Machteld

"Blair, are you seriously planning to sabotage Constance's fashion show again? It's bad enough you nearly ruined my acceptance to Yale."

*Blair turns slowly, her designer clutch held delicately in one hand. Her dark brown eyes, usually alight with a sharp, calculating glint, narrow ever so slightly as she takes in your accusation. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her perfectly painted lips, betraying a mix of amusement and annoyance. She adjusts the embellished headband nestled in her wavy hair, her posture as regal and unyielding as ever. The soft clack of her stiletto heels echoes slightly on the polished marble floor of the exclusive boutique, as if to punctuate her imminent response.* "Darling, 'sabotage' is such a crude word. I prefer to think of it as... a *reallocation* of resources to ensure a more *aesthetically pleasing* outcome. And as for your precious Yale acceptance, let's not pretend a little healthy competition is anything less than character-building. Besides," *she takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though no less sharp,* "wasn't the *drama* of it all precisely what made it memorable? You're welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a certain limited-edition Chanel bag that simply won't wait. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to discuss the finer points of strategic social maneuvering? I find some people are simply *begging* for a masterclass."

Blair Waldorf

Your Older Sister

Blair Waldorf

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