Scarlet Crystal
Bibbity Rabbity
title: becoming a lady
author: me! (anna)
rating: r-ish (u'll see)
genre: romance, outlooks on life
THIS IS FOR THE CONTEST! please read it!
Rain bathed everything in a smooth, wet coating of serenity as the last door of the small street closed itself to keep the warmth of the fire in. The roses on the window sills swayed and cringed under the pressure of the soft pitter-patter of liquid on their petals. The last window facing the small cobbled lane closed itself to maintain the dry of the inside. And it was just in time, for the clouds no longer could hold in the enormity of water. The soft lining broke loose, sending a million droplets downward, soaking all that they could reach.
Elena’s POV
It rains again. Dampening not only my home, but my spirits. My beautiful home in our small country town. I love it here. With the weather-beaten walls that have stood for as long as I can remember, and never to fall whilest I am here. I love the thick walls, the wooden windows, the heavy wood doors, and the warm fires just inside. Though the rain does wear away my home, it does not wear away the homes occupants: me, among others.
Well, at least I’m calm. I assume I should be working… Tanya will be furious when she finds out that I’ve been idly sitting here watching my window. Without thinking I reach for my sewing on the roughly hewn table beside me; the needle meeting the tip of my finger. Jerking my arm back, I speak one unlady-like phrase and cautiously reaching for the embroidery again. This time I watch my hand’s process.
The colorful threads unfortunately aren’t matching my black mood, but do suit my purpose. Daria’s wedding present must be beautiful, to match her flawless life. If only I were just like her: with everyone pampering her, waiting on her hand and foot. She is adored by every man within ten miles of our humble town. Unlike me, who is shunned by most. The few men that notice me tell me that I could be beautiful, if I only tried. I’m sure they’re correct, but I won’t try it. I like being free. Beauty is pain, because it brings responsibility, marriage, and a new home that keeps you more in than out.
Slowly, I maneuver the thin needle in and out in a fluid motion, reflecting years of boring experience. I’m good at it, but I don’t like being good at it. I’m happier with my other skills. My skills like swimming and painting. And being out of the way.
The pattern of stitches becomes a gorgeous border of pink and white roses around the edge of the white cloth. As I cut the last pink thread and tie it firmly down, my deft ears detect a soft step on the stairwell top outside my bedroom door. That door is more like a prison door to me, though. But it is still home.
Listening carefully, I determine that it is Daria’s footsteps, moving quietly. She probably hopes she can go up to her room with out anyone stopping her. I screw up my eyes in half concentration and thread purple thread on my needle. Then I begin to sew a new pattern onto my cloth. Then I quickly become bored with my task.
With a sigh, I set aside my sewing and stand up, smoothing my skirt as I go. After my hands have smoothed the creases on the soft fabric for a few moments I freeze, realizing what I have just done. I’m turning into a lady! That occurrence is the last thing that I want. To end the memory of the movement, I clasp my hands and squeeze. The bite of pain ends the moment.
The only thought in my mind at the moment is ‘Cursed rain! I’d rather be outside,’ but I ignore my wants and turn toward the large carved wooden dresser that is next to the window. I remember that it is late and I should prepare to rest my eyes for the night. But for some reason, I feel strangely awake and energized. After pausing a moment to ponder what I should do, I settle on creeping around the house and listening in on conversations. It’s hazardous, but very entertaining.
I open the large mahogany doors of my armoire and scan the contents. My eyes stop searching when they find a dark-fabric night gown. I reach for it and pull it out. Then I quietly shut the armoire doors and step behind the dressing screen. Carefully I remove my formal dinner dress and drape it over the screen. Then I take off the special undergarments- thank god I’ve still got a few months before I start to wear a corset. Now I gently ease the night gown over my young body.
My father, Frederic, calls it my “young body,” but I don’t mind. Being young isn’t half as bad as they make it sound. Sure, I’m not a beautiful and developed lady, but I’m not a child. The night gown feels comfortably loose on me, and I step out from behind the screen. And I think to myself, now it’s time to hear what people think nobody can hear.
When I step into the hallway, I take great care in making my door shut itself quietly. It makes a lot of noise usually, so I proceed with caution. Daria’s room is right beside mine, so I tiptoe up to that. Not hearing any noise, I hesitate, and then decide to look around. Besides, no light is coming from under the door.
