color, and astonishing in pattern. Stepping out of the vehicle, She turned to her Father. “Well. It’s time, Papa.” Samira brushed a curl behind her shoulder, “Make us proud, Mira. Make me proud.” Her father noted, “Epi pa fè sa, tounen vid.” And don’t, come back empty handed. He stated sternly swiftly strutting back to the vehicle, not a single hug or I love you was released from his lips, only the same hardened heart he presented to his youngest child every time. But now was not the time to let her father get the best of her, Samira handed the palace maid her belongings and waltz into the entrance, she was hit with a slight smell of wood, burning incents and a variety of perfume from the other girls who’d previously arrived. “Interesting.” Samira raised an eyebrow to the state of the palace, Intrigued by the scenery.
APPROACHABLE. Also, Samira and her family are Haitian so if you see her speaking in Haiti, I’ll provide the English translation to go along with it. 
Maid of Rosemary Edith Dolloway 
