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glrlrot · 1 year

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† ╼ you know what it means ( to unhome a body ) to collapse a pillar / that may have , one day , become a tower . exploring themes of : the black widow , weaponized femininity , corruption by wealth , the brutality of womanhood , elitism & privilege . written by stevie .

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tw: drugs, alcohol, (rumoured) murder, suicide, (implied) mentions of mental disorders

FULL NAME. adelaide montserrat

HOMETOWN. NY, New York

ALIAS. ade, addie (preferred)

AGE. 34

GENDER. cisfemale

ETHNICITY. white

OCCUPATION. socialite, philanthropist, retired prima ballerina turned model, occasional designer and actress

ORIENTATION. bisexual

MARITAL STATUS. widowed

HEIGHT. 5'11

EYES. blue

HAIR. blonde

ALIGNMENT. chaotic neutral

DRUGS OF USE. cocaine, LSD, methamphetamine

POSITIVE. determined, quick-witted, charming

NEGATIVE. elusive, manipulative, cunning

there’s two types of rich in this world: new money and old money, and the montserrat are most certainly old money . they began accumulating their wealth sometime ago in barcelona, spain, rubbing shoulders with world leaders and conquerors, providing weapons and soldiers and battle strategies, and when times changed, they changed, and kings and queens turned into businessmen and politicians: if there was a threat to be made, a string to be pulled, a player to be removed, you’d go to them.

despite their achievements, the women in the family were seldom remembered as anything more than unremarkable faces in old family portraits, pushed out of books and history and forgotten in time. adelaide never wanted to be one of those faces. she was brought up to be a proper lady. she was doted upon, and cherished, and as loved as one can be within such a household where you are part of the decoration. the only thing they expected from her was quiet compliance in the role she had been born to play: the heiress, the pretty thing.

adelaide was the product of a union that had been under negotiation for quite some time, a planned pregnancy, just like every other step of her life had been planned. her father was not a cruel man, merely a man of calculations and logic, and her mother lacked the maternal instincts that was expected of her. adelaide learned quickly that slobbering kisses and hugs were ill received, that she ought to keep her hands always clean and shoes pristine. she did not run around the house making messes, or leave dirty footprints on the marble floor or scribble her name on the wallpaper, she did not yell or throw tantrums in public. she had only one role to play in this world, and she knew like all things in life she was ultimately replaceable, if she did not perform it perfectly. if you were to ask her, adelaide couldn’t remember playing with other children in a sandbox, or fighting over whose doll was the prettiest: she kept her distance, always graceful, poised, never a hair out of place. sometimes, it felt lonely, but she could never bring herself to be more than a voyeur.

an early bloomer of exceptional talent, adelaide began dancing by the age of 6. while she had no problem memorizing choreographies or dazzling teachers, she struggled to intimate relationships, bonding with her peers, working with others. addie grew up receiving the best education money could buy and learning everything her parents could fit into her schedule: from horseback riding, to swimming lessons, to classical instruments such as the cello and piano, but there was little time for social interactions that were not orchestrated, so she simply decided they weren’t important.

by the age of 10, adelaide had fully developed into a shiny trophy to flaunt at parties rather than a daughter or grandchild to dote upon; whatever fragment of an identity had once existed, was no more. on the eve of her 13′th birthday, she enrolled in the prestigious paris opera ballet school to make a name for herself — and she did, of course she did. adelaide never failed. she was better than them — better than most. she was hungrier than the others: always willing to push a little harder, dig a little deeper, go a little further. she was flawless, perfect, completely moldable. to a lot of people, being young and in the spotlight was a scary thing, it meant competing for attention, but not to her. adelaide did not compete. she never even considered it a competition. she just won, plain and simple. adelaide couldn’t lose because the game was rigged from the start: it was tailored for people like her, and she knew, and she didn’t care. all she cared about was getting what she wanted: crowded rooms filled with applause, and leading role after leading role. if someone’s tutu’s happened to go missing just before curtain, or their alarm didn’t go off at the right time for whatever reason, or if she had to dance on with a broken metatarsal, so be it.

with age, adelaide learned how to put on a show, how to make a home of the stage. that's the magic of art, it transforms. she became the prima ballerina, and filled herself with stories other than her own while whatever had been good or soft rotted inside of her. eventually, her body couldn’t handle the routines as well as it used to, she could tell she was falling behind, and she was going to be replaced, and she couldn’t cope with that---so she bowed out gracefully and retired from ballet. the truth is she had already grown bored of her career long before, had grown bored of her friends and even herself. she needed to be reborn.

the articles will say she became a model after being scouted in los angeles, but if she were to be honest, her family had to pull some strings. she was pretty, tall, slender, and was used to being in the public eye. the transition wasn’t too difficult, all she had to do was gradually adjust to a new kind of public, learn how to market herself again. in a few years, she had returned in full force to the public’s eye through her modeling career, appearing in editorials for several international editions of Vogue, Harpers Bazaar, i-D, GQ, Dazed & Confused, Elle, Industrie, Interview, American and Spanish V, Glamour and W. through collaborations with other artists, she paved the road to dabble into designing and acting as well, going on to take small roles in both television and film.