Quietly, I ease the door open. The room is empty. She is probably downstairs with the ladies, doing group embroidery and gossiping about jewelry. I move around the room, getting a close look at the things that are usually off limits to me. A lot of the items remind me that she’ll be married in less than two weeks. Then she’ll leave our house and move into one directly across the small cobbled lane. Here and there, something of her future husband’s presents itself. Fortunately, she actually likes her chosen husband. For once, father seems to have made a decision that pleases most everyone. Except for me.
Though Daria and I aren’t the closest of close, I am sure that the loss of her presence in the house will weigh heavily on me. It’s a depression thought, but at least she is only just on the other side of that small, cobblestone lane. Thinking about this, I move toward her wooden dresser. Inside, I notice a lot of unused old clothing. One of her old sashes has always caught my eye. And here is my chance to own it. It is too tempting to resist, so I steal it.
I’m suddenly bored of her room, so I leave and shut the door softly. Then I proceed to the next room. It’s the guest bedroom. I know that it is in use by Daria’s future husband, who decided to spend the night at our house, but it seems as empty as Daria’s. So I glance around, then prepare to open the door. I figure that the man is probably discussing marriage with Father while smoking his favorite pipe downstairs. So as not to disturb anyone in the other rooms, I open the door as quietly as I have ever attempted. It makes no noise. I step inside and look to the side of the room I am nearest to.
Nothing here belongs to the man, but only some basic furniture belonging to us. I reach for the small pillow that I’d embroidered for this room four days ago, then freeze. I can hear something. Slowly, I turn towards the far side of the room that I had not glanced at.
There, to my horror, was Daria and the guest, obliviously and passionately making love. I quickly and quietly hide my eyes. But it was too late. I had already seen them: their naked bodies ultimately joined on top of all of the warm sheets. Pillows are strewn on the floor around the bed. Daria is beautiful as usual, but so was her future husband, something that I hadn’t noticed before.
Every bit of common sense tells me to leave, but I am rooted to the spot. I am fascinated yet at the same time disgusted with myself. After a few moments of being stuck in one spot, I turn and float quietly away. The door shuts as quietly as before behind me. And I realize I’ve had enough sneaking around for one night.
*****************
When I wake up the next morning, I’m not tired at all, even though it’s very early. I get up and walk to the window, noticing that it’s not raining anymore, though the sky does look threatening. It’s so early, I decide nobody would mind if I went for a walk. Taking Daria’s old sash with me, I put on a simple tan cotton frock and set out, trying not to wake anyone. Once I am downstairs, I get my walking slippers out of the small closet and pull them over my chilled feet. Then, I grab a newly baked small loaf of bread off the tray and step out the door.
It’s a glorious morning, with lots of dew and a half-risen sun. The cobblestones are still wet, but not enough for water to be in large puddles. Turning to the right, I begin to stride lightly up the hill, not bothering to use my lady-like walk. Soon I am at the crest of the hill that my town is built on, and begin to descend. I walk past the sleepy houses, delighted at being the only one up at this hour (besides the cooks and servants).
As I leave the outskirts of my humble village, the cobblestone road becomes a dirt path. I travel down this dirt path until I come to the Lake, the small body of water that the river ends in. If you follow the river, leaving even the towns that lay thirty miles from here, you reach the small mountain that river flows from. But that trip would take the entire day at least, if not more. And besides, I have no reason to go.
So I find a shallow part of the lake that is surrounded by large bushes that I come to often when I find the time and strip down to my underclothes. I would go naked, but it’s too close to town to risk that. And being seen in under garments is bad enough, or so Tanya seems to believe. That’s why everybody I know owns a dressing screen to stand behind while dressing.
“Ahhh,” I sigh, easing myself into the cool water. “Wonderful.”
The Lake is a little deeper today because of all the rain last night. It feels heavenly to me, so I float around in it for a while, relishing the tranquility. I stay at the Lake for as long as I can whenever I can, dashing home when I’m needed or expected.
I allow myself to relax in the water for half an hour, then lay my self on the mossy ground to dry. After ten or so minutes, I pull my clothes over my underclothes and head back to home.
