𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Errand

6 months ago

Walking had never really been an activity that Florence voluntarily found herself in. Sure, the occasional stroll didn't bother her too much, and she quite enjoyed the ones she'd take through the woods with a certain boy, but something about walking nowhere in particular for no real reason seemed utterly pointless to her. Even more so when she was alone, with no one to talk to or simply pass the time with.

Unfortunately, working at the manor meant she often found herself walking to and from destinations, all alone. These journeys on foot took at most an hour in each direction, but they tired her out immensely. The quiet didn't help, and the passing of carriages and people on bicycles was extremely discouraging. The only thing stopping her from spinning around and heading straight back before going any further was the business behind it. She had a job to do and she was determined to do it.

On this particularly cold spring day, Florence found herself on one of these walks. Lady Tewkesbury had sent her to retrieve the gown she had just had commissioned from the family seamstress. She would find herself making this specific trip a few times a year, or whenever their was a grand event for which her Lady might require a new dress.

Oddly enough, There was a skip to her step. A strange joy seemingly emanating from her. She pondered deeply as she walked, a poem scribbled onto rough paper taking occupying her mind, abandoned word choices crossed out messily inbetween lines.

'To resist the touch of your tempting hands

I reject the desires of everyman

But the flutter of fingers on my skin

Blurs the line between love and sin'

Her body felt electric. The sensuality and intimacy between her and the writing making her feel special. Scandalous.

Just thinking about it caused her to go all hot, not to mention the uncontrollable blushing. To be completely honest, she was glad she was alone, walking the 30 minute route to the dress shop. Even if someone had been there with her, she didn't think there would have been much conversation, her brain far too preoccupied obsessing over the poem to string together enough words to qualify as a sentence.

Another potential factor to her unusually happy demeanor was the fact that she'd convinced herself, for the day, that Tewkesbury knew. Knew what was in that book when he had given it to her, and even more so, gave it to her for that reason. A delusion she was aware would only end up hurting her, but was too beautiful to push away at the time.

—————

Turning into the marketplace, Florence immediately spotted the shop. It wasn't easy to miss with it's dark red door and window frames painted to match. All of the beautiful and exquisitely sewn garments on display for those walking by to see, and like she was doing now, many of them would sulk at the fact that each and every one was far too expensive to ever own for themselves.

The door bell rang as she pushed through the entrance, the contradictory scents of soap and dust surrounding her as she did, confusing her senses. The store was homely, fabrics piled high on top of chairs and desks, half made dresses lying about in no particular fashion. The winding of a sewing machine could be heard from behind a curtain and Florence took it upon herself to ring the small bell she had noticed on the countertop, summoning the dressmaker.

"Just a moment!" A muffled yell from across the shop was heard along with the powering down of the machine.

A small woman around her mothers age, possibly slightly older, emerged from behind the curtain. Her updo bobbing with each step and fingers lifting her skirt as not to trip over the hem in her rush.