Evelyn

1: Wherein the Duchess Becomes Disgruntled

*Inspired by Henrik Ibsen's A Doll's House*

"If we could tighten this just a smidge..." Macy, Evelyn's personal maid muttered, pulling the ribbons of her corset much too tightly for the young woman's taste. It had always been Evelyn's belief that undergarments of these sorts were meant for ladies possessing a substantially more curvaceous physique. She, though unfashionably thin as a board, had no desire of creating the illusion of a womanly bust.

"Macy, perhaps I could-" Evelyn gasped silently at the fabric stretching painfully against her chest, "-do without the corset."

Macy hummed absentmindedly, her eyes downcast as she knotted the ties at the small of Evelyn's back. After working in the Madsen estate since the birth of the current Duke, she could now confidently assert that the Duchess had very little to no patience for the complex process behind feminine fashion. She had no right to resent the young woman for her considerable distaste of high-class trends, but if Macy were in her very position, she would refrain from the peevish insults she spit behind the back of every noble the Madsen clan associated with.

It seemed no one could quite understand the frustrated Lady Madsen. Amongst the townsmen of her small province, it was universally acknowledged that the eccentric Duchess had everything and anything her heart could ever wish for.

"Mistress," she began, wrapping the layers of crinoline around her employer's thin waist. "You know perfectly well that tonight is of particular importance to your husband."

"Oh but Macy, every night is of particular importance to Matthias." Evelyn groaned, wringing her hands anxiously.

"If I may contribute..."

"Yes." Evelyn sighed, her gaze narrowed on the reflection before her. With her soft brown hair piled elegantly atop the crown of her head, she could almost believe herself to be among the gentiles and aristocrats bound to crowd the halls of her home in a few hours. But with her dark complexion and somber features-each inherited from her less desirable ancestry-she knew she was beyond redeeming. As her grandmother often croaked amidst fits of laughter, the young Duchess 'stuck out like a pigeon amongst a flock of doves'.

Now, all I need are some wings and a transferable disease, and I'll be a spitting image of the aviary species itself.

"Mistress" Macy continued, oblivious to Evelyn's spiteful thoughts, "Your husband is a very powerful man, responsible for the lives and welfare of those of us less fortunate. I sympathize with your sentiments, I truly do. However, I feel it is my responsibility to remind you that-"

"Oh but Macy! How, pray tell, can these numerous, and murderously dull dinner parties possibly help the citizens of East Gothland?" Evelyn countered, unaware of the maid tightly clutching the copious amounts of pink fabric of her gown, thin lips tightly shut. Best she stay quiet, Macy thought, before she muttered something she may soon regret.

"You must ask him that yourself Mistress." The aging maid mumbled, staring longingly at the luxurious cloth clasped in her aching fingers "I'd be quite interested in his reasoning as well."

"I shall." Evelyn huffed, pulling her skirts with her as she made her way towards her chamber's exit. Macy rolled her pale eyes at the young woman's indignant trot, but quietly began to put things away as any good servant would do. When Evelyn stumbled noisily against the foot of her bed, the maid worriedly looked up at the reflection of the ornate vanity mirror situated in the middle of the room. Before her stood a very anxious Evelyn, who hesitated slightly as her eyes attempted to delineate the boundary in which her wall ended, and the door's banister began.