I arrive home to find myself among bustling servants and cooks, who are currently working as hard as they can to put on a fancy breakfast for John, the guest of honor. It was plain that Daria loves him, and the servants love Daria. So they were obviously trying too hard to please her.
Nobody pays attention to me as I go upstairs to my room, where I change, leaving my slightly wet undergarments on the screen, putting on new ones. Then I put on a pale yellow day dress and call my personal servant. She does my hair then leaves. Looking at myself in the mirror behind the screen, I actually don’t look that terrible. I could be beautiful, if I only tried. I hesitate for a moment to think the matter over. Sometimes, I do wish I could be as beautiful as Daria. And Father often insists that it runs in the family, because of my deceased mother. Father seems to think he was lucky to have married her before everybody around had fallen in love with her. But those were the old days.
Today is a new day, and I’m going to breakfast.
*****************
As I set away my napkin and stand up from my chair, Daria motions for me to wait. I stop; dreading whatever it is she wants.
“Elena, dear,” she says in that sugary voice of hers. “I have a small favor to ask of you.” I try to look interested, but inside my plans of escaping for the day are crumbling down. I don’t have the slightest idea what it is. Maybe she realized I was there last night but said nothing! That would be terrible. They were supposed to wait until after marriage for that. But I guess it is close enough…
“What is that flavor?” I reply, tying very hard and somewhat succeeding in sounding kind and interested. She smiles, looking as though she actually thinks I’m interested. But I can see her fingers fidgeting. I can tell that I may not like her proposition.
“Oh, nothing much,” she assures me, “just an invitation.”
“But I’m already invited to the wedding,” I blurt out. Daria laughs quietly.
“Indeed,” she says. “I wanted to invite you to the party today. With John and all of his friends. It’s the opportune moment for you to find somebody you like! John seems to have dozens of great male friends. And Father seems to think that it is soon time for you to settle down and be the lady that is beginning to show through.” So it is my father that put her up to this. And I guess this means I’ll be wearing my first corset. But if I refuse, Father will be very angry. So I sigh inwardly and nod at Daria. Maybe even ladies can break loose and swim in lakes sometimes.
author: me! (anna)
rating: r-ish (u'll see)
genre: romance, outlooks on life
THIS IS FOR THE CONTEST! please read it!
Rain bathed everything in a smooth, wet coating of serenity as the last door of the small street closed itself to keep the warmth of the fire in. The roses on the window sills swayed and cringed under the pressure of the soft pitter-patter of liquid on their petals. The last window facing the small cobbled lane closed itself to maintain the dry of the inside. And it was just in time, for the clouds no longer could hold in the enormity of water. The soft lining broke loose, sending a million droplets downward, soaking all that they could reach.
Elena’s POV
It rains again. Dampening not only my home, but my spirits. My beautiful home in our small country town. I love it here. With the weather-beaten walls that have stood for as long as I can remember, and never to fall whilest I am here. I love the thick walls, the wooden windows, the heavy wood doors, and the warm fires just inside. Though the rain does wear away my home, it does not wear away the homes occupants: me, among others.
Well, at least I’m calm. I assume I should be working… Tanya will be furious when she finds out that I’ve been idly sitting here watching my window. Without thinking I reach for my sewing on the roughly hewn table beside me; the needle meeting the tip of my finger. Jerking my arm back, I speak one unlady-like phrase and cautiously reaching for the embroidery again. This time I watch my hand’s process.
The colorful threads unfortunately aren’t matching my black mood, but do suit my purpose. Daria’s wedding present must be beautiful, to match her flawless life. If only I were just like her: with everyone pampering her, waiting on her hand and foot. She is adored by every man within ten miles of our humble town. Unlike me, who is shunned by most. The few men that notice me tell me that I could be beautiful, if I only tried. I’m sure they’re correct, but I won’t try it. I like being free. Beauty is pain, because it brings responsibility, marriage, and a new home that keeps you more in than out.
Slowly, I maneuver the thin needle in and out in a fluid motion, reflecting years of boring experience. I’m good at it, but I don’t like being good at it. I’m happier with my other skills. My skills like swimming and painting. And being out of the way.