here’s what stardom life taught her: people don’t want to know what’s behind the curtain. They might fool themselves into thinking they do, but they don't—not really. It only takes a small peek, and suddenly they start to realize how ugly and empty it is when the lights are off. all the jewelry in the world, all praise and money couldn’t fill up that hole inside her soul, that detachment she felt towards the outside world. nothing could fix inability to connect with things and people, even those supposedly closest to her. she was still lonely, no matter how many flowers she received. marriage felt like the natural next step. it’s what lonely people do, isn’t it? they get married?

finding someone that was husband material was assiduous work: many fit the mold but they all came with their set of imperfections. she went through a series of dates with men who ranged from terribly dull and tedious to thrill-seeking maniacs. professional athletes, actors, studio executives, models and sons of people in high places, until she came across joshua demarchelier: rockstar, icon and one of the media’s favorite celebrities to harass since britney spears had her public meltdown (think the rolling stones/nirvana). he was taller than he looked on MTV News , and the last place she’d expected to find him was here, in this private party her friends dragged her to; if she’d been honest she’d never stopped to listen to any of his songs, but she knew them well enough to make conversation when he approached her. the exchange was easy–he wasn’t too forward but wasn’t afraid to show he was interested either. they found a space far in the corner and just talked for hours, and hours, and hours. and to her surprise, she’d not been bored once the entire night. by the time the party was over, he’d asked her out on a date and she said yes. Soon they were inseparable. they got married within a year of knowing each other, and she thought she’d never be lonely again.

things were good at first, their honeymoon phase was lovely: they’d travel all around the world and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. they looked great in photos, and the public seemed to love them even more together than apart. but beneath the camera flashes and perfect ivory smiles, a couple months into the marriage things had already started to crumble–their personalities clashed, hard. their careers kept them more apart than together, and all the parties and drugs only made things worse. that’s when the threat of scandals began. addie knew how to keep her skeletons in the closet, but joshua didn’t seem to mind having his face stamped all over tmz. and suddenly, his thrill-seeking ways that were fun at first quickly turned into a hazard: when he wasn’t stumbling out of bars at night or passed out with a needle in his arm, she was finding lipstick stains on his collar and glitter all over his clothes, stuck cleaning up his messes to salvage her reputation. that wouldn’t damage him, but she could already hear the whispering; ‘how can she stay with him?’ ‘how didn’t she see this coming?’ ‘a divorce, not even a year into the marriage?’ ‘poor addie. poor poor addie’ no . she would not be the target of pity , or have his shit smeared all over her clean reputation. her friend’s words of encouragement? artists are like this, don’t take it personally. well, she did. she took it personally every time he stood her up at an important event or forced her to bail him out of trouble, every time they shouted at each other and he banged his fist against the walls like a dumb animal. their arguments turned to fights, and his endless stream of half-assed apologies just left her with an ashy taste in her mouth. two years in she made a list in her head of every little infraction he committed throughout their marriage. some nights, while he slept, she stayed awake and just looked at him, thinking about that list. divorce was never an option, after all, adelaide never failed at anything, and she wasn’t about to start now.

on december 12th of 2020, a month after celebrating her birthday in style, rock star joshua demarchelier was found dead in their home in los angeles, california, with fresh injection marks in both arms and a suicide note next to his body which would later have its authenticity questioned by some experts. there was a lot of buzz around the case at the time, but nothing that ever amounted to anything. the death was ruled a suicide, regardless, and adelaide was the sole inheritor of his patrimony, part of which she donated towards charities for drug addiction recovery and support, also becoming an outspoken advocate on the need for greater support of drug and alcohol addiction. eventually the buzz did die down, and the public found a new tragedy to latch onto, and her life was able to return to normal, if you could call it that.

inspirations: kate moss, alicia markova, amber valletta, india stoker (stoker), marquise de merteuil (les liaisons dangereuses), daisy buchanan (the great gatsby), ava lord (sin city)

HCS

despite being an LA person now, there is possibly nothing in this world adelaide loathes more than LA people and if she could get away with it she would push them into an open fan and watch them be shredded

always had anger issues, even as a child, though she’s always been good at hiding it. sometimes she’d slip up. like one time her dad told her to lose a tennis match to his associate’s son and she broke the racket on his head after the match. she tries not to break rackets on people’s heads now.

a wretched person, but she will make an effort to be liked because adelaide is in fact very concerned with how everyone perceives her (well, everyone who she thinks matters)

if you think the vibe is ‘i don’t know what happened to my husband, officer. she says, wiping a single tear, waltzing around her manor in a Catherine D’Lish robe.’ you would be correct

absolutely looooooooves nature / wildlife documentaries, she could spend hours just curled up on her couch watching this stuff if she had the time. but does she like animals? questionable. she doesn’t like cats. doesn’t like puppies. she has a snake, which she... well, it’s there. she feeds it sometimes. she also does seem to have an affinity for horses, or whatever her version of affinity is.

her and her family go hunting once a year, it looks very village of the damned when they get together. they’re all weird.

she also quite enjoys noir films, old hollywood movies, french cinema will forever have its special place in her heart. and she does tend to lean towards liking things with a more tragic ending. the same often applies to literature (think anna karenina, the great gatsby, etc)

she loves art! loves going to museums, and it’s a pretty big fan of kandinsky, pollock, picasso, etc. nothing she hates more than when she’s trying to disassociate from life looking at a painting and people try and make conversation :-)

you know what else she hates? sharing. if you’re friends with her and you have other friends? she hates that shit. she won’t admit it, she’ll just be passive aggressive about it if she thinks she can get away with it. the fact other people exist and demand attention? fucked up and she won’t hear about it.

#about.

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