“Almost done,” Mary whispered, returning to assess her work.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and for a moment, words were unnecessary.She knew what this night meant.She knew what it would take from me.
And yet, she had adorned me for the occasion as though dressing a sister for her wedding day—with tenderness and quiet sorrow.
“Thank you,” I said, though the words rang hollow.“It’s perfect.”
Mary’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile as her hands came to rest gently on my shoulders.“You look beautiful, Lady Elizabeth.Truly.”
She spoke the words like a blessing.
Beauty might soften the edges of the night ahead.
I swallowed, my fingers ghosting over the smooth fabric of my gown.“Beauty can be a curse.”
My reflection stared back—pristine, untouchable, a vision sculpted to perfection.
This was my armor.My powdered curls, my jeweled cage.A gown wide enough to conceal my trembling knees.
But beneath it all, the spirit that longed to soar stirred, restless and yearning.
Tonight, I would wear the mask they had given me.
But one day… I would escape.
Mary fastened the clasp of the pearl necklace around my neck, the cool touch of each smooth orb sending a shiver down my spine.They rested against my skin, deceptively light yet unbearably heavy.Each pearl was a perfect sphere of iridescence, a fragment of ocean-born beauty—shining, flawless, and confined.
Much like I was expected to be.
“Your mother’s,” Mary reminded me softly, her fingers lingering on the final pearl as if willing strength into it.
I nodded, my throat tight.The familiar weight of the necklace was a whisper of my mother’s touch, a relic of love long since buried.
Matching earrings dangled from my ears—delicate pearls nestled atop drops of diamond, catching the candlelight.Their fractured brilliance scattered prisms across the chamber walls.The bracelet at my wrist, a slender chain of glittering stones, clasped tightly—too tightly.A mocking mirror of my fate.
“Time for your shoes,” Mary murmured, breaking through my reverie.
She held them up, and I swallowed hard.
Silk heels, the color of blushing dawn.Their surfaces were as smooth as still water, untouched, unblemished.The ornate buckles caught the light, sparkling with cruel elegance, while soft bows sat atop each one—innocent adornments for a march to the gallows.
I reached for them slowly, my fingers brushing the silk.
This was it.
Step by step, I was being bound, polished, and offered.
Slipping into the shoes, I felt the shift—not just in height, but in expectation.These were not shoes meant for running through fields or escaping into the woods.They were crafted for poised steps across polished floors, for standing tall when all you wanted to do was crumble.
“Beautiful, Lady Elizabeth.Just beautiful,” Mary murmured, her voice a balm against the chaos within me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, taking a tentative step.
The shoes carried me forward with a refinement that belied the storm beneath my skin.Each click against the floorboards reminded me of the role I must play and the expected performance.Tonight, I would move with grace, even if every step led me closer to a future I dreaded with every fiber of my being.
My fingers found the fan, and with a delicate flick of my wrist, I unfolded it—a flourish practiced, perfected, deceiving.
The painted silk spread before me, revealing a pastoral scene of delicate beauty—idyllic, serene, a lie.