The pattern of stitches becomes a gorgeous border of pink and white roses around the edge of the white cloth. As I cut the last pink thread and tie it firmly down, my deft ears detect a soft step on the stairwell top outside my bedroom door. That door is more like a prison door to me, though. But it is still home.
Listening carefully, I determine that it is Daria’s footsteps, moving quietly. She probably hopes she can go up to her room with out anyone stopping her. I screw up my eyes in half concentration and thread purple thread on my needle. Then I begin to sew a new pattern onto my cloth. Then I quickly become bored with my task.
With a sigh, I set aside my sewing and stand up, smoothing my skirt as I go. After my hands have smoothed the creases on the soft fabric for a few moments I freeze, realizing what I have just done. I’m turning into a lady! That occurrence is the last thing that I want. To end the memory of the movement, I clasp my hands and squeeze. The bite of pain ends the moment.
The only thought in my mind at the moment is ‘Cursed rain! I’d rather be outside,’ but I ignore my wants and turn toward the large carved wooden dresser that is next to the window. I remember that it is late and I should prepare to rest my eyes for the night. But for some reason, I feel strangely awake and energized. After pausing a moment to ponder what I should do, I settle on creeping around the house and listening in on conversations. It’s hazardous, but very entertaining.
I open the large mahogany doors of my armoire and scan the contents. My eyes stop searching when they find a dark-fabric night gown. I reach for it and pull it out. Then I quietly shut the armoire doors and step behind the dressing screen. Carefully I remove my formal dinner dress and drape it over the screen. Then I take off the special undergarments- thank god I’ve still got a few months before I start to wear a corset. Now I gently ease the night gown over my young body.
My father, Frederic, calls it my “young body,” but I don’t mind. Being young isn’t half as bad as they make it sound. Sure, I’m not a beautiful and developed lady, but I’m not a child. The night gown feels comfortably loose on me, and I step out from behind the screen. And I think to myself, now it’s time to hear what people think nobody can hear.
When I step into the hallway, I take great care in making my door shut itself quietly. It makes a lot of noise usually, so I proceed with caution. Daria’s room is right beside mine, so I tiptoe up to that. Not hearing any noise, I hesitate, and then decide to look around. Besides, no light is coming from under the door.
Quietly, I ease the door open. The room is empty. She is probably downstairs with the ladies, doing group embroidery and gossiping about jewelry. I move around the room, getting a close look at the things that are usually off limits to me. A lot of the items remind me that she’ll be married in less than two weeks. Then she’ll leave our house and move into one directly across the small cobbled lane. Here and there, something of her future husband’s presents itself. Fortunately, she actually likes her chosen husband. For once, father seems to have made a decision that pleases most everyone. Except for me.
Though Daria and I aren’t the closest of close, I am sure that the loss of her presence in the house will weigh heavily on me. It’s a depression thought, but at least she is only just on the other side of that small, cobblestone lane. Thinking about this, I move toward her wooden dresser. Inside, I notice a lot of unused old clothing. One of her old sashes has always caught my eye. And here is my chance to own it. It is too tempting to resist, so I steal it.
I’m suddenly bored of her room, so I leave and shut the door softly. Then I proceed to the next room. It’s the guest bedroom. I know that it is in use by Daria’s future husband, who decided to spend the night at our house, but it seems as empty as Daria’s. So I glance around, then prepare to open the door. I figure that the man is probably discussing marriage with Father while smoking his favorite pipe downstairs. So as not to disturb anyone in the other rooms, I open the door as quietly as I have ever attempted. It makes no noise. I step inside and look to the side of the room I am nearest to.
Nothing here belongs to the man, but only some basic furniture belonging to us. I reach for the small pillow that I’d embroidered for this room four days ago, then freeze. I can hear something. Slowly, I turn towards the far side of the room that I had not glanced at.
There, to my horror, was Daria and the guest, obliviously and passionately making love. I quickly and quietly hide my eyes. But it was too late. I had already seen them: their naked bodies ultimately joined on top of all of the warm sheets. Pillows are strewn on the floor around the bed. Daria is beautiful as usual, but so was her future husband, something that I hadn’t noticed before.
