Neighboring Lands

Of Course I Will Always Believe And Support you

Warm golden rays rouse me from my slumber, and although that might be pleasant in theory; it is accompanied by a splitting migraine that causes me to wither in pain. The brilliant sunlight burns my aching eyes, the chilled air in my chamber burns my nose and leaves it dry; the soft sheets around me feel far too comforting and alien all at once. The sound of a creaking chair near my bed draws my dilated eyes to Damian's sleeping form. The chair itself is large, sat upon cherry wood clawed feet, and a dark velvety green fabric covers it; hand-stitched black vines are woven around the green velvet, the couches plush and firm looking.

Damian has his arms crossed over his chest, chin tucked and head tilted slightly to the left; his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. His lips are parted as he snores softly, looking at peace...boyish almost. I find myself allowing my eyes to travel across his face, taking in every small detail and flaw; every scar, the stray eyelash stuck to his cheek. His lips are slightly chapped due to the cold air of the room, the fireplace has long since gone out as early morning turned to late afternoon. Although dressed in uniform, Damian has removed his helmet and placed it on my bedside table, a glass of water next to that; as well as, a small bowl of fresh fruits.

Looking around for a spare blanket I find none before feeling a need I have never felt before with Damian. The need to protect him in some sort of way; the sudden change of view towards him leads me to freeze momentarily. 'If that was all a dream...it sure has changed the way I view you, and myself.' Slowly, as not to wake him, I drag my blanket from my own body and drape it over his sleeping form. He relaxes further into the chair letting out a content sigh as the warmth that lingered in the blanket seeps into his chilled skin. My hand grabs the glass of water, downing the ice-cold liquid to help ease the pain in my skull. 'Dream or not, I will not be the helpless damsel that I have been around you. I'll be someone you can be proud of.'

With a nod to myself, I slip off of my bed, my feet pushing into the plush rug beneath my bed and muffling the sounds of my footsteps. Quietly I make my way to the wardrobe, searching for an article of clothing I could easily alter, settling on a lilac-colored dress used for summer. It has far fewer layers, the corset tied with a dark purple ribbon, the sleeves semi-transparent, and the skirt fitted in a more A-line fashion. With a quick turn, I head for the Althorp Cabinet, a place I know the maids' store sowing equipment. Rummaging around I gather a needle, scissors, and thread that will match the dress before setting off to work; laying the soon-to-be altered garment on the work area and taking a seat on the wooden stool. Without hesitation I send the blades of the scissors through the skirt of the dress, shortening it until it will fall to knee length. Once satisfied I work on creating a new hemline to seal the fabric and keep it from fraying. Quick fingers lead to a lop-sided hem, and blood-speckled fingertips; but I find no time to care as I set about my next task, the corset. Aching fingers work on loosening and removing the boning of the corset, making it more comfortable to wear and move in.

It takes me a while to finish my alterations, the work a welcomed distraction from the pain behind my eyes; as well as, the promised freedom this version of the dress offers me. As if I am free from the thumb of the king, the ideals of him and the people; a freedom to be who I truly want to be. A wide grin works its way across my face as I hold up the new monstrosity I have created, created being a strong word. The hem and cut are uneven, the corset has lost most of its shape and support in my quest for comfort. Dots of my own blood decorates the soft butchered fabric, yet I find myself not caring as I squeeze it to my chest.

"What are you doing?"

At the sound of Damian's voice, I startle and spin around to face him, dress still held to my chest. "Did I wake you?" The frantic destiny of my heart starts to calm as my muscles relax; "I'm sorry if I did."