Countess Diaries Chapter 12 Fairy Lights, Felines, and Fainting at Suspension
Ah, the life of a Countess is never dull, though it does occasionally require one to retreat to the bath mid-afternoon for a moment of calm before the chaos. Today has been a whirlwind of preparations, delightful surprises, and, dare I say, more squeals than I care to hear before sunset.
Miss P, my dear dominatrix friend, arrived earlier with her usual flourish, laden with both her professional accoutrements and a charming gift for me: heart-shaped fairy lights in the most delightful shade of pink. They will add a touch of whimsy to the new venue across the road, a stark contrast to the usual ambiance of leather and dim lighting at Club DARK. Such contradictions amuse me endlessly—perhaps because I embody them myself. After all, who else hosts dominatrixes and Cat Cafes in the same week?
Speaking of the Cat Cafe, our delightful intern Maria has taken charge of it for now. She runs it with a dedication I can only describe as saintly, ensuring the cats are doted on without becoming overwhelmed. The felines, in their infinite wisdom, adore the Saturdays-only schedule. They seem to know they are the stars of the show, accepting strokes and treats with the regal air of those who own the place (a trait I rather admire). We already have regulars, both human and feline, which fills me with pride.
As for Club DARK, preparations are complete, thanks in no small part to my cleaner, who has outdone herself. She has scrubbed and polished until the palace positively sparkles, and I swear the faint smell of bleach mingled with sea breeze has replaced even the most persistent reminders of the squatters who once tarnished these halls. The lighting is moody, the sound system is primed, and the graffiti—well, most of it—is concealed beneath fresh paint. If only all my battles were as easily won.
Upstairs, however, things have taken a decidedly noisier turn. A suspension photo shoot is underway, and the occasional squeal or giggle echoes through the palace. While I appreciate their enthusiasm for artistic expression, I must confess: pain, whether real or performative, holds no allure for me. I lasted all of five minutes before excusing myself, citing “artistic overload” as I fled to the sanctuary of my bath.
Tomorrow promises to be a gentler affair with the life drawing session, a staple of the palace’s artistic calendar. The students are industrious, already planning their exhibition with the kind of optimism that only youth can sustain. I admire their dedication, though I do wonder about the shelves they’ve requested. What they’re for, I cannot imagine, but I’ve learned not to question the whims of artists too deeply. Better to nod approvingly and let them surprise me.
As I contemplate the evening ahead, I find myself feeling rather rebellious. Perhaps it is the thought of the after-party, or the lingering laughter from Miss P’s visit, or even the faintly absurd soundtrack of squeals from upstairs. Whatever the reason, I’m inclined to indulge. A vodka and orange, a Marlboro, and the promise of revelry await.
So, dear reader, I bid you farewell for now. The night beckons, and I must answer. With any luck, tomorrow’s entry will find me with tales to tell, a new gift from Club DARK’s enigmatic attendees, and no further interruptions from suspension enthusiasts. Until then, bonne soirée!
©2020 Sarnia de la Maré
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