Every bit of common sense tells me to leave, but I am rooted to the spot. I am fascinated yet at the same time disgusted with myself. After a few moments of being stuck in one spot, I turn and float quietly away. The door shuts as quietly as before behind me. And I realize I’ve had enough sneaking around for one night.
*****************
When I wake up the next morning, I’m not tired at all, even though it’s very early. I get up and walk to the window, noticing that it’s not raining anymore, though the sky does look threatening. It’s so early, I decide nobody would mind if I went for a walk. Taking Daria’s old sash with me, I put on a simple tan cotton frock and set out, trying not to wake anyone. Once I am downstairs, I get my walking slippers out of the small closet and pull them over my chilled feet. Then, I grab a newly baked small loaf of bread off the tray and step out the door.
It’s a glorious morning, with lots of dew and a half-risen sun. The cobblestones are still wet, but not enough for water to be in large puddles. Turning to the right, I begin to stride lightly up the hill, not bothering to use my lady-like walk. Soon I am at the crest of the hill that my town is built on, and begin to descend. I walk past the sleepy houses, delighted at being the only one up at this hour (besides the cooks and servants).
As I leave the outskirts of my humble village, the cobblestone road becomes a dirt path. I travel down this dirt path until I come to the Lake, the small body of water that the river ends in. If you follow the river, leaving even the towns that lay thirty miles from here, you reach the small mountain that river flows from. But that trip would take the entire day at least, if not more. And besides, I have no reason to go.
So I find a shallow part of the lake that is surrounded by large bushes that I come to often when I find the time and strip down to my underclothes. I would go naked, but it’s too close to town to risk that. And being seen in under garments is bad enough, or so Tanya seems to believe. That’s why everybody I know owns a dressing screen to stand behind while dressing.
“Ahhh,” I sigh, easing myself into the cool water. “Wonderful.”
The Lake is a little deeper today because of all the rain last night. It feels heavenly to me, so I float around in it for a while, relishing the tranquility. I stay at the Lake for as long as I can whenever I can, dashing home when I’m needed or expected.
I allow myself to relax in the water for half an hour, then lay my self on the mossy ground to dry. After ten or so minutes, I pull my clothes over my underclothes and head back to home.
I arrive home to find myself among bustling servants and cooks, who are currently working as hard as they can to put on a fancy breakfast for John, the guest of honor. It was plain that Daria loves him, and the servants love Daria. So they were obviously trying too hard to please her.
Nobody pays attention to me as I go upstairs to my room, where I change, leaving my slightly wet undergarments on the screen, putting on new ones. Then I put on a pale yellow day dress and call my personal servant. She does my hair then leaves. Looking at myself in the mirror behind the screen, I actually don’t look that terrible. I could be beautiful, if I only tried. I hesitate for a moment to think the matter over. Sometimes, I do wish I could be as beautiful as Daria. And Father often insists that it runs in the family, because of my deceased mother. Father seems to think he was lucky to have married her before everybody around had fallen in love with her. But those were the old days.
Today is a new day, and I’m going to breakfast.
*****************
As I set away my napkin and stand up from my chair, Daria motions for me to wait. I stop; dreading whatever it is she wants.
“Elena, dear,” she says in that sugary voice of hers. “I have a small favor to ask of you.” I try to look interested, but inside my plans of escaping for the day are crumbling down. I don’t have the slightest idea what it is. Maybe she realized I was there last night but said nothing! That would be terrible. They were supposed to wait until after marriage for that. But I guess it is close enough…
“What is that flavor?” I reply, tying very hard and somewhat succeeding in sounding kind and interested. She smiles, looking as though she actually thinks I’m interested. But I can see her fingers fidgeting. I can tell that I may not like her proposition.
“Oh, nothing much,” she assures me, “just an invitation.”
“But I’m already invited to the wedding,” I blurt out. Daria laughs quietly.
“Indeed,” she says. “I wanted to invite you to the party today. With John and all of his friends. It’s the opportune moment for you to find somebody you like! John seems to have dozens of great male friends. And Father seems to think that it is soon time for you to settle down and be the lady that is beginning to show through.” So it is my father that put her up to this. And I guess this means I’ll be wearing my first corset. But if I refuse, Father will be very angry. So I sigh inwardly and nod at Daria. Maybe even ladies can break loose and swim in lakes sometimes.
more soon!