The Truth About Love

Freedom

A sea of soft, pastel gowns floated gracefully before her eyes. Lavender satin, mint lace, periwinkle chiffon and creamy lace gave the ballroom a delicate, spring inspired mood.

Her own dress was made of the finest blush coloured silk with dashes of rosy organza peaking through the ruffles to compliment her otherwise pale complexion. Her hair had been meticulously styled by Peggy, her maid, into an intricate chignon. On her neck rested one of her mother's many jewel necklaces. This one, an extravagantly rare pink sapphire surrounded by rows of fresh water pearls. Her attire, by far, was the most ostentatious in the room but she still stood at the side with her empty dance card.

She stood, rod straight, the way her governess had taught her, face clear of  any disappointment. Her hands clutched tightly on the dance card, and one look at her white knuckles would be a dead giveaway to her distress.

For this one night, she had taken two years of dance lessons with a powdery, eccentric French man with an wig bigger than his own head. Countless hours spent practicing her curtsy, small talk and polite eating habits. Her mother had ensured, in so many words, that she knew that she was to bring in offers this season without delay.

Yet not one man had bothered to glance at her, let alone invite her for a dance. She had been dreaming of a waltz. A romantic slow waltz with a handsome man, just their two bodies swaying across the floor in perfect harmony to the violin and piano. No words, just their eyes conveying a million hopes for a shared future. Alas, the evening would draw to an end soon time and she gave up on the possibility of having her dream come true.

She certainly wasn't the most beautiful woman in the room but to say that she looked off putting was far from the truth. There were days that her cheeks looked rosier,  complexion brighter and to anyone, she would be considered pretty but there were also other days that anyone would be hard pressed to say she was anything above average looking.

She had an 'other' day this morning but, with the help of her mother's expensive rouge and skin preparatory techniques, she thought she looked close to pretty, if not entirely.

But there she still stood, in a grand ballroom with several chandeliers lighting up the glow on every maidens face except hers. Because despite her multitude of effort, she was still invisible.  

So she turned to the pastry table and picked up a expertly folded cream puff, smothered in rich, mauve Berry sauce and dark chocolate curls. This was, without a doubt the most risky pastry of the table. One drip of the Berry sauce could stain her silk dress forever but somehow she couldn't find herself to care.

She ignored the voice of her mother taunting her in her head that she was not eat any pastry before a gentlemen had offered her one. That even in such a case, she was to ask for the most neatly eaten pastry. That she was act a certain way to attract men. That she was to abandon her self worth and sanity by standing around like some kind of wealthy, thoughtless doll.

So in a way that only satisfied herself and no one else, she shoved the pastry in her mouth, splattering the sauce and chocolate all over her dressed and jewellry. She could already see the permanent stains but she continued until both her stomach and heart were full.

And for once, since the moment she stepped foot in this stuff, pretentious ballroom, she felt a feeling other than suffocation. She felt the dangerously new and insatiable feeling of;

Liberation.